#I made it to chapter 50 I can use the tag as a treat | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alkhale · 4 years ago

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change the channel (Ko-Fi Request) Kenma Kozume/Camgirl!Omega!Reader

hello! Id love a kenma x reader fic (maybe a/b/o) ?? Also, thank you so so much for writing so many amazing fanfics :) every time I read a new chapter from any of your stories, it makes my day <3

OFC COURSE YOU CAN!!!! And thank you so much for your support and for your donation! AND THANK YOU!! I know this one is long overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

I’m also killing two birds with this one, it’s substituting for Typetober Day 16: back and forth (using change the channel instead)

title: change the channel

pairing: Kenma Kozume/Omega!Reader

rating: T/very slight M

summary:

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

link to AO3 for easier reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446191

Omegachion has signed on!

The monitor screen flickers to life.

An empty room appears. A plush, pink cushioned desk chair is in view. Along the cream, soft colored walls are a series of posters that usual garner less attention. A bookshelf is tucked to the side, complete with a set of potted plants hanging in clean pots—clearly loved. Within the stack of books sits shelves stuffed full with what looks to be discs and an assortment of other items.

The website's main frame appears—SecondGlanceStreaming.com. The design is sleek and black—clean and unassuming. A password is prompted, followed by a series of typed keys and then a click.

On the side of the screen a chatroom appears, coupled with a monitored security system in place established by the website. A cherry icon pops to life. Once the chatroom opens, the entire website flickers with light.

Omegalovers has signed on.

Rockyroadncream has signed on.

Omegasarekings has signed on.

Cumqueen324 has signed on.

Mrknottt has signed on.

Msbyjackalboi23 has signed on.

Openwideandsmile has signed on.

Sunnydayandnight has signed on.

Marshmellowtime has signed on.

Thecoolestalpha has signed on.

Bettagetbeta has signed on.

KingKodzuken has signed on.

Kodzu00 has signed on.

The chatrooms explodes with messages. A series of greetings are quickly issued by long-time fans and watchers of the streams, asking how your day was and how you’re feeling. A few more perverse, slimy messages are mixed in-between, demanding for the crude and obscene. A few others snipe back, telling the users to get their hands out of their pants while a series of other users greet each other instead, talking about the excitement over tonight's stream.

You hang back a bit, one arm crossed under your chest, puffed up with the fleecy soft fabric of your jacket while the other hand holds a jelly drink, sipping it in silence. You watch the chatroom explode, quickly gaining more and more users as others signed on to your stream. You check the time on your phone, sighing before you finish off your drink and toss it into the trash can.

You place the fuzzy bunny mask over your eyes, checking how you look in the mirror. You swipe your mouth with your thumb, applying your lip gloss and then smiling cutely at your reflection.

“Alright,” you say. “The goal tonight is 7,000 cherries… you got this!”

You clap your hands over your face and beam. Showtime.

You slide into the monitor’s view, the webcam flickering to life. The chat comes back with more force, messages spamming into the box and a series of cherries already floating into the screen. You beam, laughing as you wave to your viewers and blow them all kisses. “Hello! Hello everyone! I love to see so many of you are so punctual… Needy omegas like me… we love reliable people, you know?”

You hold back a snicker as the chat increases with your words. People shooting messages back at you as you let out a cute giggle. Tonight’s outfit is nothing but a cotton candy pink fleece zip-up that falls to the top of your thighs, also exposing your bare, smooth collarbones. It’s a special occasion, so you’re going the extra mile.

“How are we all doing tonight?” you ask sweetly, holding your chin up with your hands as you watch the chatroom, skimming over the responses. “Aw, Bettagetbeta, I’m sorry to hear that! I hope things get better for you… do you need a hug?”

Cherry icons pop up over your screen. 50. 30. 10. You smile, opening your arms to the camera. “There! I’ll make all your problems go away, okay?”

You bat your eyes under the mask, showing them your bare wrists and giving them a little rub with your thumbs. “You can scent me if you’d like… would that make you feel better?”

Bettagetbeta has gifted you 30 cherries!

Bigboialpha has gifted you 350 cherries!

“Bigboialpha!” you squeak, covering your mouth with your hands. “That’s too sweet of you! Did you want to scent me that badly?”

Your chatroom shakes from the force of scrambled messages. You smile, shyly running a finger up and down the slightly swollen scent glands of your wrist. You’ve timed this just right—and just as you thought, your viewers notice too, instantly spamming the boxes with more fervent messages, begging to scent you, begging to be with you, wrap you up in their smells—

(God, you make me want to vomit.)

“If you’re extra good,” you say sweetly, “you could… maybe even…”

You tease show off more of your bare shoulder, showing a pink bra strap. You slightly expose the side of your neck, bringing your fingers up dangerously close to your most sensitive scent glands. Cherry icons flash across the screen and you hold back an excited grin, feet tapping anxiously underneath your desk.

There’s a new flurry of disgusting messages, of big, handsome alphas promising to do all kinds of things to you if you’d let them. You roll your eyes under your mask, holding back curling your lip in disgust as they prattle on about how they’d take care of you, make you feel so, so good and—

“All right, all right, that’s enough teasing, right?” you say. “Everyone, thank you so much for signing on again tonight! If you’re new to my streams, welcome! We’re so happy to have you. I’m lucky to have you. It’s a special night tonight, you know why?”

Gonna come for us on screen?

Face reveal! Face reveal!

Omegachion i would do anything for u

Pls let me touch u

Take off ur jacket

Stfu and let her talk u horn dogs

Fking disgusting dont ruin the stream

Open ur legs, baby girl

“Because!” you say, throwing your arms into the air. You spin once in your chair, showing off the room and stopping right in front of the screen again. “I just got it in the mail today…”

You bring up the sleek red box that’d been waiting to the side of your desk. You beam, showing it off to your viewers. “Tadah! Do you know what this is? It’s a gift from our generous website hosts—a gift for reaching the Gold Status on streaming! Everyone, thank you so much! I couldn’t have done this without you!”

The chatroom pops with congratulations. There’s some demanding comments, ordering for a consolation prize. You skim through them all, smiling a bit at the paragraphs of kind words and thanks. They’re the viewers you wish you could treat with a little more care, give them something a little more for all they do.

“Want to see what the gift was?” you ask. You pop open the lid and show off the gift—a dark red, leather collar coupled with a golden dog tag. It’s a stylish thing, slim fitted and clearly of great quality, there’s a thickened edge to the leather, coupled with a lock and key.

It’s an omega collar.

You smile through your teeth. The stench of the perfume from the box makes you want to wretch, but you hold it for the camera as your viewers beg you to put it on. “Oh, I don’t know… should I?”

You play with it, showing it off to them against the column of your neck. They’re feverish and desperate.

“I don’t deserve something this nice,” you say, shaking your head.

Tease

Don’t cover up that beautiful neck

Dont blueball us

I only want to see u in my collar

“That’s right,” you say innocently. “I don’t want to cover up what belongs to you guys…” you show off your neck to them again, touching with your fingertips your own bonding gland, unmarked and bare. The chatroom is almost unrecognizable, going off into a feeding frenzy.

You turn back to the screen, smiling.

(You’re like babies.)

You drop the box out of view of the camera into your trashcan, kicking it under the table with more force than necessary. You ought to burn the fucking thing but leather probably doesn’t burn well.

I can’t believe I’m already at 4,000 cherries. You feel excitement replace the disgust, toes curling against your hardwood floor. You got this, amp it up a little bit.

“Since I couldn’t have made it this far without all of you,” you say, touching a hand to your chest and playing with your zipper. “I wanted to do something special—not just this stream! But a nice little event, how does that sound?”

You click your mouse, opening up a new box and icon for your viewers. “Can everyone see the royalty program alright? Yeah? Perfect! If you look, you’ll see the cute little banner we had set up and everything.”

You hold up your phone, smiling beside it. “For these set prices, I’ll be doing a series of special events, just for all of you guys for all the support you’ve given me!”

You point.

“50 cherries and you get a sweet text with a picture from me,” you say. “Each picture will be different, and none of them alike! Keep it between us though, okay? Hehe, I mean it! For 100 cherries, I’ll do a one minute call and for 300 cherries, a three minute call, just with you! For 500, we’ll do a private web-chat session and finally, the big one…”

You smile, “For 1,500 cherries, I’ll be doing a special, in-person meet and greet! How does that sound?”

The reactions are instantaneous.

Cherries already start popping up all over your screen, users filling out the roles and eagerly thanking you for everything while others spit at the prices. You ignore those comments, secretly marking certain users to be blocked. You know the last one is outrageous, how could it not be? Did they think you’d want to meet with any of them? You’d discussed this with several other streamers and they’d all done similar things—this deterred creeps and kept you safe. Usually no one ended up doing the meet and greet. It was too expensive.

It was foolproof.

I can’t wait to hear your voice

Will it be nudes

I want nudes

Thank you so much for doing this!

“I should be the one thanking you guys!” you squeal. Your eyes dart to the corner of your screen, watching the cherries roll in. Your heartbeat accelerates and you do the quick math in your head. “Oh my goodness! Sitwhereveryoulike, thank you so much for the Cherries! And you too, theprettiestalpha! Thank you!”

As it should be. You grin at the screen, prattling on with sweet words and thanks. You teasingly unzip a little more of your jacket, greedily watching the cherries pop-up all over the screen, trying to make conversation where you can and—

A single chat bubble pops up in the corner. You almost miss the question, but you’re almost certain your eyes don’t betray you. If you hadn’t seen the title so many times, you would’ve blown right past it.

(But you’re a true fan, down to your core, you could never miss a mention of—)

Is your username based on Water Emblem?

“Hello, Kodzu00!” you say quickly, trying to stifle your surprise. “Yes, it is! You must be new to the streams.”

You gesture behind you, smiling shyly at the poster of Varth on the back of your wall. “I’m actually a bit of a fan! I know the series is old and everyone’s excited for the new reboots, but I grew up with the old one.”

Ah, stop right there, don’t keep talking about it. You’re going to lose viewers! Your fingers fly back to your zipper, teasingly dragging it down another inch. You could talk about Water Emblem for hours, but you can’t—this is a stream after all. “Bigboialpha! I guess we’ll be having that private webchat after all… mhm! I’m looking forward to it—huh? What I’ll be wearing? Well…”

You cutely run your fingers up and down the column of your neck, bringing their attention back to your scent glands. “Would you… pick for me?”

You almost gag at the comment suggestions. You watch more cherries roll in—shit, another 500? I might make my goal after all! No, you would make your goal. You have to. The sooner you rake in the dough from these streams, the sooner you could—

For the meet and greet, would it be in person?

You blink, startled by the question. You quickly glance back to the username. Kudzu00 again? “Uh, yes! Yes, it would be~ I’d pick a nice location for us and we’d meet. Wouldn’t that be nice everyone?”

For how long?

Who even is this lol

Damn big bucks

Show us the tits already

Pls sit on my face

Your outfit is so cute today!

You swallow nervously. Calm down. What are you even freaking out for? No one in their right mind was ever going to drop that much money to meet with some stranger from the internet—no one.

“Fifteen minutes,” you say cheerfully, keeping one eye on the chat. Have I seen this user before? “There’s a lot we could do—ah, I mean talk about in fifteen minutes, right?”

Kodzu00 is typing…

The chat bubble disappears. You eye it for a few more seconds before shrugging your shoulders. Shake it off. You needed to keep this celebration stream going. You slyly bring your bare knees up and watch the chat go a little more wild, quick questions being shot about whether or not you’re wearing anything under that jacket. You keep the conversations going, sweetly asking the users about what they’d like to do, what kind of pictures and if—

A bright icon flashes on your screen. You glance over.

Kodzu00 has gifted you 3,000 cherries!

You freeze.

On your monitor the chat continues to fire off. A few people notice the notification. You blink, once, twice, before taking a second glance at the numbers.

3,000.

3,000 cherries?

3,000….

The calculation is quick in your head. You’re terribly good with money, sadly. The final statement minus the small deduction for processing appears in your mind’s eye and you balk.

HOLY FUCK.

Lol i think u broke her

God damn

Congratulations, Omegachion!

“K-K-Kodzu00!” you say, head spinning. “Thank you so much! Oh—oh my goodness! Thank you so much for your donation!” What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— “I can’t believe you’d be so generous! Thank you so much! I’m so excited to meet you! Our first meet and greet!”

WHAT THE FUCK?

You quickly try to hold your composure, continuing with the stream. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Finish the show! You laugh, trying not to look at the history of the notification and focusing on your show instead. You thank every piece of good sense inside you for using a mask, hiding the sweat rolling down your face as you teasingly stand up for your audience, bending down a bit.

“Now, how about we end the night with a little… cuddle, hmm?” you say shakily, unzipping your jacket the rest of the way to show off the lacy, soft pink color of your bra. The chat bubbles pop up by the dozens, but you never see even a lick of Kodzu00 again. What the hell? “C’mon, you know how badly I wish you were here to scent me… wrap me up in that smell of yours…”

(Give them what they all want.)

What feels like hours finally passes in a span of minutes and you quickly say goodbye to your watchers, blowing them a kiss and zipping your jacket backup as you finally sign off. You sit there, staring at the screen of your loading page, dumbfounded.

Limply, your finger finds its way to your mouse. You give it a click.

The final total for your earnings tonight appears in a tacky, almost shady colored box. You stare at it in silence.

9,750 Cherries.

Nine…. Nine thousand…

Almost 1,000,000 yen?

“Yes!” you screech, grabbing your head with your hands as you fly up from your chair. You kick the stupid, plush pink thing aside. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

This is insane! You almost want to cry in disbelief. This is—this is it! This is what I needed! I’m so close! I’m so close! You know the other streams won’t rake in nearly as much, but this is the final push you needed—if you kept up this kind of participation for another few months, your fees would be nothing! You’d be able to even afford a little extra and get something nice, replace your bathtub and treat yourself to an expensive dinner and all thanks to this stupid job and—

The grand, generous donation of Kodzu00—

You freeze. Your pure, unrestrained elation plummets. Reality clocks you sideways in the face and you slap yourself for being so dumb—how could I even forget? Your eyes dart back to the screen and you pull up the donation history, staring in dark silence at the simple, blaring donation of cherries, already transferred to your account and not even pending and—

Your joy is quickly replaced with something much more dire. You gape at the amount. The award title beside it appears. You stare.

And stare.

A thirty minute meet and greet.

You’d be meeting in person with this person for at least half and hour and—

What the hell?

You power off your screens, flying to your room and kicking the streaming room door shut behind you. You lunge for your bed, scrambling for your laptop, covered in Water Emblem stickers. You pop it open, quickly pulling up your admin account for the streaming sight and accessing your private passwords. You pull up the user history for all your past streams, typing in the username Kodzu00—

Nothing?

You stare at the blank history. The only entry is tonight’s stream. The very first time this user has ever showed up.

Alarm bells start ringing in your head. You pull up your emergency tab, a self-made list of all your red-flag boxes to check in cases like this for your safety. You click on Kodzu00’s account, searching through their profile.

MADE THIS MORNING? You gape in disbelief, staring at the entirely blank profile. It’s even void of an icon for a profile pic. The account was literally made today, just for this stream, and this god damn stranger just gifted you basically 300,000 yen—

This is insane! All your alarm bells nearly fall off their stands. You search for any kind of information, scrambling and double-checking your banned users lists for any potential matches. Was it some creep trying to meet you from before? A stalker? Were they under a different name and made the separate account just to do this to you so they wouldn’t get caught? What’s their deal?

(What’s your selling point for this whole thing?)

You pause, fingers halting over your keyboard.

You’ve had rich donations before. Users with too much time and money on their hands—users you’re gladly willing to take from in the pursuit of a better life for yourself. Your crowd ranges anyway; from nervous, shy little dorks to kind, quiet people looking for company to disgusting, wretched lechers and stupid alphas who like nothing more than little, docile omegas to rub their garbage scent over—

You stare at Kodzu00’s user profile, feeling something bitter and dark and ugly bubble up in the pits of your stomach.

Any person, male or female, who’d be willing to drop that much money to meet with a streamer like you, notorious for what you do, for what you market—can’t be a good person by any means.

They only want one thing.

You grind your teeth, knowing you’ve got no choice but to reap what you sowed. This was the path to quick cash you chose, so you can’t back down now. You’ll just have to do everything in your power to make sure you remain successful.

You close your laptop screen, ripping your stupid mask off your face and tossing it to the side.

You weren’t backing down.

--- (change the channel) ----

You started streaming in high school.

The middle of your last year, to be exact.

It started off simple enough, to be honest. Nothing eventful, nothing worth writing biographies or harrowing documentaries off of. It was another story amidst the thousands in Tokyo’s Metropolitan streets.

By all legal health records and means, you are an omega.

(What does that mean?)

Within Tokyo’s urban and suburban streets, it means a collection of different ideals and social norms. It means nothing to plenty, it means everything to others—to your youthful eyes growing up, it’d just meant you were a little different from some of your other peers, but not isolated, no, never isolated—there were other omegas, after all, despite the smaller population.

You get along with people fine. You make friends fine, have a few crushes, get average enough grades and have a particular fondness for social media—you just live your life on top of having to deal with certain physiological functions others around you may not experience the same.

You think by all means until your last year of high school, that it really does mean nothing. Society is so modern now, people don’t even blink, right? There’s none of those second gender stereotypes or outrageous cult worships—you’re just another person trying to live their life to the fullest.

“A doctor? Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

You smiled at your teacher in the faculty office. See? Normal—

You stopped.

“See, that’s a great dream,” the teacher said, pointing to your paper. He tapped it, scratching his rough stubble. “But it’s not very realistic with your current standing, you know?”

“You mean my grades? I can work extra hard. They’ve been more than above passing, and what really matters is the entrance exams and testing—”

“Not just that,” he said. He pulled up your student file. He gave you a second look, up and down, and he seemed to find pity in your hopefully confused expression. “Listen, (L/n), here’s the thing—a doctor… is a pretty important position, you know? Very important.”

You nodded like you didn’t already know that. Like you hadn’t been spending the last years of your educational life aspiring toward that goal, that dream.

“They need to be physically… available,” your teacher said. “They have to work outrageous shift hours, they have to work hard on top of that, and then they have to take special medication to regulate their pheromones if they need to, and then the schooling on top of all that is hard work.”

You waited for your teacher to explain why any of those things was supposed to get in the way of your one and only dream of saving lives.

“I’ll make this easy for you to understand, kid,” you teacher said. He taps his nametag, pointing to his little alpha symbol.

“Omegas just don’t become doctors.”

Your dainty, prettily crafted world of normalcy and mundane content shattered around you in one violent, screeching halt.

You smiled at your teacher, nails digging painfully into your thighs.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just not a typical job preference,” your teacher said. “Look, you’re not the only one, I promise. There are a few omega doctors, sure, we need them anyway to make things easier or make sense of stuff alpha based doctors or betas might not understand, but the demand isn’t high and the placement is extremely competitive. Trust me, kid. I know.”

You kind of wanted to spit at your teacher that no, this pot-bellied, alpha gym teacher couldn’t possibly know more than you do about trying to break into the medical industry as an omega. But the thing is—what are the statistics? You hardly see any. Every website you’d researched thus far has always been welcoming, nowhere on their platforms or pamphlets saying anything about omegas being doctors or not and—

You froze.

“Everyone is welcome!” the videos all said. “Everyone is encouraged to try!”

“This is the real truth,” your teacher said. “They’ll all tell you you can do it because they’re not allowed to discriminate or turn anyone away. They’ll let you do whatever you want, but when it really comes down to the acceptances or not? You’ll just get turned away and you’ll have wasted all that time for nothing.

“Omegas aren’t considered suitable candidates for doctors,” your teacher said. “That market tends to go to betas, believe it or not. A nice little mediator.”

Your teacher tossed your career planning forms onto a stack of dozens. You stared at it, smiling continuously with your fingers digging harder into your thighs. He sighed, waving a hand.

“You should shoot for a hospital receptionist,” your teacher said. “It’s the next best thing, right? Or you could teach biology at a school instead. You might even be able to get by as a school nurse—”

“I’m going to apply to medical school.”

Your teacher stopped, looking at you.

You smiled back at him.

(Being an omega was supposed to stop you?)

What a load of shit.

“I don’t really care about anything else,” you said. “I’ve wanted to become a doctor my whole life. If people say I can’t do it because of something they can’t even see, then I’m still going to do it. They can’t stop me.”

Your teacher stared at you for a few minutes. He leaned back in his chair, considering his next words before he finally said—

“You got the money?”

You stopped.

Your family is pitifully lower middle class. Your parents make enough to pay the bills, afford a vacation every now and then, and just get by fair enough without being too stressed—but small issues, like your own medical costs for heat suppressants or a flat tire can easily set your family back several paychecks.

No, you don’t have money for medical school. You’d already known that looking at all the pamphlets. But there were scholarships and stipends and loans—

“If you want to waste your time with this pipe dream, it’s not my job to stop you,” he said, pointing to your career form. “It’s not really ethical either, so don’t come back and file any lawsuits against me. But your medical schools don’t offer many scholarships, and the ones they do aren’t going to go to that one, average ranking omega they’d rather not even have to worry about.”

Your teacher shrugged.

“Go ahead and be a doctor, kid, but you’re going to need money to do it.”

(This is the reality. People are not equal. Being an omega means—)

Means what?

-- ---- (change the channel) ----

You remember laying in your bed that night, scrolling mindlessly through random social media outlets. You’d spent the last several hours searching extensively for any and all scholarships you might even remotely be able to apply for, but none of them seemed willing to help an omega into their waiting hospital wings—your best bet was going to be taking out a loan. Several. That’s on top of cram school costs, textbooks, entrance fees and whether or not I can pass the exam—

No, you would. You had too. You weren’t about to let some stupid, invisible consensus a group of people somewhere or another had decided on stop you.

“Thank you again for the generous donations! You guys are too good to me!”

You’d paused, staring at your bright screen. One of the streamers you followed from time to time—he was an omega, cute and docile and in all honesty, probably the picture perfect cookie cutter definition of one. He always posted great tips on fashion or about cute cafes he enjoyed, and always seemed to be proud of the fact that he was an omega despite how cringingly he played into the stereotypes—

You glanced at his caption, freezing in disbelief.

Designer bags littered his floor. He showed off his pretty watch, batting his lashes at the camera, talking about how the donations from last night’s stream helped him live a good, cushiony life, making him feel like he was being taken care of even without an alpha by his side.

You’d stalked his account almost religiously for the next few weeks, watching his streams, watching the way he… flaunted his nature as an omega. Your parents had always told you you were fine the way you were, but being an omega had never been something to be proud of—you’d just preferred to act like a beta more than anything else. What was the point? To some extent, your teacher was right, there were no benefits to being an omega except—

“Thank you again for all your donations!”

You pulled up your laptop, searching extensively for every little obscure article you could find on the nature of streaming services. You’d never taken social media outlets that seriously, always looked at influencers and vloggers with a grain of salt—you were aspiring to be a full-time heart surgeon after all, but if there was actually something...reasonable behind the way all these people would act, proudly showing off the fact that they were omegas in exchange for something monetary…

(Did people enjoy this?)

Yeah you can make money from it, lol.

You stared at the internet thread, blinking in disbelief.

One user amongst thousands in the thread had responded to your question.

Ppl always keep saying that omegas are this and that. Society likes to paint a pretty picture of what we call equality. Ads and those videos u watch in school and stuff, they all tell u you can be whatever u want to be if u try, but that’s not rlly the truth. The only thing they were honest about was that you’d have to work hard for what you want in life.

You scrolled down.

You have to do the research on ur own and find respectable sites. I can give u recommendations, but u have to kind of get yourself prepared for what you’re signing up for too. Everyone likes to go on television and talk about how all three genders are the same, but we’re not. It’s not even just whether ur female or male anymore, everyone always finds something to pick at, don’t they?

U might get hate for it but whatever, those people who sit on a nicer chair than you and don’t pay your bills don’t get to criticize you for what you want to do and how u do it.

They always tell us we can’t do things because we’re omegas. That we have to be a certain way because we’re omegas and we’re only good for one thing.

So just give them what they want.

And suck them dry.

You remember clearly, that night, pulling up the user’s account and shooting them the message that would change your life.

What sites do you recommend for beginners?

Youcanruletheworld is typing…

----- (change the channel) -----

You triple check all your items, rearranging them on your bed in front of you.

Your outfit is cute, matching your streamer personality but remaining modest enough to keep you protected from unwanted attention. You’ll be wearing a face mask on top of it, just for the extra mile too. You’d already reached out to this Kodzu00 and sent them the notification for where to meet and when, and what you’d look like so they’d be able to find you. Wisely, as always, you picked a neutral location—an extremely popular cafe two hours away from your house just to be safe.

Safety alarm—check. Pepper spray, check. Pheromone repellent, check. Emergency contact button, check. Location synced devices and emergency heat suppressant pills on top of—

You stare at the last item. It comes special with the standard emergency omega safety kit—you almost spit at the name—it’s a quick, easy attachable lock-on collar to protect your bonding glands in the case of an unruly and disgusting attack.

You want to call it ridiculous.

(Behind your eyes you see the comments scrolling over the glowing screen. You see the leering words and the lecherous promises and the disgusting sentences that rattle your brain and make you stand a minute longer in the shower, fingernails digging into your skin—)

You don’t say anything, zipping the bag closed and taking all your items with you.

---- (change the channel) -----

Thirty minutes, it’s just thirty minutes, you can do this. You aggressively slurp on your straw, furiously dogging the cafe patrons with your eyes, keeping them narrowed and peeled for anyone who ought to fit the bill over what you were expecting to meet today. Thirty minutes.

The black iced coffee with an added two shots isn’t doing anything to calm your nerves, but it’s doing everything you need to keep yourself pumped and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The cafe is busy, just as always, with people swarming left and right, in and out—this creep won’t be able to do any of their normal creep tendencies in a place like this.

You bite your straw, tapping your feet under the table.

Alright, Kodzu00, do your worst. I’m leaving here after the thirty and I’m taking the cash with me—

“Excuse me,” you stop, mouth hovering and open over your near chewed through straw, “are you… uh… Omegachion?”

Hearing your streamer username in real life makes you both want to gag and sigh in happiness. The username was arguably the only way for you to feel remotely sane logging into the streaming service every time for your scheduled program because Water Emblem got you through anything, including all the cram sessions to get into medical school.

Your eyes swing rapidly to your right, moving your head so fast you take your straw with you.

Ice coffee drips onto the table.

The young man standing in front of you is… is, truthfully, not what you expected. Okay, sure, weirdos on the internet come in all shapes and sizes, but to your own bias, you’ve crafted a bit of a face for the specific types of users who flood your streams. He narrowly passes even an inch of those ideas, with the slightly messy hair, the baggy clothes that look like all he does is stay in front of his computer all day and the dark lines under his eyes, but other than that—

He’s a lean young man, from what you can barely tell, underneath the baggy black sweatshirts and the sleek black joggers, lined in white with a logo you don’t recognize. There’s a dark cap on top of his head as well, and he’s sporting a simple black face mask, just like you—the most color the damn guy has is the bleached blonde tips still growing out past his roots, spilling a bit past his shoulders while the rest is gathered back into a bun.

In an instant you quickly size him up—the guy’s probably only a few inches taller than you and he can’t be that much older or younger, somewhere probably around your age.

You pluck out your straw. He squints faintly at you, holding his phone, glancing back at his screen and then back to you and shifting, albeit uncertainly. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

“You’re,” you start, “uh, you’re Kodzu00?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s… me.”

You stare.

He stares right back.

(His golden eyes are almost like slits, you realize, a bit stunned, they drip gold and heather.)

He has pretty eyes.

“It’s,” he says, awkward, not sounding friendly at all, “...nice to meet you…”

And then reality comes back, this time with a spinning roundhouse right to your face.

This is the guy who just dropped money to come and meet you here today.

This guy.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Kodzu00 stands there in front of you, looking as though he wished he could melt right through the floor and disappear. He slowly starts to make his way into the chair opposite of you, pulling it out and taking a seat, setting his phone down beside him like it’s a lifeline and—

Your eyes bulge at the sight of his watch. You know how much that watch costs.

Your alarm bells start firing off again. For a brief moment, unease colors your scent, lightly flooding the area until you instantly reel it back in. Kodzu00 glances up at you for a second but you keep your face calm and friendly, quickly slipping back into your streamer personality, your best mask and first line of defense against whatever the hell this weirdo wants with you and time is ticking—

Before you can even utter a single word, Kodzu00 pulls down his mask.

(He’s… well, he’s not bad looking either, in a… weird kind of way.)

“Look, I need to clear the air first and get this on the table,” he says it a bit quickly, despite the low, almost uncaring inclination to his tone. You blink at him. The tips of his ears are staining pink beneath the fading streaks of blonde and he continues, “I’m not here for your streams.”

You blink.

You stare at him, dumbfounded and hopelessly confused.

“I’ve never even seen them before until last night,” he says just as quickly, looking embarrassed to even utter those words. “Let’s get that straight, okay? So I’m not… here for… that.”

That.

“That?” you say like a robot.

He looks more and more uncomfortable, but he presses on, whispering quickly over the table, “Yeah. I’m not here for… that. So… you can… uh… just be normal, I guess.”

You stare at Kodzu00, the man who’s just payed off nearly the last of your student loans in debt, who’s only here in front of you today because he got in touch with you through one of those very streams which very much markets that, which is meant to appeal to all the what-nots who just want to see an omega bat her eyelashes and act like an omega, to feel comforted or have their egos stroked and—

“I don’t watch any streams like that,” he adds for good measure. “I don’t. One of my viewers reached out to me because… well… because they watched your streams and noticed something and mentioned it to me, so I wanted to check it out myself.”

Oh my god. You sit there in the middle of the bustling cafe. Am I about to die? This is it, isn’t it. Kodzu00 is actually some kind of crazy internet stalker or person and you’re about to get stabbed right across the cafe table and this will be the end, you’ll never even get to save anyone’s life or help anyone and their bad hearts or do anything beyond your stupid streams and that’s all you’ll be remembered for.

“Kodzu00 is just a name I made for that night,” he says quickly. “Online I run a gaming channel under the user Kodzuken—you can just call me Kenma though. Kenma Kozume.”

“Uh,” you say. “Kucina. You can call me Kucina.” You are not giving your real name out to this stranger who can potentially threaten your entire standing in your medical career and out you for the unethical nature of how you’ve been procuring money to pay your school fees—

Kenma briefly pauses, eyes flickering up to you. He looks a bit pleased with your choice of alias but quickly glances back to his phone. You feel, strangely, a little… a little happy too.

Wait, wait, wait. No, this guy is a weirdo and don’t forget that he’s a complete stranger online claiming to be a game streamer and—

“The only reason I’m here today is for this,” he says, pulling out his phone. You instantly grow wary, inching back a bit from the table. There’s a bit of excitement finally creeping into his otherwise mundane voice, and it’s giving you the spooks. Kenma taps, quickly navigating his screen before he pulls up one blurred, pixelated image and turns his screen to show it to you.

“Why is this a screenshot of my room?” you say roughly, narrowing your eyes at him. You point to the screen shot of your streaming room and your face caught mid-speech, making you look dumb. “What are you trying to—”

“It’s not that,” he says, sounding a bit stressed out by this whole ordeal. He looks visibly uncomfortable with the image of you, only in your bright pink bra and you raise an eyebrow at him, suspicious as he zooms in and quickly moves the screen to—

“This,” he says, fervent, almost reverent actually, “is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Carefully, still suspicious, you lean over the table and look closer at his phone screen. You follow his finger, quickly recognizing your bookshelf, your posters, and then right beside Kenma’s fingertip is—

You blink.

You know exactly what he’s pointing to.

You also know exactly what it looks like in perfect detail despite the blurry picture. It’s a large box, big enough to hold against your chest, sleek white and blue, with silver lettering line in a kind of glowing, aqua teal—the cover art for the product had been top of the line, complete with an engraved metal clasp that opened up to reveal an entire, glossy artbook, coupled with a cd of the game’s soundtrack and also—

“Water Emblem’s Special Anniversary Edition?”

“Yes!” he almost shouts. You jump. Kenma quickly gestures to his screen, to your room and your game and points at it with fervor. His eyes are actually shiny, you stare at him, a little in awe. “Do you know what this is?”

“Of course I do!” you say, offended. “I own the game. It’s Water Emblem: Light Dragon! Personally my favorite game in the entire franchise and the game that really got the series into the world market—it’s part of what started its entire cult following. This is the special edition that came out years ago, wow, I can’t believe it’s been so long! I remember waiting in line for it and—”

“That’s exactly it!” Kenma says, throwing his hands up into hair, grabbing it beneath his cap. You blink at him, getting a little excited. “This game—this particular edition re-launched for one night of sales only in the creator’s hometown and here in Tokyo! It came with a companion edition and most people were only able to get one or the other because it was sold on opposite ends of Japan!”

“Yeah!” you say. “I know! I stayed with relatives in the summer and timed it out so I could grab it! They only sold so little copies… that was the best night of my life, I couldn’t believe it, even though the game didn’t seem to do that well at first until later…”

“Because no one respected the greatness of the game back then,” Kenma says bitterly. You nod. “Now everyone knows but the rest of the editions have all either been trashed or are kept by collectors somewhere else, I’ve been searching for years for a copy that was at least still playable, even without the extra goods—”

“But the goods are the best part!” you shout in disbelief. Kenma looks at you like your crazy. “The art book, the soundtrack, the interview with the creator—they all play their part in bringing the game to life!”

“This is what I wanted to discuss with you,” Kenma says seriously, lacing his fingers nervously together and staring you down across the table. You suddenly feel uneasy, unnerved by the piercing, golden gaze.

“You own what might very well be one of the last, in-tact, best kept qualities of this edition in Japan,” Kenma says. “When this edition and its counterpart launched, the second issue, the black one—it came with a playable DLC code that can only be activated when you have its partner code and it unlocks an entirely new, almost never played secret storyline that’s supposed to reveal another part of the story—”

“I heard about that,” you say in disbelief. “But I thought it was just an online rumour because no one ever proved it or could figure out the code…”

“Because no one could figure it out,” Kenma says, getting the loudest you’ve heard him since. You stare at him with wide, round eyes. “But recently because of the work I’ve been doing, I was able to meet with the creator—”

“YOU MET WITH THE CREATOR OF—”

Kenma furiously motions for you to shush. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching him with round, adoring eyes, sparkling in disbelief. This guy right here in front of you got to meet your hero—the envy and awe collide altogether, rumbling up and—

(Your heart starts to do something a little funny in your chest.)

Who even is this guy?

“He gave me a hint and I was able to find the code in the other edition,” Kenma says, quickly pushing his phone to you to show a picture and you blink, eyes shiny. “Which I currently own because I was able to secure one when it came out in Tokyo. But your edition is the last part I need to unlock the unplayable path.”

This guy… you lean back in your chair, unable to stop the excited tap of your feet. This guy—he loves Water Emblem. He’s crazy for it! I don’t know anyone except people online who like it this much and he’s…

“That’s why,” Kenma coughs suddenly, becoming smaller in his seat. You stare at him with a raised brow. “I needed… to get in touch… with you.”

You blink, remembering the whole reason the two of you were even meeting in the first place.

Your cheeks grow hot, bright red in a flash of rare embarrassment. Kenma’s ears are just as red, but he pretends it’s not even happening, continuing on.

“Why didn’t you just… message me,” you squeak out, feeling more and more mortified that this man has literally paid you thousands just to be here and… it’s not even… a scam. It’s about your favorite thing ever. Water Emblem! “Instead of… my streams…”

“That was the only way I knew how to contact you,” Kenma says, looking a bit defensive. “I told you, I’ve never seen your streams before. One of my viewers told me and you keep everything private, so this felt like my only chance.”

You open your mouth, feeling more and more uncomfortable but Kenma sweeps in, “Keep the money. It… works out better this way anyway.”

You stare at him in confusion.

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

“This might be my only chance ever to play the game,” Kenma continues, pulling up another tab and clicking away at his phone. He tucks a strand of blonde behind his ear and the action is almost endearing to you until the reality of his words slowly starts to creep into the forefront. “I’ve never found another edition like yours, and it seems like it’s in perfect condition too. I’d be willing to buy it at complete full, current market price—”

“Market price?” you say in disbelief. “How much is my game going for?”

Kenma looks at you in blatant disbelief. You raise a critical brow at him.

Wordlessly he turns his phone back over to you and you glance down—

You almost fall out of your chair. Kenma doesn’t look impressed, hunkering back down and taking his phone as you spin, head swirling at the numbers and figures, math flying around in your head at the sudden realization that all that money could literally be yours, that the game you love so much is worth that much, that all that money, all that money you’ve been trying so desperately to scrape for could just—just fall into your lap—

You could pay off all your loans with that kind of money. You could… you could stop streaming with that kind of money, finally wash your hands of it and get back on track and hardly have to worry as you work toward the job of your dreams and…

“I want to buy your game.”

Your heart quiets. The fancy dreams stop. You sit there in the chair, head buzzing with the reality of what he’s asking of you.

He wants to buy your game.

Your game.

And you think then, about a moment far away from this one. About a time when the books and papers crowding around you made you feel like drowning, about lonely summers and arguments bouncing off the rooms around you, and a time where there was nothing else but that loading screen and that game to take you away from all of it…

(The game that you’ve kept all these years, loved all these years, because it…)

“I’d be willing to pay whatever works best for you,” Kenma continues, the excitement is low in his quiet voice and his eyes sparkle as he shows you his phone. “I can even pay upfront in cash, have a fund drawn up or—”

“I’m really sorry.”

It’s the first time in a long time you’ve ever felt the need to apologize to anyone. Not when the whole world has been treating you like the sorry sack for so long.

Kenma glances up. His expression is calm, unreadable, but you get the feeling he can see right through you so you stare at the tabletop instead.

“I don’t know…” you start. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sell that game to you.”

(He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.)

Anyone that talks about Water Emblem with as much love in his voice as he does can’t be, not at all by your books. His methods of getting to you here today might’ve been outrageous and roundabout, but you’re not really doing things the normal way either, so who are you to judge?

But that game…

You risk a glance up. You stop, staring in surprise when Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit outraged or tense or anything. He looks just a bit disappointed, but the only thing you really see is understanding and something like a bit of grudging envy, a warmth in his gaze you don’t think is particularly meant for you but still comes through regardless.

“I was,” Kenma admits, a bit quiet. “Worried that would be the case.”

“Do you want,” you start quickly. Kenma looks at you. “Do you want to, uh, see it, at least? Take a look… see if it’s even in the condition you want?”

(You just… you can’t sell it, but you don’t want this conversation to end. It’s been so long since you’ve talked with anyone about this game, it’s felt so long since you talked to anyone in general and…)

Maybe, just maybe.

(You feel a little desperate.)

“Uh,” Kenma says, awkward. “Is that… fine?”

“Well, sure!” you say, hoping you don’t sound too eager. “Of course it isn’t a problem! I mean, I know we just met, but you seem pretty legit and I can just check you out later—plus, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, even against an—”

You stop, sniffing the air. Kenma doesn’t look bothered, but he rubs the back of his neck.

And you realize, suddenly, you haven’t smelled a single damn thing because Kenma Kozume is—

A beta.

(Oh.)

---- (change the channel) ----

The entire way back to your apartment, Kodzu00, or as you now know him, Kenma Kozume, complains.

He does it quietly, but he still complains.

“We could just take a taxi,” Kenma says, quiet and unhappy when you start making your way toward the train station. “I can pay for it…”

“It’s easy to remember an address but tough to remember a bunch of stations and stops,” you say, ignoring his offer. Kenma follows, unhappy but he still follows. It’s kind of cute.

He walks with a bit of a hunch, you notice. Like he’s doing everything he can to remain out of everyone’s vision, but he watches, careful and observant because he avoids people before they have the chance to bump into him, glancing this way and that and picking things out with particular ease.

Kenma doesn’t look very confident, but he’s comfortable. You stand there beside him on the train, calmly holding onto the railing while he taps away at his phone beside you, sighing every now and then. He’s different, you realize, very different, from what you’ve become accustomed to when it comes to the kinds of people you let surround you for the sake of money.

You almost want to say it’s because he’s a beta, but you feel that’s a disservice in all its entirety. Maybe Kenma will turn out to be a snob of some kind. The guy’s strangely loaded.

You sneak searches on your phone, paling at the articles about him that come up, about stocks and investments and companies and you realize in seconds, this guy is completely and utterly the real deal.

But despite everything, Kenma still does as you ask. He lets you lead as you navigate the string of trains to get back home, doesn’t ask any questions, only comments on the occasional thing, and the entire affair is two hours, but he doesn’t even blink.

Either he really, really wants this game, you think, or he’s just weird.

Quiet, weird, but fairly quaint, and you’re a little alarmed by how much you… like that.

(You’re a weird guy.)

A rude, burly man makes a pass at you on the last train home, breathing down your neck and letting his greasy fingers try to slide against yours on the same railing handle. Kenma makes a face, eyes narrowed into slits in disgust and he quickly looks at you, blinking at your unbothered, nonchalant expression.

His scent wafts over you, thick and uninviting. Alpha. You rub your nose, inhaling your own familiar scent. Kenma looks more and more uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, starting to lean your way and scanning for open seats when you calmly turn to the man directly behind you, meeting him dead in the eye.

“Get,” you say calmly, digging your fingernails into his skin, threatening to draw blood—the man stiffens, he pales, surprised, startled by your confrontation— “The fuck away from me before I scream.”

He scurries back, shouldering past people in seconds. A few people shoot him disgusted looks, glancing your way in pity—but you ignore all of them too. They didn’t care seconds ago when they knew what he was doing, if you hadn’t done anything, they wouldn’t have either.

That’s just how it goes.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you probably shouldn’t. You look at Kenma, lips curling a bit. “I was expecting to meet a guy like that today instead of you. I think all that pent up anger and anxiety needed to go somewhere.”

Kenma opens his mouth, closes it, stays quiet for what feels like minutes and then he starts up again.

“You don’t really act the same way you do on your streams, do you?”

“Of course not,” you say. “If I acted like that in real life—no offense to anyone who does though—I’d probably lose my shit.”

Kenma sniffs. He doesn’t say anything after that, and you quaintly let your shoulder brush against his ever other jostle of the train.

(It’s been awhile since you’ve been around anyone. It feels nice.)

---- (change the channel) -----

Kenma balks for a bit at the front door of your apartment, but you quickly usher him inside, kicking your shoes off into the entryway and flying inside. He toes off his own shoes, eyes scanning briefly around the entryway, around your home—it’s neat, he realizes, even if he wasn’t sure what to expect. You keep it clean enough, but there’s bits and pieces where your life slips through, making it feel lived in. You keep plants in the corner, healthy and well but you’ve got a few dishes still sitting in the sink.

He guesses he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to begin with.

Kenma pauses for a second, rubbing his nose. He looks uncomfortable, eyes flickering around your apartment and back to you, but you’re already steps ahead of him, too excited to pass a chance like this up.

“It’s in my streaming room,” you say, “come on.”

Kenma follows warily behind you.

You almost kick the door to your room open in your haste, unable to stop the ecstatic beating of your heart as you scramble toward the back. Kenma pauses a minute, sniffing the air again. He glances behind him, back toward where your bedroom is left ajar and then to your streaming room. He looks a bit thoughtful for a moment, but quietly keeps it to himself, slipping inside and lightly closing the door politely after him.

(He’s not one to snoop, but he’s here, it’s not like he can’t look.)

Kenma tries very, very carefully not to consider the fact that he had seen you on that screen only a few nights before, and tries even harder not to remember what you’d been doing and how you’d look. He hyper focuses instead on the stand-out merch that becomes very, very clear to him.

He’s almost amazed your users haven’t said anything more about this—maybe it’s because of your camera angle.

Poster after poster of Water Emblem decorates the entire side of your wall. Kenma finds himself instantly drifting up to it, spotting your shelf in record time. He scans the collection of game titles, eyes growing brighter and brighter as he ghosts a finger over the well-kept discs and the old games…

“You play a lot,” Kenma says, quiet, glancing your way.

“I used to be a bit of a shut-in because I had to study,” you say, squatting down beside your other shelf and moving a few books aside. He finds himself watching the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and smile. “They were great breaks for me and helped keep me company. I’m not as social as people think, so it’s nice.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at you, trying to reconcile the image he’d had of you from your stream with what he’d been witnessing all day today—how different it all was.

(If he’s honest, he’d been expecting to deal with someone different.)

“Do you do PC games too?” he asks. What are you doing?

“I’m not as familiar with them compared to console games,” you admit. “After exams I might try though. Got any to recommend?”

Kenma does. Plenty. He could go on but he doesn’t even know where to start, turning from your games to try to look at you again and think about how strange this entire meeting is, how different from what he’d been expecting. It reminds him of his meeting with Hinata, sudden and vibrant and impossible to categorize, left—

Pleasantly surprised.

“What happened to your chair?”

“What, the pink one?” you glance over your shoulder, noticing where Kenma’s looking toward your streaming station. “I shove it into the closet when I’m not using it. Sometimes the color hurts my eyes.”

Kenma looks at you like you’re crazy.

“...You keep two chairs?”

“Well, the chair’s mostly for looks anyway,” you say. “Some people like that kind of simple stuff. It’s a nice contrast, you know? Sweet and spicy, I guess? My boss said something like that. My ratings are good so I don’t complain.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at your station, almost engulfed with stacks and stacks of what he can easily recognize as textbooks. Biology, medical tech, chemistry—all of it nearly crushing the fuzzy bunny mask you’d been wearing on the stream.

Kenma takes it all into his head and he looks again at your small back.

“...Do you even like your job?”

“It’s not my job,” you say. “My job is studying and working at the athletics complex to try to help figure out ways to help people stay in shape, take care of themselves and be better. This is just… part-time.”

You pause, staring at your shelves. It feels weird to be saying this outloud, but it’s nice too. It’s refreshing. You think you can take advantage of it anyway, what if you never even meet this guy again? You hardly know him, he probably doesn’t care.

“And I guess,” you say, a bit quieter. “Sometimes it’s kind of rewarding… sometimes people are nice, you know?”

Kenma says nothing, watching your back. You rub your neck and then finally beam, pulling free the reason for all of this.

You cradle the box in your hands. It’s weighty. You run your fingers over it and stand up, turning proudly to Kenma, beaming from ear to ear and—

You almost jump back in surprise, near squeaking. Your ears almost flash red in embarrassment at how close Kenma is all of a sudden, sneaking up right behind you with shiny, adoring eyes as he stares at the box in your hands, looking at it in awe and disbelief.

“Can I see it?” he asks reverently.

Your heart swells in happiness and you eagerly nod, handing it over to him.

Kenma receives the gift with care. He runs his fingers over it, carefully, as though afraid to even leave a single print behind before he pops the metal engraved latch and opens it up.

You and Kenma sigh together in unison, swooning at the sight.

“It’s amazing,” Kenma says.

“I know.”

“I can’t believe I’m seeing it in person.”

“I know!”

“You took great care of it.”

“I—” you flush at the praise, wilting a bit. “I-uh, thanks…”

“Can I see you play it?” Kenma says suddenly, looking almost desperate. You freeze. He looks up at you, expression completely different from his near lifeless one. His face is vibrant and full of excitement, thrumming just under the surface of his nonchalance. “The loading screen even? I—I have to see what it looks like logged in and—”

“I...actually can’t,” you say quietly, embarrassed. Kenma looks confused.

“I… I sold the console for it,” you say, feeling more and more guilty to finally have to admit one of your biggest regrets. Kenma pauses, expression quieting as he looks at you. You stare at the floor, trying not to look at the computer and web camera sitting in the corner. “I needed to buy some stuff… so I had to sell it in. I still kept a lot of the games, thinking I’d buy another one when I got the chance…”

You ruffle the back of your head, trying to quell the stifling scent of embarrassment that tries to escape you. You rub your wrists. Kenma’s eyes are briefly drawn to the action before he looks at you, still holding your game. You bow your head a little. “Um, if you want though, you can take it to your place and see—it absolutely will still work. I can just, take something to make sure you don’t run off or I can just—”

“Do you want to come over and use mine?”

You pause, looking at Kenma, dumbfounded.

Kenma stares right back at you. You can’t read a single inch of his face.

“We can use my place,” Kenma says, calm, unbothered. Your eyes grow round. “I really… really want to see the game in action… it’ll probably be more fun to see you play it anyway first.”

“Is that,” you start, uncharacteristically shy. “...okay?”

Kenma wordlessly nods.

(Your heart does something a little funny. You just write it off as an exaggeration. You’re such a sad sack.)

“Um!” Kenma looks up. You flush, hating how embarrassed you feel, hating how much of your bravado is missing, but you almost stutter out, “I-It’s (L/n) by the way… (L/n) (Y/n)...”

“... okay,” Kenma says. “It’s nice to meet you, (L/n).”

--- (change the chanel) ---

“You know, Kenma,” Kuroo said once, leaning back on the train ride home as Kenma tapped away at the buttons on his console. “For all you say and stuff, you’re pretty good at putting all the pieces together, aren’t you?”

--- (change the chanel) ---

One month.

Non-stop, several days a week, for hours on end—that’s how long the two of you play the game together.

You nearly miss streams, spend hours at Kenma’s house, laughing when you come to find him half-asleep in his sheets, barely rolling out to come greet you and instead just buzzing you in. You think it’s insane—how quickly this… this thing builds. You think you ought to be dreaming, but you don’t really want it to end.

(You’ve gone too long without anyone to laugh like this with.)

You pull late-nighters that are terrible for your complexion, eat take-out like you’re cramming for exams all over again, laughing while Kenma quietly watches and scrolling through Water Emblem merchandise and fan bases and—

You spend time with him. With Kenma. You spend hours and days and what feels like endless forever and fun. It’s so sickeningly amazing you almost don’t believe it’s real. Sometimes you two argue, getting into heated spats over calls on how to move your characters, critiquing each other’s moves and then laughing when the other fails, sometimes it’s outright cheers from you while Kenma nods in satisfaction when you clear another mission and proceed forward and—

You haven’t even been alive that long, but compared to everything else, it almost feels like the best moment of your life.

“I did an entire episode on why moving this character is better than the rest,” Kenma mutters one day beside you. “I’m telling you, we need to deploy them. They’re wasted as an adjutant.”

You pause beside Kenma, blinking at his massive screen. You stare at your hands, and then you look at Kenma, blinking again in realization.

And in all this sudden time you’ve spent with him, you realize you’ve never seen one of his streams.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Uh, hey everyone, thanks for stopping by again.”

You snort. Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit at ease, his small face-view camera appearing in the corner of your screen as the old stream starts. It’s only of his earliest ones, the one where he replayed Water Emblem for his channel.

“I like this game a lot… it’s the one I always wanted to do a stream for… so I hope you enjoy it too.”

Is that it, dude? You laugh, shaking your head and kicking your legs out as Kenma gets the loading screen started and adjusts his chair. His camera shakes a bit and everything about the video attests to its age and its novelty. It makes you smile. He must’ve come a long way from these videos to the freaking multi-millionaire he was now.

(He worked hard.)

At first the show starts off rather quiet, maybe a bit awkward. Kenma hardly talks, quietly playing through the beginning sequences of the game and only commenting once or twice on the music or graphics. It’s kind of nice, peaceful, just watching someone go through the familiar motions until the real first part of the game starts and then—

“I never get tired of this part.”

You pause at his voice, glancing to the corner of the screen. Kenma’s eyes glow. He smiles, low, small and quiet, and he leans so far forward, almost out of his seat as he starts to play, quietly talking, describing the things he’s doing, the parts of the game he’s in love with and—

You roll over onto your side, watching the stream. Everytime Kenma mutters something under his breath you laugh, when he flubs you grimace, when he succeeds—you cheer, kicking your heels into the air. It’s really like playing the game all over again—even if the comments say he hardly shows any emotion, you can see it.

Kenma Kozume loves this game.

He loves what he does.

The thought makes you pause, staring quietly at the screen.

The dark corner of your room looks a little bigger. The quietness is a little louder. You lay there in your bed, watching Kenma thank everyone for watching with a sigh, giving the game a second glance, like he’s thinking of playing more even though he said he’d stop and—

Your alarm nearly startles you out of bed. You quickly glance over, shooting up in realization.

“My stream,” you murmur, dropping your phone and hurrying to your video room. “Gotta do… my stream…”

Your eyes glance back to your phone. You stare at the dark screen.

“Do you even like what you do?”

You shake your head, closing the door behind you.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Thanks again everyone for coming! Your favorite omega is going to be lonely without you~”

The screen clicks, turning off.

You sit there in your plush, bright pink chair. Your open jacket hangs on either side of you, revealing your bikini for the beach theme you were going with today. The video room is near silent, save for the soft, quiet hum of your computer running while your monitor blinks, turning to a save screen.

Your game sits in your lap, carefully cradled by your hands. Off to the side is a thorough stack of medical textbooks you still owe money on. You were planning on studying for your test tomorrow after the stream tonight.

You run your fingers over the amazing edges of the collector’s box. You thumb every part of it, retracing the familiar memories, even the small little dent in the corner when you dropped it the first night you got it and almost cried.

You hold it there in your hands. It feels so, so warm, even though you think that shouldn’t really be possible.

There, in the darkness of your video room you sit. Quiet in the near-silence, head lowered, gently running your fingers over it, again and again.

Kenma’s lulling voice is the only thing you hear, playing over his stream, and you shut your eyes, bringing your knees and the box up to your chest. It jabs your ribs, sits uncomfortable, but you don’t really care.

“Do you even like what you do?”

(What I’m doing now, at least… yeah, I do. I really do.)

--- (change the chanel) ---

(L/n) is typing...

Hey, can we talk?

It’s nothing important, let’s just meet up for dinner if you’re free!

Is that fine?

Kenma is typing...

Yes.

Location sent.

Let’s go here. I’ll make reservations.

Okay! :)

(Y/n) is typing…

(Y/n) stopped typing.

--- (change the chanel) ---

The place Kenma picks is some ridiculously nice looking Japanese Restaurant. It’s dimly lit and elegant and fancier than anything you’re used to, and you’re not really sure why he picks it until he orders for both of you and then the wagyu comes out and you know.

Seeing the steak, knowing you’ll get a good meal—it kind of makes this whole thing a lot easier.

Kenma sits comfortably on the floor right across from you. It’s a small, private room he’s rented out for the both of you. He’s dressed in the usual—baggy sweatshirts and athletic but comfortable joggers, and his hair is pulled back a little more neatly tonight as he pours tea for you and then for himself.

“This smells so good,” you say, mouth watering as you pick up the smooth, fancy wooden chopsticks. “Mind if I start?”

“Go ahead,” Kenma says. He leans back, picking up his spoon to dig into his own soup first. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The game,” you say around a mouthful of wagyu. It melts like butter on your tongue. “I’m going to give it to you.”

Kenma freezes, looking up at you in shock. His spoon clutters back into his bowl.

“What?” Kenma says.

“I’ve thought about it,” you say. “You were right. I don’t even have the console to play it anymore. It kinda just sits, collecting dust. It’s not fair when that game is literally everything.”

Your hands still a bit. You stare at the sizzling hot plate.

“I think you have a lot of fun with your streams,” you say, softer. “I think… I think Water Emblem would be well off in your hands. I think… I think it’s what it deserves, you know?”

Kenma is silent, frozen like a statue in front of you. You continue, lightly tracing a thumb over your other wrist, as though in comfort. Moments like this, you do wish for the chance to scent or be scented by someone again—just something familiar, something warm and nice. Your family is miles away and you just...

“I’ve had too much fun playing it again thanks to you,” you say, warm, full of happiness. Yeah, this is what feels right. “And you never once asked for the money from that night back, even though it should’ve just gone into paying for the game… that’s why I want to just give it to you. You’ve already done too much for me, and it’s more than paid for the game.”

“Hold on,” Kenma says. “I—hold on, one second.” He rushes for his phone, fumbling. You shake your head. “No, hold on—”

“I’ve still got my streams to do,” you say with an awkward laugh. “I can’t spend all my time playing video games again. Once exams come up and then—”

“No,” Kenma tries, looking a bit frustrated. He curses at his phone, “Give me a second to explain before you—”

“I’m doing this,” you say resolutely, standing up from your seat. Kenma balks. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, I guess I got to meet you. That’s not so bad. Now stop making this weird and let me just do something cool for once in my life—”

“I want you to do a streaming series with me!”

You stop, staring at Kenma. He holds out his phone, showing the screen to you—but your eyes are on him, round and disbelieving and then—

Your entire face flushes bright red, cherry like a tomato.

“Y-Y-You w-w-w-want to d-d-do a s-stream with me—”

“Not one of yours!” Kenma blurts. You blink. He curses, ruffling his hair roughly before he gestures again with more vigor to his phone, “This—just look at this.”

You glance to Kenma’s phone.

“...you’re doing a new stream series,” you say, eyes widening in awe. “It’s going to be on the secret, never played route for Water Emblem—see! That’s perfect! If you’re going to do that, you need my half of the game and—”

“I want to do it with you.”

You freeze, mouth falling open.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you came over to play,” Kenma says, quietly setting his phone down on the table—he takes on the tone that means business, the calm, lulling one he your hear him use on the phone sometimes to make sure deals are delivered and he gets what he wants. “It’d be a great idea, and it’d be… fun. I’ve been letting you play because I wanted to see if the style would be compatible and I think it’ll be more than fine.”

Kenma taps his phone again.

“Of course, you’d be compensated,” he turns it to you, “we’d split the profits 50/50 from each streaming episode. Considering my normal projected view count and ad revenue, you can expect at least this much.”

You look at the numbers.

Your mouth stays open, knees sinking to the floor.

“If you’re willing,” Kenma says quietly, “to take a break from your streams to do this series with me… I think it would be mutually beneficial.”

Can things really, really work out, just like that?

“Besides,” Kenma says, even quieter. You close your mouth, looking at him in disbelief, in awe, in reverence, and he meets your gaze with his golden one.

“The secret route is meant for dual players,” Kenma says. “Water Emblem is known for being a single player, but what makes it special is it needs two for this route… it… it would be a disservice to the story to do it any other way.”

You can’t help it.

Your scent and pheromones you struggle and try so, so hard to always keep under lock and key explode forth, nearly flooding the entire room. Kenma stiffens, going ramrod straight and grabbing onto the top of his pants as your happiness engulfs the two of you. You’re sure it probably alarms everyone in the hall or anywhere near. Your happiness crashes and lulls and your entire face crumples in disbelief—

“Is it really…” you start, like a whisper, “really okay?”

Kenma shifts in his seat. He pulls at the hood of his sweater, opening his mouth before he quickly closes it. He mutely nods, resolute, and you stand up, lunging across the table to grab his hands. Kenma’s face flushes a bright red, his body stiffening in alarm.

“Kenma!” you say. “Kenma! Kenma, you’re a godsend! A guardian angel! My guardian angel! You don’t understand what this means for me—you don’t know what you’re doing for me—”

“(L/n),” Kenma says, he sounds strained. You pause, looking at him with round eyes. “I’m… excited… but I need you…”

Kenma lets out a slow, ragged breath. “Please… tone it down… just a little…”

You tilt your head in confusion. Your eyes drop down, noticing the sweat beading at the corner of Kenma’s temple, at the hard, rigid look in his hazy, warmly golden eyes and…

A soft scent teases your nose. You pause, blinking in disbelief. No way. You’re crazy, right?

“Um, Kenma,” you say, a little nervous. There’s no way, right? “You’re… you’re a… beta, right?”

Even betas could be sensitive to pheromones. You were being too careless right now, you must’ve just been too much and—

Kenma rigidly shakes his head.

You blink, feeling very, very, very small.

“Alpha,” Kenma exhales, holding his hand to his nose, scrunching in on himself while he peers up blearily at you, eyes swimming with something you’ve never seen once in his gaze before. He sticks his wrist out to you.

“Uh,” you say, hating how nervous you sound. “C-Can… I?”

Kenma wordlessly holds his hand out to you, keeping it in the air. You tentatively step closer for a moment, sniffing lightly. His smell.

Kenma’s scent is so quiet, it’s no wonder you… you never noticed. It’s become so familiar, always felt so calming and subtle and soothing, but if you look for it the way an omega would, pheromones in tune and acute—you do catch it, just the faint hint of something sharp, the familiar, light tang of alpha and—

You quickly pull back. You open your mouth, close it, open it again, and then close it.

“I’m so sorry—”

“You’re fine,” Kenma says, quick and quiet. You mutely nod, mortified. Kenma motions for you to relax as he stands, grabbing his wallet. “I’m going to take care of the bill. Get… fresh air. I’ll be back—”

“You should let me—”

“You can get the next one,” Kenma says. Something in his words makes you strangely complied to listen, ridiculously docile, and you blink in surprise when you sink back to your knees and Kenma’s eyes seem a little warm, a little—

(Pleased?)

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you say jovially. Kenma nods, leaving you. You can’t believe it. This is it—this is—

The start of something great.

You hold your head in your hands, unable to contain your happiness.

Oh my god.

You stop, blinking again in realization.

BUT I’VE BEEN SUCH AN IDIOT, HE’S BEEN A—THIS WHOLE TIME—HOW RUDE MUST I HAVE—

You fall back into the cushion, kicking your feet up in disbelief.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid—I better apologize over and over—”

--- (change the chanel) ---

Kenma quietly steps out of the private room, sliding the door shut behind him.

He stands there, silent, basking in the faint afterglow, of the leaking, intoxicating feel of your happiness wrapping thickly around him, clinging to his skin.

Kenma lifts his hand up to his nose. He sniffs, once.

Your scent floods him.

Kenma’s tongue lightly drags up the inside of his wrist. He closes his eyes, briefly catching it—the soft, sweet taste of you against his lips, on his tongue. Kenma waits there, inhaling softly before his eyes slide open, thin, golden slits.

This would be the start of a fairly interesting partnership.

Omegachion has signed off!

Thanks for watching!

#typetober #alktypetober #kofi request #ko-fi requests #kenma kozume #omega!reader #kenma x reader #haikyuu reader insert #kenma kozume x reader

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jaime-brienne-fic-exchange · 4 years ago

Text

Stats! Stats! Stats!

There are three days left until sign ups open and we thought it might be fun to look back at last year’s exchange through the fun lens of MATH!!

That’s right! Maths. The wonderful @im-auntie-social did the Lord of Light’s work last year tracking the published works on a spreadsheet and has helped to highlight some of the fun figures from last year.

The Raw Stats

There were 102 sign ups last year, but we ended up with 112 fics in total!

The total word count of all completed fics was 1,310,259 words, which is more words than A Game Of Thrones, A Clash of Kings and a Storm of Swords combined, and if you include the few WIPs we still have, we also top A Feast For Crows!

The mean number of words per work was 12479 and the median was 8281, with a standard deviation of 13029 wpf (words per fic), which I am told by our resident statistician is hilarious:

AuntieSocial — Today at 2:51 AM

okay so as of 8/25:

112 fics, 105 finished

total word count 1,310,259 (which does NOT include WIPs), for a mean of 12,479 words/finished fic

with a standard deviation of 13,029 words/fic, which is never not funny to me

a more useful number is the median words/fic: 8,281

(which means if you write the word counts in order, the 53rd value is 8,281, so half the fics are shorter than that, half are longer)

The rest of the mods:

So then she made some neat graphs instead:

(not included in this final image: the exponential growth of grey hairs on each mod correlating precisely with the countdown to the close of the collection as multi-chaptered fics grew in size while still showing no signs of completion!)

If you’re like us and bar charts confuse you, here’s a pie chart to show the distribution of word counts. Despite the massive total word count--and several writers’ increasing panic as their fics refused to end--most fics in the exchange were actually 10,000 words or less, and only 17% of the fics were longer than 20,000 words.

(The last bar, which is unlabelled, is for 60k and above, and belongs to the one, the only @writergirl2011. A round of applause to her!)

In addition to having a wide diversity of lengths for our fics, we also had a wonderful diversity of ratings!

Fics!

Fun With Tags!

The most common tags on fics were fairly predictable:

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting (50)

Fluff (10)

Angst (10)

Pining (10)

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence (10)

Hurt/Comfort (9)

But one of our writers, @sapphiresandsunlight, had the tags on their fic go viral on twitter! (Give it a reread, it’s a banger.)

But we had other favourite tags too:

"just buy a hat and hold the fuck onto it"

"Red Ronnet fulfills his sole purpose in life yet again"

"rated for violence; laguange; some body horror (apologies it's not for sexy times),"

"There's goats, and--therefore--some minor violence,"

"jaime is definitely the miss piggy of this relationship,"

"you don't have to judge me i am judging myself,"

"I overshot the minimum wordcount just a bit" (on a 57k fic, AHEM)

"its cool guys Margaery has a plan,"

"everyone knows the one dude with a weird pet,"

"probably some deconstruction of Romatic Ideas as a treat,"

"no no she is literally a star,"

"unitards as a fashion statement,"

“lmao at my dumb ass for thinking this was going to be under 10k and finished on time,"

"I swear ths was just supposed to be a one-shot"

"Yes that title is in reference to an Ed Sheeran song" "WHAT OF IT?"

"some wolves do some harming but they get away with it,"

"'hey how is this 13k when it's just cave snuggling?'"

"Revealing your deepest secret and then passing out cold as flirting," "smuttier than that,"

"the minimum for this exchange is 1k" "here's 20 times that,"

“Cosplay as foreplay,"

"hey guess what? i have no idea how newspapers work and yet i picked that prompt anyway,"

"unconscionable abuse of italics,"

"academia is a trap!"

"math as a framework for love and trauma,"

"criticism of martini glasses,"

"Fic Exchange Yaaayyyyyy,"

"if there's a canon problem yo i'll solve it,"

"bet you didn't have this on your Winds of Winter bingo card,"

"this baby can fit SO MANY TROPES"

Then we had fun with tag clouds:

It was a monumental exchange last year and we’re so excited to see what we all come up with this year!

Sign-ups open very soon! Shoot us whatever questions you like and keep an eye out!

#jaime x brienne fic exchange 2021 #jaime x brienne #braime #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #fun with stats!#the inherent romanticism of spreadsheets #we bin known on twitter #throwback to mid 2020 when everyone was quarantined and had nothing else to do but write #game of thrones #asoiaf #graph-ic content

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redgillan · 5 years ago

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Under Pastel Skies - 5

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 4,569

Warnings: none

A/N: Let me just thank you for your support, it’s so heartwarming and I love you so much. I’m sorry this chapter is so long, I have no idea how that happened. I hope you enjoy this :’)

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

After you agreed to move in with Bucky and become a full time artist, everything started to move incredibly fast. The dinner went well, you worked out the details of your contract with Sam and Nat who didn’t seem surprised that this was happening.

You left your job almost overnight, only giving them two weeks’ notice. They easily found a new breakfast attendant and you even trained your replacement. You emptied your locker, returned your name tag and your master key, and went on your merry way.

Now you were on your way to Bucky’s apartment, a suitcase full of clothes between your legs and another full of administrative papers, beauty products and whatnot between Natasha’s legs. She had insisted on coming with you to help you get settled. You didn’t own furniture or anything that required her help so you figured she just wanted to make sure Bucky was treating you right.

He had already transferred your monthly allowance to your bank account, which prompted your bank to call you. They wanted to know where the 5 thousand dollars came from and you told them it was a gift. “If your friend’s looking for new friends give them my number, yeah?” the man on the phone told you.

The rocking motion of the train had a soothing effect on you, almost lulling you to sleep. You let your head fall against the window and played one of your favourite game –people watching.

There was a man reading a newspaper, standing with his feet apart as if the cart was one giant skateboard. A woman was putting on makeup, another was playing a game on her phone. The woman sitting next to you was wrestling with her toddler who wanted to snatch your scarf. It was a quiet day.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Natasha asked, her face as cold as stone.

“’Bout what?” you replied in a sleepy voice.

“About your crush on James.”

“I don’t have a crush on Bucky.”

As soon as the words passed your lips, a tiny, sticky hand landed on your jaw, making a wet slapping sound. You blinked hard, your eyes trained on Natasha who was now openly smiling at the toddler next to you.

“See? Even the baby knows you’re a liar,” she said, singing the last word.

You turned your head to look at the baby and saw him put his fist in his mouth, his eyes bright and wide. With a happy squeal he launched himself at you again, smacking you in the face. The mother apologized and held her child against her chest, softly admonishing him to stop throwing himself at strangers. You felt that. He spent the rest of the ride looking at you.

“So, really, you’re going to move in with a man you have a massive crush on, and we’re not even going to talk about it,” she pressed on.

You huffed, wiping baby goo from your cheek with your sleeve. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“And you’re the bone.”

You got off the train and walked to Bucky’s apartment, your suitcase rolling behind you. Natasha was silent next to you, something that almost never happened. You counted your steps in your head, waiting for her to speak.

“You didn’t have to move out of my apartment.”

22 steps. That’s how long Natasha managed to stay quiet for. “Of course, I had to. I’m not going to do Brooklyn-Chelsea every day.”

When Bucky had offered his guest bedroom, your first reaction had been to politely refuse. Bucky seemed like a nice guy, but what if he had a glass cage in his basement? What if he trapped you there and commissioned paintings to you? Psycho killer, qu'est ce que c'est.

Then he opened up about his past, his insecurities, and it made you long to hold him. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, the kind that only come from an unprotected heart. You realized there was more chance of you hurting him than the opposite.

“You’re the one who organized this whole thing,” you reminded Natasha.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you had a crush on him. And if someone tells Okoye this was my idea, she’ll kill me.”

You turned to her with a not-sorry smile. “Yup.”

Your big sister was like most big sisters: extremely protective. When your mother had to work late, she was in charge and she took her role very seriously. You were nine when she finally got her driver’s licence, and that day she graduated from sister to mother. Eat your vegetables. Did you do your homework? I know you didn’t brush your teeth.

Okoye was loyal, protective, intimidating, and never afraid to speak her mind. When she decided to join the Dora Milaje, you thought the job was perfect for her –the king’s bodyguard, now that’s something you’d like to put on your resume.

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Natasha asked as you got inside the elevator.

“Why are you so worried?”

“I don’t know.” She pressed her back against the wall and shrugged. “It’s always been you and me. Since first grade.”

You returned her sad smile with one of your own. “Heckle and Jeckle.”

She barked out a laugh at the memory. It was the nickname her father had for the two of you. It used to be a popular animated cartoon in the 50s. It was the story of two talking magpies who were always getting into some kind of trouble.

You stepped out of the elevator, still arguing about which one of you got to be Jeckle, the less problematic of the two, when you noticed that Bucky was patiently waiting for you by the front door. He didn’t say anything but there was an amused smile on his face.

He let you put your suitcases in the guest room near the kitchen and told you that he had to run a few errands, giving you a little privacy. Natasha hung up your clothes in the wardrobe while you unpacked your other stuff and put them away in the drawers of your dresser.

It didn’t take you long to unpack. When you were done, you threw yourself onto the bed, watching Natasha. You were excited to sleep in a real bed, you couldn’t stop running your hands up and down the comforter.

“Jeckle,” Natasha said, looking at the mostly empty wardrobe. “You need new clothes.”

“Ugh, yes,” you groaned from the bed.

When you were a teenager, you used to spend every weekend at the mall with your sisters and Natasha. Your wardrobe wasn’t big enough to fit all your clothes and your mother often asked you to get rid of the things you didn’t wear anymore. You never did.

Then life happened, and you didn’t have the energy or money to go shopping anymore.

You went to the kitchen to grab something to drink. Bucky’s fridge was even bigger than the one you had at work, and it was full of food in neatly labelled rows of Tupperware containers. The one in front of you was labelled ‘baby carrots’.

“Neat freak alert,” Natasha commented, peering over your shoulder into the refrigerator.

“Stop it.”

You took a bottle of water and sat at the kitchen island while Natasha continued investigating his kitchen. Bucky had several gadgets that few people had in their kitchen like a cutting board with suction cups on the bottom and nails on top to hold the food in place while slicing.

It was obvious that he liked to cook, and for some reason it made you smile. You pictured him cooking for one and your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. It was a sad mental image and you shook your head to get rid of it.

The front door opened and you lifted your head to see what Natasha was doing. She was holding Bucky’s meal plan, perusing it intensely. Bucky entered the room and greeted you with a smile before he made his way over to the fridge.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked.

Natasha waved the meal plan in your direction mouthing ‘it’s laminated’ while Bucky retrieved a bottle of water for himself. You gestured wildly at her to put it back down.

“No, I’m good,” you replied with a slightly crazed smile. He looked between you and Natasha with a frown. “Natasha was about to leave.”

“Was I?” she replied, tilting her head.

“Yeah, you have stuff to do, remember?” You gave her a pointed stare.

“No.”

You widened your eyes at her and moved your head in the direction of the hallway that led to the front door. You tried to be discreet but you knew you weren’t fooling anyone. She watched you, unfazed.

Luckily, Bucky came to your rescue.

“Thank you for coming all the way out here, Natasha. Do you want me to call you a cab?” His tone left no room for discussion. You hid your grin behind your glass.

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied without looking at him.

You walked Natasha back to the front door and opened it. She glared at something over your shoulder and you turned to see if Bucky was there. He wasn’t.

“Wait, I forgot to tell him that if he hurts you I’ll kill him.”

You grabbed her by the shoulders when she tried to move past you. “I think he got the message. Thanks for coming with me. I’ll call you tonight.”

“You’d better,” she warned with a slow nod.

When you returned to the kitchen, it really dawned on you that you were alone with Bucky. He glanced up at you while he was going through his mail. You took your seat and nervously looked around the room. It was too quiet, you didn’t like it.

“I like your friend,” he said, grinning. “She seems very protective of you.”

“She is,” you sighed.

An uncomfortable and strangely melancholic silence hung between you. You were both afraid to say or do the wrong thing. You felt like you didn’t belong there; like a patch sewed on a worn out pair of jeans, mending holes.

“You ok?”

You looked up at him. “Yeah, I just feel a little awkward. I’m... not sure what you want me to do now.”

“Nothing,” he said, rounding the kitchen island to sit on the stool next to you. His eyebrows were pulled together in concern. “This is your home. You can do whatever you want.”

“It doesn’t really feel like my home.” You shrugged one shoulder. “It kinda feels like I just unloaded my crap in your guest room, which is exactly what happened.”

He observed you a moment. “Well, make it your home. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here.”

“So,” you glanced at him sideways. “If I bought a few things to make this place more... homey, you wouldn’t be mad?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled up as his smile grew. “I’m begging you to make this place more homey. It’s really boring, isn’t it?” he said, looking around the kitchen with a comical frown.

You chuckled. “No, it’s not. Well, maybe a little.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said with a laugh.

Bucky watched you with his cheek in the palm of his hand. Your eyes were moving around the room, making mental notes of the things you wanted to add. He smiled, the sparkle was back in your eyes.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, straightening up.

He left the room for a second and came back with his hand hidden behind his back. You looked at him with a playfully suspicious frown as he approached you. You followed his movements closely, your frown deepening when he placed a little white box on the kitchen counter.

“Open it.”

You removed the lid and pulled out a set of keys, undoubtedly the keys to his apartment. The keychain was gleaming the light; a small silver angel that fit snugly in the palm of your hand.

You barely managed to croak out a thank you before you threw yourself at him, hugging him tight. His body tensed instantly and you were about to apologize when you felt his arm wrap around you.

You felt pressure build in your throat, a tingling sensation in your nose, and tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck. The last thing you wanted was for him to catch you crying over a set of keys. Though deep down it wasn’t about the keys, it was the accumulation of pent-up emotions and the realization that you were now completely free to follow your dreams.

You released him but he was still hanging on to you. Tight. His heart was beating fast against your chest. He was a lonely man craving human interaction. So you closed your eyes and rubbed your hands up and down his back –gently and out of sync. After a few long minutes, he untangled himself from you.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon, there’s something else I want to show you.”

“Another gift?” You sighed his name when you noted the guilty expression on his face. “It’s too much.”

“It’s a practical gift, hardly a gift at all.”

He took you upstairs to the room that was now your studio. The room hadn’t changed since your last visit, except for the easel placed in the centre. You entered slowly as if you were approaching a frightened mythological creature. You ran your fingers along the wood, your chest tight with the heft of your emotions.

You hadn’t seen one in a while, and now it was right in front of you, beckoning. “Show me how you feel,” the easel said. “Show the world what you’re made of.”

“Thank you so much,” you said, your voice soft.

“I thought it was the perfect housewarming gift for you.”

You turned to him and smiled. “It is. I already bought everything I need. Paint, knives, brushes, canvases... an easel. Sorry, I didn’t know you were going to buy me one. It’s good to have more than one though. Online shops are a bit impersonal.” You walked toward the door where he was waiting. “I miss the smell of art supply stores. It’s so intoxicating, it really gets the creative juices flowing.”

“What does it smell like?”

You closed your eyes and tried to concentrate. “It’s a mix of paint and paper, a woody pencil-sharpening smell mixed with chemicals and ash.”

“Sounds relaxing.”

“It’s heaven,” you said with a dreamy sigh.

Bucky gave you a fond smile and glanced at the keychain still in your hand. “So that’s where angels come from, uh?”

You laughed and pushed his good shoulder playfully. Ever since that fateful day when Bucky asked you out for coffee and you mistook his business date for a romantic date, you learned not to take the things he said too seriously. Bucky was a nice guy, a bit of a flirt sometimes, but his intentions were clear. He wanted a companion, not a girlfriend.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a flash, you went to your room and rearranged a few things while Bucky stayed in his office. At dinnertime you set the table while he finished cooking. You sat in front of a bowl of homemade soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.

After you had practically licked your bowl clean, Bucky leaned back in his chair and watched you with a grin. You felt a little embarrassed. You wiped your mouth with your napkin, trying to look a bit more well-mannered.

“It was really good,” you said.

“Thank you. I gotta say, I was tired of cooking for one. It’s not fun.” He put your empty bowl in his and carried them to the sink. You gathered up plates and utensils and followed him. “You’ll have to tell me what you don’t like.”

“As long as you don’t make me eat broccoli ice cream, I’m good.”

He laughed, remembering your conversation from a couple of week ago. “I don’t think I can stomach it either.” He handed you two small plates and two forks. “I bought a cake. I thought we could celebrate our first day together. Is it creepy? I can’t tell.”

“No, that’s a great idea!” you laughed. “You’re making me feel like it’s my birthday.”

You carried everything to the table while he opened the fridge and retrieved a large pink cardboard box. He balanced the box in his hand, a sharp knife sitting on top. “I’m surprised you didn’t bake it yourself,” you said, picking up the knife.

“Dessert isn’t my forte.” He opened the cardboard box, revealing a three-layer red velvet cake. “I’m too much of a perfectionist. I can make pretty decent pies but sponge cakes are hard to control when you only have one hand.”

“We can bake cakes together if you want. I’m clumsy as hell but I’m willing to learn.”

“That’d be nice,” he replied with a smile.

It was, without a doubt, the best cake you’d ever had in your life. It was incredibly light. The chocolate and vanilla burst in your mouth, mixing perfectly with the bitterness of the buttermilk.

“Red velvet is my favorite,” Bucky said, licking his fork. “Blueberry cheesecakes are good too. And Blackout cakes, umm, so good. Except fruitcakes,” he said, his mouth twisted into a downturned grimace. “Fruitcakes are the devil.”

“You’ve got quite the sweet tooth.”

“You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

After a minute of silence, you said, “The last time I ate red velvet cake, my sister had put too much white vinegar. It was disgusting but we didn’t want to hurt her feelings so we ate all of it.”

Bucky chuckled. “How many siblings do you have?”

It was a standard get-to-know-you question and you knew he would ask it at some point. Yet, it made your guts twist in pain. It was a question you always dreaded because you didn’t have a clear answer to it. Should you leave Pietro out? He was gone but he was still your brother.

“I, uh,” you mumbled, staring down at your half-eaten slice of cake. “I’m not sure what the answer is.” He frowned at you, confused. “Do you... do you count the ones you lost?”

Understanding flashed in his eyes and he gave you a patient smile. “Yes, I do.”

You met his eyes and tried to smile, though you were pretty sure it looked more like a grimace. “I have four siblings then.” You took a forkful of cake and chewed slowly, allowing yourself a few seconds to clear your thoughts. Without success.

“I was adopted,” you revealed. His eyebrows rose in surprise but he let you continue. “We were all adopted. My mom lost her husband when she was young. They wanted to have a big family but they were too busy working. They both had very demanding jobs.”

“What did they do?”

“He was in the military, and she was the co-founder of an extra-governmental military counter-terrorism and intelligence agency.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Bucky chuckled.

“You should hear their name.” He gave you a ‘go ahead’ look. “It’s the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

You watched Bucky process the name, waiting for the moment realization would dawn on him. Then his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? Your mom’s the co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.” He stared at you, his mouth wide open. “Your mom’s Peggy Carter!? Jesus Christ,” he sighed, shaking himself out of his stupor. “When we were kids, me, Stevie and a couple of other kids pretended to be secret agents working for S.H.I.E.L.D. We even had a name: the Howling Commandos.”

You screwed your eyes shut, a smile breaking across your face. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, embarrassment colouring his face. “I dunno why I’m telling you this. Please, don’t tell your mom.”

Your laughter died down, and you continued smiling at him. He was cute when he was flustered. You smothered that thought as soon as it materialized.

“I didn’t know she had adopted five kids.”

“Yeah, I guess her job as the co-founder of one the most important secret agency gave her the freedom to adopt without having to wait.”

“Do you get along with your siblings?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I mean, kinda. Scott, my older brother, is a few years younger than you. He’s really smart but he’s a big goof. He left for San Francisco when I was a kid. My sister, Okoye, left when I was 19. She’s King T’Chaka’s bodyguard.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” you chucked. “The twins are only three years older than me. We were really close, but then Pietro,” you took a small pause, “he, um, he died and, Wanda, she couldn’t stay anymore. It was too much, y’know. She went to Sokovia -where they were born- and she never came home. Last I heard, she was backpacking through Europe.”

“You still have your mom though,” Bucky said with a warm smile.

“She’s in London,” you said, smiling even though you had to dig your nails into your palm to keep yourself from crying. “She’s in a nursing home. She was diagnosed with a form of dementia, something similar to Alzheimer. She has no idea who I am.”

You tried to speak in a normal, detached tone but your voice wavered and you fought not to cry. Bucky reached for your hand, your nails had left half-moon indentations in your palm. Wordlessly, he smoothed his thumb over your palm, inspecting the damage.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice soft.

Until now it had never occurred to you that you had never said those things out loud before. Natasha knew because she’d been with you through all of it. She was your best friend, the only person who hadn’t abandoned you yet.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d met someone new, someone you felt comfortable enough to talk to about your family.

You didn’t want to end the day on a sad note, so you pulled yourself together. You straightened up, wiped your eyes and sniffed back the tingling feeling in your nose. Bucky seemed to notice that you wanted to change the subject because he let go of your hand and picked up his fork again.

“So,” you said after clearing your throat. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“It’s a serious question and it’s important that you tell me the truth.”

Bucky flinched, his throat working as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I promise.”

You took a deep breath and rotated your head left and right, working the kinks out of your neck and back. Then you levelled him with a direct stare.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Bucky recoiled as if he had misheard you. He looked momentarily startled by your question before he burst into laughter. When your face remained stoic, he realized you weren’t joking. “Oh? Umm, I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He seemed lost in thought for a second. “I like blue.”

“Which blue? Navy? Tiffany blue? Sapphire? Baby blue? Teal? Duck-egg? Turquoise?” you enumerated them quickly.

“Just...blue?” he replied carefully. You took a deep breath and released it slowly, shaking your head. “No, wait,” he added in a hurry. His eyebrows pinched together in concentration while he was trying to come up with a better answer. “The color of the sky when a storm is brewing. That’s my favorite color.”

You smirked. “Poetic.”

“Well, I’m a writer,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Oh no, you can’t ask me that. I’m a painter, it’s like asking a parent who their favourite child is.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, waving his hand to dismiss the question. “Let me ask you an equally important question.”

“Oh, boy,” you laughed.

The warmth of his laughter was reassuring. It made you feel at ease, calm. What you hadn’t realized yet was that you weren’t trying to change your personality to please him. You were yourself, flaws and all.

“When you read a book, how do you keep track of your reading?” he asked. “Do you use a bookmark? Receipts? Candy wrappers? Book ribbon? Do you fold the corner of the page? Do you leave the book face down or memorize the page number? I need to know.”

You didn’t have to think about it. “Dog ears.”

“Oh, God, you’re a folder.” He stared up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. “I think I got you all wrong. You’re not an angel, you’re a little demon.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line to hide a smile.

He quickly gathered up the dirty plates and carried them to the sink while you remained seated at the table, laughing. You turned in your chair and saw him fill the sink with hot water and suds. What kind of millionaire doesn’t own a dishwasher?

“I bet you also write in ‘em,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a hint of a smirk.

“No, I would never,” you said, joining him at the sink. “I like books that look old though. Cracked spines, folded corners, tea or coffee stains.”

“Please, stop I’m going to hyperventilate,” he joked.

You chuckled. “Do you a have a towel?” you asked, giving him a little tap with your hip so he would scoot sideways.

He let go of the knife he was washing and pulled out a towel from the cabinet under the sink. You were a bit in awe of the way he cleaned everything with only one hand but you didn’t want to sound condescending so you kept it to yourself.

“What’s the point of having books if they look like nobody’s ever opened them?” you said. “I want to know my books had a good life before I bought them. I want to know they were loved. Sometimes when you love something, you mess it up a little.” He rinsed a plate and handed it to you. “I bet you have one of those sentence pointer bookmarks.”

He stayed quiet for a moment and you cursed yourself, thinking you might have hurt his feelings with your little teasing. His meal plan was fucking laminated, of course he had a sentence pointer bookmark. When he spoke, you felt like you could breathe again.

“I do have a bookmark. My niece made it for me at school. It’s pink and it has a braided pink and purple ribbon. No sentence pointer.”

His rueful smile and slightly red cheeks made your chest warm. You had to remind yourself that Bucky wasn’t flirting with you. He was just being nice.

“I’m jealous,” you said. “I wish I had one.”

“That can be arranged,” he nodded, his bottom lip jutting out in a pensive pout.

You wondered what this would look like if someone were to enter the room right now. They’d see you and Bucky, standing side by side at the sink as though you were the protagonists of a Norman Rockwell painting called ‘Domestic Bliss’. You wanted more days like this one.

“Yeah?” you breathed out. “You sure?”

“Anything for you, angel.”

Part 6

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years ago

Text

“All you have to do is ask” Chapter 4 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // next chapter

Summary: The morning after! How awkward could it be when Reader and Dr. Reid meet in the bullpen the next morning? An honest conversation turns smutty and Reader is starting to rethink some decisions.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Word Count: 3.6k for Chapter 4

Content Warnings: No smut actually happens this chapter, but there is a lot of smutty talk. BDSM themes. Fluff. Tiny bit of angst if you squint.

A/n: This chapter was initially just supposed to be filler, but when I sat down to write it, it became really important to me. The way BDSM dynamics are presented is really important to me, so I wanted to do it justice. The actually femdom kicks off in Chapter 5 😌 (Also, tumblr isn’t letting me tag some people and its slowly driving me insane.)

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized text are Reader’s thoughts.

-- Chapter 4 – “Please don’t lie to me.” --

I wasn’t sure what I expected to happen when I got to work the following morning; my mind spun in circles while the elevator slowly brought me to the floor that housed our elite FBI unit. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from straying to last night.

Spencer had fallen asleep with his head in my lap, my fingers moving softly over his scalp, brushing through his curls. I sat there for longer than I wanted to admit, lost in thought. How did I let this happen? I thought over and over again. Did I break my rules because I knew Spencer? I trusted him with my life; I trusted the entire time with my life, I had to. Perhaps that’s why I let him kiss me, let him touch me. I trusted the good doctor in a way I hadn’t trusted anyone I had been intimate with in a long time.

That must be it. I refused to look at it on a deeper level; I couldn’t. I had to keep my feelings in check. I wouldn’t risk my job, my life, my world over unchecked emotions. Not again.

The metal doors slid open; the bullpen was already buzzing with activity at 7:50 in the morning. I usually arrived earlier, but I had stopped for coffee. I reasoned that it was just a treat for myself; not an excuse to avoid the office coffee station, which we all knew was the domain of Dr. Spencer Reid. I hadn’t received any messages from Garcia or Hotch, leading me to assume today was another day of paperwork.

I tried to stop my eyes from searching for him, but it was no use. He was like a magnet for my senses. Most of us typed up our reports and only wrote when we had to, but most of us were not Dr. Reid. He was hunched over, papers scattered over his desk in some pattern of order only he would understand. His pen scribbled quickly over the pages, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

It wasn’t until he glanced up suddenly that I became aware of the world around me; someone had said my name, alerting him to my presence. Looking around, I shot Prentiss a smile, her gaze already on my face. “Hi, Em,” I said in greeting.

Her smile confirmed my suspicions that she was the one who had spoken. “Did you do anything fun last night? You didn’t answer my text.”

Who, me? “Oh, nothing much,” I said brightly, placing my bag at my desk, setting my coffee down. “I just did some stuff around the house. I’m sorry I didn’t see your text.” I hadn’t seen her text until hours after she sent it. I was so wrapped up in that man I didn’t even look at my phone. For hours.

One of the wonderful things about SSA Emily Prentiss is that nothing phased her; she had lived a life that was too complicated and dangerous to sweat the small stuff. “Not a problem. Are you doing anything tonight? Garcia is trying to organize a girl’s night.”

I could still feel my boy’s eyes on me. “No, I don’t have any plans. If she asks me, I’ll let you know.” Prentiss scoffed, turning back to her work. We both knew Garcia would ask.

Don’t look, don’t look, I kept repeating to myself; but how could I not? Slowly, my head turned towards him, finding him already staring at me. To anyone else, his face would have appeared blank, but after last night, I knew him better than that. He didn’t have his glasses on today, he wore a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his messy curls hanging in a state of permanent disarray around his face. Calling his eyes brown was doing them an injustice; not quite hazel, they were filled with so many tiny shards of color, giving them a depth I had never noticed before last night.

No, his face wasn’t blank; his face was filled with uncertainty. When he eventually woke up last night, he lifted his head from my lap quickly, his cheeks red with embarrassment. I hadn’t said anything; I kissed his cheek and walked out of his apartment. My poor nervous, beautiful boy. I offered him a small, soft smile. This didn’t have to change anything. Not if he didn’t want it to.

Just because you expect something doesn’t mean you’re ready for it; that’s a lesson I had learned a long time ago that had always held true. I expected Dr. Reid to try and talk to me at some point today. I expected it, but I wasn’t ready when he finally cornered me on my way back to the bullpen from the bathroom. I felt his presence before I saw him; he stepped around the corner, briefly meeting my eyes before he started shuffling awkwardly.

He cleared his throat. “H-hey, y/n. I was…I was hoping that I could talk to you for a minute?”

Still such a nervous boy. I gave him a nod; I knew he needed answers. It wasn’t fair to ignore him just because I was uncomfortable with how I was feeling. I had done this before, Spencer hadn’t. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what Spencer had done before. I turned as he walked past me, following him down the hallway until we reached JJ’s old office. It was filled with old boxes and scattered with case files. It was as private as we were going to get.

I waited for the boy genius to speak first; it might have been cruel, but I really didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know how to begin. How was I supposed to start this conversation when I remembered the noises he made when his cock was in my mouth? When I could still see the desperation in his eyes when he begged me to cum? After I had gone home last night, I lay in my bed until I couldn't resist the urge anymore. I slid my hand into my panties and remembered those sounds, how he looked, as I brought myself to a powerful orgasm.

I had masturbated thinking about Spencer Reid. That probably wasn't as earth-shattering as I was making it out to be, but I didn't do those sorts of things. I didn't do this shit with someone I work with…someone who has some form of power over any part of my life. I wasn't vulnerable; I was never vulnerable.

“Y/n,” his voice cracked on the last letter of my name. “I…I wanted to talk about yesterday.”

“I figured.” I kept my tone light. Despite my complicated feelings about the situation, I really did care about Spencer. I knew that for certain. Seeing him nervous, squirming, and desperate yesterday was one of the sexiest moments of my life. Seeing him nervous, squirming, and desperate today was different; it made my heart squeeze.

He gave me a smile. “I know we didn’t…talk about things before or after. But…I wanted to thank you.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him, earning a beautiful flush rising on the apples of his cheeks. “No, not about that,” his voice squeaked out, furthering my amusement. “I meant for staying with me. Last night. You could have left after we were…done. But you didn’t. You knew I needed to be close to you…and you stayed with me.” Dr. Reid finally stopped fidgeting, his words less rushed, but still tinged in nervousness. “No matter what happens after this, that meant a lot to me. So, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for knowing you needed aftercare, Spencer.”

“Yes, I do.” Those three words made my breath stutter. Did he know? Did he know how scared I was? Could he tell how badly I wanted to run from the feelings he brought up in me? Knowing my luck, probably.

“You’re welcome, Pretty Boy.” Spencer smiled at the nickname, but I could tell he wasn’t done. Thanking me wasn’t the only reason he’d pulled me in here. I decided to speak before he got the chance to again. “Can I ask you a question?” When he nodded, I asked what I had wanted to know since the moment I met him. “Are you a virgin, Spencer?”

He must have known it was coming; he tried to keep his face impassive, but I could see the embarrassment in his micro-expressions. "No, y/n. I'm not a virgin…" Not super convincing, Doc. “I’m really not,” he gave a small huff of amusement. “I’ve had sex before…just not a lot.”

There is it. “What is not a lot?”

My boy shifted his weight from foot to foot then. "I had sex for the first time when I was 24, right after I joined the Bureau. I've gone on a few dates since then…It's lead to some…stuff, but it's never gone that far again."

“So, you’ve had sex with one person? Was that a woman or a man?”

“She was a woman.” I loved that he didn’t seem offended at the question. Spencer didn’t put on airs of hypermasculinity; I wonder if he had ever given any thought to his sexuality, or if he just accepted that it was what it was.

“Okay. Have you ever thought about having sex with a man?” This wasn’t relevant, I was just curious.

Spencer licked his lips; I could tell this conversation required a lot of courage from him. "Yes. I've been asked out…I've gone on two dates with men." He smiled when my eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’ve kissed men, but men are…they’re so aggressive. At least the ones I have been interested in.”

“Is aggression bad?”

“No,” he went on quickly. “It’s not, usually. I just…I don’t pick up on cues very well. I didn’t feel…safe with them. I was attracted to them, and I wanted to have sex with them…but I didn’t want to do that unless I felt like the person cared about me.” His voice shook, but his eyes never left mine, even as his fingers began to fidget with the end of his tie. “With you…yesterday, I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. I knew you’d…you’d stop if I wanted you to. And you made me feel like it was okay.” Fuck, why does he do this to my heart? “You made it feel like exploring my sexuality was okay. With you.”

I took a step towards him then; I couldn’t stop myself. He was the sun, lighting up the entire room, and I was just a mere mortal that wanted to stand in his light. I raised my hand to cup his cheek, gazing up at him; he was so tall, so much taller than me. “Exploring your sexuality is okay, Doc.” My voice was firm, leaving no room for debate. “It’s important to feel safe with the people you explore it with. You should never do something that makes you uncomfortable or with a person that doesn’t care about you. I’m honored that you saw that in me.”

He wanted to kiss me; I knew he did, I could see it in his eyes…but he didn’t. I don’t know if it was because we were at work or because he was afraid that I would reject him. I wouldn’t have. His hand came up to cover my own, pulling it down from his face so he could lace his fingers through mine. Just like my kissing him, it wasn’t lost on me that holding my hand was significant to him.

“I know we didn’t talk about it,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. We work together…but, I like you. I trust you. And…if you wanted- if you’re okay with it…I’d like to explore what we talked about yesterday. With you.”

I knew he would want to. Who wouldn’t want to explore the unknown? Especially a curious man like my Dr. Reid? Despite all of that, my heart couldn’t help but swell at his declaration. I loved being dominant in the bedroom. I found that amount of control arousing beyond belief, and I’d never say otherwise. But there was something about the trust that my submissive put in me that fulfilled a different part of me. To be trusted like this…It was something so important and it triggered a feeling of pride in myself. I was worthy of their trust.

I squeezed his hand. “Okay, Doc.” He looked so fucking hopeful. “We can discuss it. This is the unsexy part of any BDSM dynamic. We have to talk…a lot. Communication is what makes this work.” And I do want this to work, which was terrifying. “I want you to take some time to think about this,” I hurried on when it looked like he’d interrupt me. “You need to do some research, Doc. I want you to look at things and decide what or how you want to proceed. Or if you even want to proceed. If you change your mind, that is okay.” He needs to know that. “Then we can have a discussion and go from there.”

Spencer nodded, seeming more comfortable now that he had a task to focus on. “What about work?”

“That’s an important thing to talk about too. Obviously, we can’t do anything obvious at work. There are cameras everywhere. And we need to focus on cases.” He made a noise of agreement. “We need to talk about what works for us. If you’re open to playing together when we’re on a case in certain settings, like back at our hotel, if you want this to be a monogamous dynamic, signals, safe words, and how we establish when a scene starts.”

His eyebrows were so high I was worried they’d disappear into his hairline. “O-okay.”

I smiled. “Good. Think it over; you know where I’ll be.”

Again, just because you expect something doesn't mean you're ready for it. I expected Spencer to want to talk to me again, but I wasn't ready for the text message that popped up on my phone at 6:03 pm.

“I’d like to talk whenever you are free.”

A normal person wouldn’t have been able to do the required research in just 40 minutes, which was the maximum amount of time he could have been home for; but Spencer Reid wasn’t a normal person.

Which is why I text Emily and Garcia some lame excuse about backing out of girl’s night before I told Spencer I was free tonight.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to cancel girl’s night.”

Fucking profilers with eidetic memories. “I’d rather do this. I’ll see you in 20.”

I raised my hand to knock on his door but felt myself pause before my knuckles connected to the wood.

What the fuck am I doing? It was a valid question. It wasn’t too late to back out…but it was also far too late to back out. Before my fingers could decide if they wanted to knock or not, the door in question swung open to reveal the curly-headed man that plagued my thoughts.

He was in the same clothes he wore to work that day, only his tie was missing, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. Spencer’s hair always looked like he just woke up, his curls having a mind of their own and he couldn’t be bothered to tame them. They looked different right now; it was like he had been running his hands through his hair.

I offered him a smile. “Hi, Doc.”

“Hi, y/n.” With a smile of his own, he waved an arm, ushering me into the apartment. It didn’t look any different than it had yesterday, not really. It just felt different. I walked over to his couch, just like I had yesterday. I sat on the same cushion, just like I had yesterday. Everything just felt so different.

Spencer sat beside me, just like yesterday. “I feel bad about making you cancel girl’s night.”

“Don’t. You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do, Doc.” I pushed my hair behind my ear; a nervous habit I hope he hadn’t picked up on quite yet. “I want to be here.”

“I want you to be here too.”

It’s unprofessional to swoon, y/n. Get it together.

I mentally shook myself. “Right. So, where do you want to start.”

“Why do you hold your submissives at such a distance?” he licked his lips; he was nervous, but his gaze never dropped from mine. “I respect you and your decisions, but I would really like to understand.”

“…Well, that’s certainly a place to start,” I gave an awkward chuckle. He didn’t return my amusement. My curious boy really wanted to know. “I told you, I got my heart broken. That’s it.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to pressure you,” his voice was so fucking earnest. “I just…I don’t understand. I want to understand. You don’t have to tell me everything, but please don’t lie to me.”

Shame washed over me; I had been stressing how important open and honest communication is and here I am avoiding something because it makes me uncomfortable. This had never been an issue before; none of my previous subs had ever wanted to know. But how could I even explain how embarrassed I was? How stupid I had been? How I gave someone my entire heart when I didn’t even know the kind of person he really was? How could I explain the choices a 22-year-old girl made?

"You're right, Spence," I took a deep breath. "Trust is important. I won't lie to you, but please understand that I'm not comfortable talking about it right now. I've never talked about it with anyone." I reached out for his hand, holding it softly in mine. "It's not that I don't want you, I just…haven't done that with anyone in such a long time."

He didn’t understand, hell, I didn’t even understand, but he accepted what I said…for now, anyway. “Okay,” he squeezed my hand. “We don’t have to do that, and you don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready.”

My mouth couldn’t help but turn up into a smile. This man. “Thank you.” I let go of his hand, clasping both of mine together and putting them in my lap. I wanted to touch him, but I needed him to not feel any pressure from me for the next part of our conversation. “Now, we need to talk about limits and expectations.” He began shifting in his seat. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but this is all part of it. I assume you’ve done some research, so tell me about what interests you and what doesn’t.”

My boy looked so unsure of himself; he was bearing such a vulnerable part of himself to me, and he was frightened. But no matter how afraid he was, my boy was also brave. “I-…I don’t have any real frame of reference. I’d like to experiment with some things before I decide if it’s a hard limit for me or not.” I nodded in an attempt to encourage him. “I don’t want extreme pain. Or things that are…unsanitary.”

I laughed. “I never expected any different.”

Maybe my laugh relaxed him; he didn't seem quite as tense as he went on. "I'd like to…touch you when you allow it. I've never…really done anything with a woman outside of just penetration. I know the basics of how to…I just would like to do those things. With you. If you ever felt comfortable." I'm almost positive I was blushing now. Spencer Reid, Dr. Spencer Reid, the pride of the BAU wanted to do things to please me; and I was tempted to let him. Who would have thought? “You don’t have to decide now…but the moment you feel comfortable, I’m ready.” His eyes ran up and down my body, I could see his throat work when he swallowed. “I’m really ready.”

After a beat, he went on, “Beyond that, I’m interested in being restrained. I like the idea of choking…but I’m nervous about it. The idea of giving up control and following order is what fascinates me. I…I also wanted to tr-try what you mentioned. In Nebraska.”

As I live and breathe. "Spencer, are you asking me to fuck you?" He knew what I meant; I could see it in the way he bit his lip. "Do you want me to tie you to my bed and make you beg for me to fuck your ass?"

He tried to disguise that whimper, but I fucking heard it. “I-I…It’s not uncommon for men to like that sort of stimulation, given that-“

I raised my hand, placing a finger on his lips before I broke my own rules again. I leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his full pink lips. “No shame here, pretty boy. None at all, especially with me.” He watched my mouth move, his posture becoming less tense. “I’d love to fuck you. Pegging a man is something I found arousing, Spencer. The thought of doing it to you turns me on. We can work up to it.”

The smile he gave me was so hesitant and sweet. "Okay." He waited a minute before he went on. "I know that you don't always orgasm with your subs…you don't let them make you cum. I don't want to pressure you or make you uncomfortable, but I really, really want to make you cum." I clenched my thighs together. Jesus fucking Christ. “If you’re comfortable, I’d like for you…for that to be part of what we do together. You’re so beautiful when you cum, y/n. I thought about it last night after you went home. I thought about how you taste…I really want to taste you again.”

Fuck. I really wanted him to taste me again too.

taglist: @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool

Series tag list: @abschaffer2 @liaabsurd @brokenanxiety @thisiscalmandits-dr @less-intelligent-spencerreid @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @cielo1984 @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @101donuts @heyitssarahk @creepingfromthecorners

Let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist. Thanks for reading :)

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bexterbex · 5 years ago

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A Soul to Mend His Own | Masterlist | Kylo Ren x Reader | Completed

Here is the Masterlist for A Soul to Mend His Own.

CHECK THE TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE DON’T READ| Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother, but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren

Warning, if it hasn’t been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

Chapters:

Before it All Begins 1

An Arrival to Be Remembered 2

Of Speculation and Anticipation 3

When the Machine Starts 4

In anticipation of registration 5

Registration or Interrogation 6

The Beginning of an Education 7a

Supplemental 7b

An Unexpected Meeting 8

Packing Up 9a

Supplemental 9b

Of Pageantry and Health 10

A Room to be Shared 11

An Awkward Goodnight 12

Into the War Room 13

Dirty Politics 14

Forcing Space 15

An Uncomfortable Phone Call 16

Spaceflix and Chill? 17

Before the Committee 18

Building the Foundation of Health 19

Healthy and Happy? 20

The Beginning of a Long Education 21

The Founding of a Regime 22

Touchy Subjects 23

Think of the Children 24

Of Pride and Pryde 25

Reconditioning and Lack of Information 26

Of Burning Fire and Water 27

Distractions 28

Blackout 29

Taking Your Breath Away 30

A Dinner to Remember 31

A Morning Exercise 32

First Order Propaganda Posters I Have Created

The End of the Committee 33

Leaving without Notice 34

From Sleep to Sleep 35

Woman’s Stuff 36

You Want Out 37

A Watched Songbird 38

No But They Can Try 39

A Beautiful Songbird 40

Going Home 41

Lies and Pleasure 42

A Decision is Made 43

Facing the Consequences 44

A Decision is Put in Place 45

Packing Up Again 46

Leaving and Arriving 47

Learning Boundaries 48

Playing Dress Up 49

Demanding Answers 50

Receiving Answers 51

Gossip and Glass 52

Day Drinking? 53

Learning and Encouraging 54

Execution 55

Broken 56

The Dinner Pt. 1 | 57

The Dinner Pt. 2 | 58

Dreams 59

First Lady 60

The Hold on Your Mind 61

Dreams Again 62

Taking Over You 63

Empty 64

A Rose by Any Other Name 65

Without a Proposal 66

Planning a Wedding 67

Mustafar 68

Wedding Bells 69

A Guard Dog and His Kitten 70

The Answers You Were Seeking 71

Ink and Lies 72

Behind Glass Windows 73

False Freedom 74

Exegol 75

How to Treat an Empress 76

Attack Dog 77

The End of a War 78

It Will Be Done 79

Epilogue 80

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo x reader #kylo x you #kylo #star wars #star wars imagine #Star wars soulmate au #first order #sw first order imagine #ben solo #ben solo x reader #a soul to mend his own #masterlist #completed masterlist #completed

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xiyao-feels · 4 years ago

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A Comparison of the Stairs Dialogue in CQL vs MDZS, Pt 1

(Pt 2)

A few introductory notes:

-This wasn't intended to be a big project post; I was just doing the comparison because I thought it was interesting. As I went I thought other people would probably find it interesting too, and it would be worth having it all written down, so I did turn it into a post after all. But I'm not really arguing any central point or anything; I'm really just comparing the dialogue and writing down my thoughts as I go.

-This also of course means my usual pro-JGY and consequently very annoyed at NMJ biases are on display. As ever, if this will upset you, please don't read!!

-This is a comparison of the text of the dialogue, not everything about their interaction; I don't necessarily note it if e.g. the acting doesn't match the dialogue tags in MDZS, or what have you.

-To do a proper comparison, you really need to compare the Chinese text, not the English translation; this is what I'm doing, though of course I've included the English from the Youtube subs, for CQL, and from the Exiled Rebels translation for MDZS. (For the Youtube subs I recorded "Yao" as A-Yao and used da-ge instead of Big brother when 大哥 was used and er-ge when 二哥 was used, just because this is my habit when copying down the dialogue.)

-Speaking of which: for MDZS, I just copied from the text, but for the CQL dialogue both English and Chinese I copied down the subs. I don't actually speak Chinese, but fortunately CQL on Youtube has the Chinese subs as well; my reading level in Chinese is also completely terrible, but I can often recognize most or many of the characters, and what I can't I can find by identifying radicals or drawing it in a handwriting recognition thing, etc. I did my best to be careful and thorough, and I also checked it against the Chinese subs I downloaded from Netflix, but there may still be some errors, fair warning. This also means that, unlike the Chinese from MDZS, the CQL Chinese dialogue isn't punctuated beyond spacing it out as it appeared on the screen; this is because the Chinese subs aren't punctuated, and I am certainly not going to make that judgement myself.

-The characters that differ in a given line between the MDZS and CQL versions are bolded, to help make the difference visually clear.

With that aside, the comparison is below the cut.

CQL

LXC: 阿瑶大哥他心性不比从前你千万不要再惹怒他了他最近深受刀灵侵扰之苦若不是你日日给他弹清心音的话恐怕他 A-Yao. Da-ge's temperament is getting worse. Don't ever displease him again. He's been subject to the harassment of his blade lately. If you hadn't been playing Cleansing Music for him everyday, I'm afraid he'd be…

MDZS

LXC: 只是一时气愤，口不择言罢了。大哥现在心性不比从前，你千万不要再惹怒他了。他最近深受刀灵侵扰之苦，怀桑又和他争吵置气，到今天还没和好。 His anger was simply too great for him to have thought before speaking. Brother’s temper cannot compare to how it was in the past. You must not provoke him again. These past few days, he has been deeply troubled by the saber spirit, and HuaiSang has argued with him again. They still have not made up yet, even today.

I'm comparing the CQL dialogue to the equivalent dialogue in MDZS, but of course in MDZS this exchange isn't before the stairs in ch 49; rather it's part of a broader conversation NMJ hears before he bursts in to try and kill JGY on the spot, because he doesn't like how JGY is talking to LXC about him, in ch 50. (Note, incidentally, how obviously impossible this renders the task of not displeasing da-ge, even aside from his not being satisfied with anything less than Xue Yang's head, as JGY and LXC were having a private conversation at the time.) The mention of NMJ and NHS' falling out is removed, replaced with the information that JGY has been playing to MMJ "every day"; the reference to NMJ calling JGY son of a whore is of course removed, since it hasn't happened yet. One effect of this relocation is on our understanding of LXC's injunction not to "displease him again/provoke him again" (再惹怒他 in both). In MDZS, this seems to refer to the stairs incident where JGY talked back (as the text notes, unusually); here perhaps it might be read as suggesting that JGY somehow has a habit of avoidably displeasing NMJ, which I think is absurd.

However, that's not the only possible interpretation. Although CQL doesn't quite give us the scene mentioned in chapter 30, where NMJ shows up and lectures JGS into announcing XY would be executed (…and heaps abuse on JGY when he tries to intervene, terrifying JGY sufficiently that he hides behind LXC—observe that in the sentence immediately prior to this we are also told that NMJ had unsheathed his sabre), in episode 35 we are told that all the clans wanted to punish XY except for JGS, and given a brief flashback to JGS yelling. Therefore, I think, it's not unreasonable to assume that something like the scene described in ch 30 occurred in CQL. Perhaps LXC is referring to this, although of course JGY would still be held between the fatal opposition of NMJ's and his father's wishes.

It's also relevant of course that in removing the surrounding context, CQL removes the context of the conversation of JGY expressing his pain about how NMJ treats him, and LXC replying, and rather turns it into an apparently unprompted expression of concern on LXC's part.

CQL

NMJ: 金光瑶 Jin Guangyao!

MDZS

It's worth noting, I think, that in MDZS NMJ never refers to JGY as "Jin Guangyao" throughout the entire stairs encounter.

CQL

LXC: 大哥怎么了 Da-ge, what's wrong?

MDZS

LXC: 大哥 Da-ge?

CQL

NMJ: 你别动你出来 (to LXC) Don't move. (to JGY) Come out.

MDZS

NMJ: 你别动你出来 (to LXC) Don't move. (To JGY) Come out.

CQL

JGY: 二哥劳烦你帮我再过一眼百花宴贵宾的名单我先去和大哥说点私事回头再请你讲解 Er-ge, please check the list of guests of the Floral Banquet for me. I need to talk some private affairs with da-ge. I'll explain it to you later.

MDZS

JGY: 二哥劳烦你再帮我理一理这条，我先去和大哥说点私事，回头再请你讲解 Brother, could you please help me go through this one? I have some private matters to discuss with our eldest brother. I’ll have to ask for your explanation at a later time.

Interestingly the exact same sentence in the Chinese, 回头再请你讲解, is translated in CQL as JGY's promise to explain later—where the implication seems to be he'll explain about what he's discussing with NMJ, perhaps?—and in MDZS as JGY's intention to ask /LXC/ to explain (the work he's going over in JGY's absence) later. In MDZS, of course, they're working on the watchtowers…while in CQL host with the most LXC is /helping JGY put his banquet guest lists together/, omg. I wish they'd kept more about the watchtowers but I admit I enjoy this as well. They plan parties together!

In both CQL and MDZS NMJ tries to hit JGY after they are outside and before further words are exchanged.

CQL

JGY: 大哥何必如此有话好说 Da-ge. Why act like this? We can talk nicely, can't we?

MDZS

JGY: 大哥，何必如此，有话好说。 Brother, why the rage? Let’s calm down.

CQL

NMJ: 薛洋呢 Where is Xue Yang?

MDZS

NMJ: 薛洋呢 Where's Xue Yang?

CQL

JGY: 他已被关入地牢终身不释 He's been shut up in the dungeon, for life time.

MDZS

JGY: 他已被关入地牢，终身不释…… He’s already been locked inside the dungeon, imprisoned for life…

CQL

NMJ: 我当年在不净世是怎么跟你说的我要他血债血偿你却给他来个终身不释 What did I tell you in the Yet Clean Realm at that time? I want him to pay his killing debts. You now give him life imprisonment.

MDZS

NMJ: 当初你在我面前是怎么说的 (JGY is silent) 我要他血债血偿，你却给他个终身不释？ What did you say to me back then? (JGY is silent) I wanted him to pay blood with blood, yet you have him imprisoned for life?

"What did you say to me back then" is interesting; we're not actually given a specific time or a specific thing said, which means we must speculate. An obvious candidate for 'back then' would be the ch 30 scene previously mentioned, when NMJ convinces the Jin to announce that they'll execute XY. Yet the Jin giving in on executing XY seems to come /after/ JGY is sufficiently frightened by NMJ that he hides behind LXC, "not daring to say anything else." NMJ is perhaps conflating JGY with JGY's father, or perhaps assigning to JGY an authority he does not in fact possess, as though JGY and not JGS was the person who made decisions for the Jin.

In CQL of course NMJ takes the position that /Jin Guangyao/ owes him obedience because Meng Yao used to be NMJ's servant—not even just that, but that Jin Guangyao must display obedience to orders NMJ gave several years ago, when JGY was MY. This is absurd and insulting, and even before NMJ actually calls him Meng Yao it demonstrates that NMJ does not actually recognize JGY's legitimacy /as/ Jin Guangyao. Honestly, I don't have the words.

CQL

JGY: 只要他受到惩罚无法再犯终身不释和血债血偿也并无 As long as he's punished, and can't recommit crimes, I can't see the difference between life imprisonment and death sentence.

MDZS

JGY: 只要他受到惩罚，无法再犯，终身不释与血债血偿也并无…… As long as he receives his punishment and can’t offend again, perhaps paying blood with blood and being imprisoned for life is…

CQL

NMJ: 我问你当年在不净世究竟是谁放走了薛洋是我的总领还是你 Tell me. When we were at Yet Clean Realm, who on earth released Xue Yang? It was my captain, or you?

MDZS

NMJ: 你举荐的好客卿，做出的好事情！事到如今你还敢袒护他！ The good things that the good guest cultivator whom you recommended has done! Things are already like this and you still dare defend him!

Imho, this gets to a central fault in the CQL XY storyline—why the heck is NMJ trying to have XY killed for the Chang killings, instead of for collaborating with the Wen and/or for killing a bunch of his men??????

I tend to put that aside because it doesn't… actually… make any sense at all, especially since CQL NMJ is quite clearly still preoccupied with XY's old crimes.

CQL

JGY: 我没有我为什么要放走他不过当初是当初现在常萍已经翻供没有任何明确证据证明薛洋屠杀了常氏五十人而我父亲又一定要留下这个人 It wasn't me. Why should I let him go? But the past is in the past, Chang Ping had withdrawn his confession. No certain evidence can prove that Xue Yang had massacred 50 people of Chang clan. And my father insists on keeping him alive.

MDZS

JGY: 我没有袒护他，栎阳常氏那件事我也很震惊，我怎会料到薛洋会杀了人全家五十多口人？可我父亲一定要留着这个人…… I didn’t defend him. I was also shocked by the case of the Changyang Yue Sect. How could I have known that Xue Yang would kill more than fifty people? But my father was set on keeping him…

So—I'm sorry, that in CQL Chang Ping has already withdrawn his testimony makes this completely absurd. In MDZS, that doesn't happen until /after/ NMJ's death, after the Jin have been hounding him! In CQL, the situation appears to be that they have officially condemned him to the dungeons for life /purely based on NMJ's pressure/, with no actual clear evidence at all—and note that unlike in MDZS, where the Chang killings happened like a month beforehand and XXC presents the evidence that it was XY to the assembled clans, in CQL the killings happened /several years ago before a war/ and Songxiao didn't present any evidence it was XY to anyone else at the time that we saw. I mean, they didn't need to because at the time he confessed when challenged,* but it's not at all clear to me what if any evidence is left! And—in this situation where the one surviving victim is publically saying it wasn't XY, and they're /still officially locking him up for life on NMJ's say-so/—NMJ thinks that JGY should nevertheless go and execute XY.

*To an audience that if I am not misremembering included JC, who was alive and a sect leader independent from NMJ and could presumably have been asked to testify at the trial. This doesn't seem to ever be mentioned, however. Again, the CQL XY subplot doesn't make a huge amount of sense.

I can only guess that they moved up the Chang Ping revokes his testimony timeline to emphasize Jin power? But to me it has almost the opposite effect, since if they're still locking XY up on NMJ's say-so it rather suggests /NMJ's/ power; and more to the point it makes NMJ's already frankly unreasonable demand completely and ludicrously absurd.

CQL

NMJ: 为什么他身上还有一块阴铁你不知道吗你把他重新招揽回来究竟是为了什么你自己心里清楚 Why? Don't you know he's got a shard of Yin Iron on him? You're trying to reclaim him now. I can clearly see what you have in mind.

MDZS

NMJ: 震惊？招揽他的是谁？举荐他的是谁？重用他的是谁？少拿你父亲当幌子，薛洋在干什么，你会不知道吗？！ Shocked? Who was the one that invited him? Who was the one that recommended him? Who was the one that regarded him highly? Don’t use your father as excuse. How could you not have known what Xue Yang was doing?!

English of course doesn't distinguish between plural and singular second-person, but I think it's worth noting that NMJ is using singular here, 你, and not plural. This is true in both CQL and MDZS. In MDZS, I think the problem is that, although he is in fact referring to things JGY individually did, he refuses to accept the truth of JGY's position: that whatever JGY knew or did not know, he can't actually afford to kill XY if that's not what JGS wants. In CQL, by contrast, the problem is that he's locating the desire to obtain the Yin Iron specifically in JGY, despite JGS'…well, JGS' entire everything.

CQL

JGY: 大哥真的是我父亲的命令我无法拒绝你现在要我处置薛洋我该怎么去跟他交代 Da-ge, this is really my father's order. I couldn't deny. If you want me to execute Xue Yang now, in which way can I report this to him?

MDZS

JGY: 大哥，真的是我父亲的命令。我没法拒绝。你现在要我处置薛洋，你让我怎么跟他交代 Brother, it really was my father’s orders. I couldn’t refuse. Now, if you want me to take care of Xue Yang, what would I say to him?

The use of 你 vs the more formal 您 throughout this exchange is interesting. In their exchange before JGY goes outside with NMJ, he uses 你 for LXC; here, he uses 你 for NMJ, but you can see throughout the exchange he seems to use both. It would probably be very interesting to go through the text and observe which JGY uses, to whom, and when.

CQL

MDZS

NMJ: 不必废话，提薛洋头来见。 There’s no need for explanations. Come back to me with Xue Yang’s head in your hand.

CQL

—

MDZS

JGY "wanted to speak"

I think the upshot of these exchanges is much the same in CQL and in MDZS, despite its shortening in CQL: NMJ utterly rejects the validity of JGY's desire to give NMJ a /reason/ for going against JGS' explicit wishes, the explicit wishes, I remind you, of a man he has a moral duty to obey as his clan head and father. Truly, we can only imagine how NMJ would react to JGY killing someone against the wishes of the leader of the clan he served because he deserves it in JGY's own moral judgement… Except of course we don't have to imagine it, because it occurs in both CQL and MDZS, albeit differently. It's not that NMJ recognizes as a general principle that subordinates should be allowed to kill people against their leader's wishes if that subordinate judges their victim deserves it; it's simply that he believes in the primacy of his own, obviously righteous judgement. (And in CQL, again, there isn't any actual definite evidence, and Chang Ping has retracted his testimony.)

I think the main things the slightly more extended MDZS version has, not present in CQL, is, first, the explicit visual of XY's head, and second, that NMJ's subsequent response isn't a response to JGY's actual speech; JGY was about to speak in reply, and NMJ responds in irritation to what he thinks JGY is going to say—responds, indeed, by calling him 'Meng Yao'.

(Next)

#long meta #anger burned in his heart #more than one tag could contain #we can't change places

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papergirllife · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 2

Synopsis:

You don’t know what it’s like to be free, to make your own choices, and live your own life. For your whole life, your parents have been treating you like a puppet on strings, controlling your life to every single detail, as well as ignoring the fact that you have feelings. Other times, when you disobey their wishes, or speak up about your own opinions, they bash you down with words, in other words, psychological abuse, has led you down the long winded road of depression and anxiety. What happens when you meet a man who’s willing to be your guide out of this terrible downpour? Would you give a shot at happily ever after?

Warnings:

big age gap (kinda?)

issues on anxiety

issues on depression (mild)

issues on parental abuse

smut (maybe)

Tag List: @etherealtyjaem , @caratzennie , @johnnysuhnflower , @euphoricchannie , @yeollieseo , @jjhmk , @sherzess

(lmk if you wanna be on the list) (and sorry for reposting, it just won’t show on the tags)

The new house you’ve just moved in was small, you were perfectly fine with the size, you always stayed in your room anyways, the sizes elsewhere doesn’t really matter. It wouldn’t have been an issue if they weren’t making a fuss outside. They were yet again arguing about the company’s debts and complaining about the recent stock market turn outs. Your parents sold the old house in order to pay off some of the company loans, moving into a decent condominium in the older township.

Why are they so obnoxiously loud? Why can’t they talk like normal civilised people? They had an awful habit of shouting from one room to another, even if it’s about 3 feet apart, the study to the kitchen like it was just steps away.

You placed your pillow on top of your ear as the other was covered with the other one you’re sleeping on, you woke up from nightmares just this morning and needed a nap, but from the looks of things, you weren’t getting one anytime soon.

You reluctantly got up from your bed and told them to lower down their voices, but they just ignored you, as they always did. After the third time of fruitless attempt, you’ve given up hope on resting, but your body wasn’t happy with what was happening, the voices in your head hammering in your head, blaming you for what happened as you felt your heartbeat quicken, your breathing staggered. You could feel your whole body tense up as tears started to cloud your vision.

You inhaled deep breaths as you tried to push the anxiety attack away, humming a song, fiddling with a pen, but nothing you read on the internet helped. You hugged your knees towards your chest as you sat on the corner of your room, trying to muffle your choked sobs. A sentence you kept repeating in your head like a mantra,

‘make it stop.’

It’s currently 10 a.m. and your parents are rushing you to hurry up with your morning routine as they have an important meeting with some potential investor, they’re taking you along because they need an errand girl to buy them coffee and in case of any other task that is deemed much too troublesome for them like filing away documents or printing out contracts.

You woke up at the crack of dawn to get ready, so to say that you were tired after yesterday’s ordeal was an understatement. As your father told you to double check the files needed in the bag, you found out you left one up stairs, your palms sweaty as you informed them of your mishap.

“How can you be so dumb?! This is why you’re such a failure of a person! I told you to prepare everything last night! Were you day dreaming again?!” your father bellowed from the driver’s seat, his angry eyes filled with rage whenever his gaze darted to your sight through the rearview mirror, putting your lives at risk on a busy road.

You bite back retorts, head hung low through out the quick detour back, exiting the car alone to go back up and retrieve the file you left behind.

Not a day goes by where they don’t criticise you for something you did, whether an accident or not. You can feel your anxiety levels going up again as your heartbeat picks up speed, a wave of sadness coming over you. You quickly recalled a familiar song to block out their hurtful words ringing in your head.

“Useless piece of shit,” your father mumbled as he drove, throwing a clothe he uses to clean his car on your face, the rough material stinging you.

As you dug through your pockets for loose change in your jacket, your fingers found a card instead, it was Mr Suh’s card.

I can take you away from all this chaos raging among your family, if you can call it a family that is. I’ll be seeing you soon, Y/N.

‘What does he mean?’ you wondered.

“Miss, you’re holding up the queue. Do you have 50 cents or not?” the cashier at your local starbucks snaps at you, yanking you away from your own thoughts.

“Sorry, I don’t,” you apologised.

You looked around you to see the long line behind you and the usual full house condition of the cafe, sighing at what you call a norm of your life now, being an errand girl for your parents, and not even a little bit of acknowledgement of your existence nor feelings.

‘Can Mr Suh really make all this stop?’ you asked yourself.

Now you think you’re ridiculous for thinking a man of such wealth and power would be interested in a girl with such a puny presence among a crowd and not even a valued family member in your family’s eyes. He’s going to get bored of a girl like you someday, how long would he stay interested? A week? A month? A year? You doubt you’ll even last a night.

You begrudgingly took the bagged coffee from the counter and quickly walked back to your parent’s office block, head hung low as you thought about your parents’ attitude if this investor ends up leaving them empty handed, shivering at the thought of being their ‘mental stress ball’.

“I’m sorry, but the debts your company is in isn’t something we’d want to have on our company’s reputation if we invested. Thank you for having us,” the man in the middle, presumably the boss said, a bored look on his face.

Just like that the investors stood up and walked out the glass door of the office. Once they were out, your parents let out a frustrated groan. You quickly hurried to close up the office as they always told you to after a meeting on weekends without workers in the office.

A month later

The company is now under leased after being certified bankruptcy. Your parents’ savings are running low, so they told you to get a part time job at a local western grocer that rich people of Seoul go to for groceries that could most probably buy you a meal at your nearby convenience store, at the winery section, where you are now giving out samples to the customers.

It wasn’t an easy job, the customers here have high standards, whatever you’re giving out as samples are always deemed lacked elegance compared to the ones that they usually have, yet they always come back for more samples the next time they come to pick up groceries, and if they’re in a good mood, they might actually buy something. People who act rich but actually aren’t as wealthy as what they boast always ticks you off, they remind you of your own family.

On Friday nights, when the alcohol section always closes earlier are the times when you’ll head to the bookstore in the same mall you were working at to read, you knew that’s a really rude thing to do, but you can’t afford buying books anymore. So you read a few chapters every night, and slightly more on Friday nights, you never told your parents about the different working hours on this particular day of the week, you don’t want to go back earlier just to see their scowling faces as they hunch over different sorts of bills and statements.

You finally found a way to cope with your anxiety levels and depression by working out early in the morning, you read from the newspapers at the worker’s lounge in the grocer that it helps, and so you gave it a try, little did you know that you would enjoy it and the feeling of staying fit boosted your confidence. But on days when you felt tired and didn’t achieve the results you were aiming at, your mind reminds you of the times when your parents called you ugly, it was started when they found out you were dating, on those days, a shut of your eyes and you’ll remember the scene of them hitting you unfolding once again, if you focused hard enough you could still feel the sting on your face.

You pushed those thoughts away as you quickly packed up for the night, as you were preparing to leave, a man came in your section, requesting to buy a bottle of wine. You were going to say that the winery section is closed, but as you turned around, the words got stuck in your throat.

It was Mr Suh, dressed in his usual working attire. Even after sitting in the office for a whole day, he still looks breathtaking, his clothes held no crease.

“Y/N,” Mr Suh said your name, the corners of his lips tugging up in a smile.

He remembers you? After so long?

“Mr Suh. H-how can I help you?” you asked, eyes darting around hoping that there aren’t any more customers, worried that they’ll realise that you were letting Mr Suh in despite the closing time.

You weren’t as anxious as talking to strangers before, but Mr Suh was no stranger to you, not really anyways, and he always had an aura that made you shy away from his presence.

“I’m looking for a bottle of Pinot Noir by Emos,” Mr Suh told you.

You took tiny but hurried steps towards a counter where the grocer kept its more expensive bottles, typed in the password and handed it to him. You silently went to the counter, typing in the bottle’s code to ring up the register.

Mr Suh handed you 200 dollars, for a bottle that only costed 85. When you opened your mouth to tell him about the error, he stopped you.

“That’s tip for bothering you after working hours, keep it,” he said.

You tried to disagree, but he refused, saying that it is what he should do. Mr Suh bid you goodbye, before he leaves your sight, he looks back at you with an odd glint in his eyes, one that you fail to read once again.

“I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

The wine was supposed to be for his conquest tonight, yet when he walked through that hotel door, he knew he wasn’t going to enjoy tonight at all. Maybe the girl isn’t pretty enough? No, she was his usual take on girls he brings to bed, but something was very much off.

Johnny didn’t usually mind a bit of harmless flirting over wine before sex, he did have a tiring day at work, usually this process would calm him down a bit before getting down to business. However, he found the flirting part rather boring and very much tedious today, the girl’s flirty remarks seemed it was droning on to no end. So he sped things up, the wine long forgotten as their limbs tangle up with the sheets.

There was something nagging him behind his head, he couldn’t place a finger on it, until when he closed his eyes, instead of seeing the girl beneath him, he saw you, your tiny body beneath his as your beautiful glossy eyes look into his, the size difference between the two of you significant in his head. That was the image that kept him going, the usual him would open his eyes wide and take in the figure beneath him, but today he kept his eyes closed as he places his head on her shoulder, that action might seem affectionate, but this was just an excuse for Johnny to let his imagination run wild without being questioned.

Johnny left after washing up in the bathroom, leaving just after one round isn’t his style at all, usually Johnny could go up to four or five if he enjoyed the first round, Johnny lets out a big sigh as he gets back into the car, he should’ve asked you to dinner instead of wasting time fucking a girl just to have him imagine her being you in order to finish up.

Johnny puts his car on drive as he swiftly leaves the parking lot, hoping a night’s sleep would clear his thoughts of you. But as Johnny’s head hits his soft pillow, he could only ask himself.

‘What are you doing to me, Y/N?’

When you woke up the next day after a long night of reading through your business course books, trying to take in whatever you can before they realise that you don’t really know what you’re reading at all.

You walked out to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast, but before you got there, you heard voices.

“We can’t send her college, we don’t have any money left,” you heard your father’s voice say.

“But it’s her future, you’re going to put that after the company?” your mother’s voice questions.

“It’s not like she’s smart enough for it anyways. I walk by her room while she studies, and it seems like she’s just staring at an empty void, we can’t place our future in her hands, we’ll starve!” your father argues back.

What your father said had stung your heart, but after a minute or so after taking it in, it wasn’t the first time they had said such hurtful words about you. You dragged your feet back to bed, no longer having the appetite for breakfast.

You went out for a run when you felt your heartbeat quicken up as your mind floods back all the bad memories that were brought forth because of the conversation you overheard between your parents, trying your best to avoid a full on anxiety attack.

Johnny loves weekends, it was the only time he could invest himself into working out instead of the short two hours he does before work, the gym is the place where he built up his high self esteem, and it’s the reason other than his good looks of course, that brings all the girls into his sight.

Yet he didn’t feel like he achieved as much in the gym after last night’s events. Yes, he did give in his full attention in all the exercises. He purposely slept early so he could feel energized today. Yet he didn’t have the desire to show off his body through a one night stand. The party that he said he would go seemed troublesome instead of his usual excitement of knowing he wasn’t going to bed alone. He took out his phone to text his friend that he was going to sit this one out, making up an excuse about not feeling well.

Johnny was laying around watching television as he scrolled through the latest news of the stock market, feeling a sense of pride as he sees his company’s stock rising after he had taken over from his father.

The familiar chime of his grandfather clock in the corner alerts Johnny of the time, 7 chimes means 7pm. Something suddenly clicks in his head, the sign that states the operating hours for the winery in the mall, you were going to go off work in thirty minutes.

Johnny quickly changes into jeans and a black knitted sweater that hugs his physique perfectly, styling his hair a bit before heading out his door, a smile unconsciously gracing his pretty lips.

When Johnny got to the winery section, he was disappointed to see that you had left, only left with a promoter of some beer, he tried his luck with the staff, hoping to know your whereabouts.

“It’s a Saturday today, so I think she’s off to buy a cup of instant noodles for dinner, she’ll either be at the cashier counters now, or eating at the food court.”

Johnny thanks the promoter as he rushes to the counters, he wouldn’t have spotted you if he didn’t recognise the baby blue checkered scrunchie popping up from the crowd that you wore the last time to match your uniform.

Johnny makes his way in between the masses of people, making some people frown in disbelief as his large figure makes them move away. Johnny plucked the cup of instant noodles out of your hand when he got there, making you jump in fright from the sudden intrusion of your wandering thoughts.

“Mr Suh?” you addressed him when you looked up to see who had took away your favourite brand of cup noodles.

“You’re not eating that tonight, come with me,” Johnny said, his voice more cheerful than the previous times you had seen him, but why?

Johnny takes your hands in his, a smirk making way on his face as he feels your small shaky hands in his large ones, he didn’t mind one bit, instead he likes how shy you are around him. Johnny places the cup of instant noodles on some nearby shelf before dragging you out of the grocer.

When he was out, he stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at you, trying to look into your eyes that were darting away from his. He finds it endearing, how you’re always so nervous whenever you’re with him, it was something very much new to him.

Johnny suggests a few high class restaurants for dinner, rattling off big names in hopes to impress you.

“I-i was only planning to have a cup of instant noodles, Mr Suh. Anything’s fine to me,” you said after many times of trying to tell him that he didn’t need to take you out for dinner.

“But I want you to choose. Go ahead, anywhere you want,” Johnny said and waits, curious of what you’ll pick.

You rocked on you heels and bit your lip in thought as you wrecked your head for ideas to get yourself out of this situation, but you couldn’t help but feel the desire to grab dinner with him instead of eating cup noodles at the food court alone again, and the fact that his hand was still held onto yours made you feel a sense of serenity and had a need to stay with him.

“Do you have somewhere which makes you feel like a child again when you eat their food?”

Johnny was taken back by such a request. Was it touching? He hasn’t felt that from anyone else other than his family and a handful of close friends, certainly not a lady other than his mom. Was it different? Yes. But was it bad? Certainly not, instead he feels a tug in his heart. The girls he met only made requests, instead of asking for his opinion, because they know he could afford anything they requested for, but then there’s you, breaking all of those other girls’ standards. You were also the first one who made him speechless, even if it was just a mere seconds.

“I know a place.”

You genuinely didn’t know why you had made such a sentimental suggestion, you just thought that food from a restaurant that reminds him of home would mean that it was affordable, but other than that reason, it was because if you were to have dinner with a man whom you only had met a handful of times, you might as well get to know him better by knowing little things about him.

You weren’t dumb, you remember what he had said about being interested in you, and that having dinner with him was a risk to your own safety as well. Yet you couldn’t stray away from his dashing smile and the way his eyes shine so brightly when he sees you.

You were slowly falling down the rabbit hole.

The interior of his car had several alterations made to suite his liking, it was interesting, compared to the people who just bought cars based on their ranking and wealth just for bragging rights in an afternoon tea. His car even smelt nice, like the Jo Malone cologne you’ve taken a whiff from the sample sticks given out, you wonder if that’s what he usually wears to work.

You couldn’t help but steal peeks at Mr Suh when he drives, the way he’s so concentrated and how he could casually drive with only one hand on the wheel made you swoon slightly in the passenger seat as his rnb music plays on the radio. You shouldn’t be thinking about Mr Suh this way regardless that he’s interested in you, especially given that the two of you have quite a large age gap, as well as the fact that you weren’t allowed to date until after college. If your parents found out about you going out with Mr Suh, they’re going to skin you alive. That thought made you shiver as you suddenly realise that you can’t be seen with a man out in public, if any of your relatives find out, they’ll definitely snitch on you.

You lowered yourself in the seat as you hope that you won’t run into any of your family members when you reach wherever Mr Suh’s taking you. The drive was quiet, only the radio playing softly in the background, making you feel relaxed. Suddenly, Johnny stopped at the traffic lights, taking a long look at you from his seat.

“Why did you suggest eating somewhere which reminds me of my childhood?” Johnny asked, his eyes full of seriousness.

“I-i just wanted to get to know you better, is that not the right way to make friends?” you answered, glad that you’ve pondered this question yourself.

“It’s not the usual way, but I like how you think, Y/N,” Johnny said before he averts his attention back on the road when the lights turned green.

Johnny could sense something was off with you from the way you looked around anxiously from your seat when the both of you reached your destination, the way your brows furrowed and the way your jittery fingers mindlessly move about. It wasn’t a shady part of town, although the two of you were at the slightly older establishments of Seoul.

“Are you alright? Why are you suddenly so nervous?” Johnny asked, worry written on his face.

You looked down on your fingers that were splayed across your lap, twitching the hem of your skirt to try and calm your nerves with no avail, but you had to say something, Mr Suh, as you’ve grown to realise is a man who’s persistent and straight forward.

“I’m worried that we’ll bump into anyone I know. I’m...I’m not supposed to be seeing anyone or going out with people without permission,” you told him, embarrassed at the fact that you were still very much on a leash despite being an adult.

Johnny feels a sense of guilt settling down his stomach as he sees your eyes avoiding him, if he could take a guess, you must feel embarrassed right now, to have a family like that, maybe that’s why you distant yourself from people around you, they must’ve judged you based on your parents’ decisions towards your life.

Johnny reached towards the spare sweater he kept in his gym bag and handed it to you.

“Here, this has a hoodie. I don’t think anyone would be able to recognise you with it on,” Johnny said in a gentle tone, not even a hint of judgement in his voice.

You obliged and slipped the sweater on, as well as the hoodie onto your head. The sight of your small figure drowning in Johnny’s hoodie made him smile, he never thought his clothes would look so cute on you.

“Come on, it’s peak hour and I’m starving,” Johnny said with a smile that seems to always lift your mood.

You nodded mindlessly, eyes gazed into his warm honey filled eyes and soft smile. When Johnny’s trance broke on you, you quickly reached for the car door, only to see Johnny opening it for you.

‘Must be nice to have long legs to walk that fast,’ you thought to yourself.

But when he held his hand out to help you out of the car, that’s when your head went haywire and could only feel your cheeks burning up from the gentlemanly gesture that you hadn’t expected.

You hope your hand wasn’t shaking as obviously as it felt, or that would’ve been very embarrassing, you thank the skies for the chilly weather, or your hands would’ve started getting clammy from what a nervous wreck you’ve become.

The cold was getting to you as the both of you were waiting in line for a table and Johnny could tell from the way you subtly rubbed your neck, hands lingering there to leave some warmth as the wind blows by. Without thinking, he grabs the drawstrings of his hoodie and secures it surrounding your face like a cute chipmunk.

“There, all better.”

He could tell how nervous his bold action made you feel from the way you stuttered out a thank you, the two words almost lost in the wind from how soft it sounded.

Johnny didn’t know why, but the way you’ll get all flustered from his actions warms his chest like a cup of hot coco in the winter snow.

Not long after, the two of you had gotten a tiny table for two. It was cramped, but Johnny didn’t mind, as long as it’s this restaurant, and as a plus, he could see your face from a closer perspective. He was secretly admiring the shape of your cute little nose while he pretended to look through the menu that he knew like the back of his palm.

“What’s your favourite on the menu? I don’t know what to try first, all the pictures look so nice,” you said as your eyes was open wide with interest, taking in the photos of the food on the colourful menu.

Johnny was taken aback on how you had asked for his opinion instead of the demands of carvier and champagne that he used to hear all the time. He must’ve had a weird look on his face, because the silence made you furrow your brows.

“I’m sorry, that must’ve sounded weird and came off as boring, but I really don’t know what to get, so I thought you should suggest me something since you seem to come here often. Sorry, I ramble a lot when I’m nervous, I’m not a very sociable person, so the things I say might come off as odd...

“No, Y/N, listen, it’s fine. I like it when you talk, and it’s cute that you ramble. And no, I don’t find you odd or boring. I was just surprised you’d ask for my opinion, not many people do that unless it’s about business. I’m glad that you value my opinion, even if it’s just dinner,” Johnny explained, he wanted to listen to your voice longer, but the thought of anything making you uncomfortable surprisingly annoyed Johnny.

It was the first time someone had not found you awkward when you started rambling, you didn’t do it on purpose, it was just that the lack of human interaction made you socially anxious about talking to people and when you want to express something. Johnny is truly an eye opener for you.

Johnny might have ordered a little bit too much for the two of you, but he could always take away and leave it for Mark when he drops by tomorrow. Although Johnny had came here many times, mostly on his own or with Mark, he couldn’t deny the satisfaction and happiness that filled his heart as you tried all the dishes with the most wholesome expressions on your face.

You weren’t Johnny’s workers or business partners, you didn’t need to appease him and give him positive reactions, because with you, he wasn’t Neo Enterprise’s CEO, he was just Johnny and it doesn’t bother him one bit.

The two of you talked about the most random things, from Johnny’s business partners Taeyong and Doyoung fighting in his office, to the time you pranked your co worker by mixing some heavy alcohol into his coffee.

“He couldn’t tell?” Johnny asked, curious because he was a coffee addict himself.

“He thought it was just part of the flavour, it was one of those seasonal starbucks drinks that he bought,” you explained.

Johnny paid for dinner before you could protest and refused to take your money when you had offered to pay him back your share.

You trudged beside Johnny silently when he said that he was going to take you home, you haven’t had such a nice time since forever, and you didn’t want this beautiful moment to come to an end.

You had a sad smile on your face as you watched Johnny drive, it was a peaceful scenery to take in, his face calm as he steered comfortably, the radio once again playing softly in the background.

When you had reached your house, you didn’t really know how to react, other than looking at him silently as he does the same as well.

“Thank you for tonight Johnny, I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” you said genuinely, grateful that someone as interesting as Johnny would even bother giving you the time of the day.

You figured that this was the polite thing to say, but you inwardly cursed at yourself for sounding like a robot. You shouldn’t be reacting this way, especially due to the fact that he’s so much more older than you are, maybe not too old, 5 to 6 years maybe? Is that considered a big age gap?

“I had a great time with you too, Y/N. Thank you for having dinner with me,” Johnny said, usually he spoke this sentence like a little white lie to whoever he had to meet for business sake, but to you? It was nothing but the truth.

Johnny continued holding his stare even after what he said, the sincerity in his eyes evident as a soft smile graces his lips.

“You should head up now, Y/N. It’s already 9 p.m., if you stay any longer they’ll be suspicious,” Johnny reminded you.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied, immediately feeling down once more.

Even after you agreed to go up, your legs weren’t willing to move, you were going to miss him, so you asked him one last question before you willed yourself to open the car door, you were going to sound desperate, but in that moment, you didn’t have a care in the world.

“Will I ever see you again?”

Happiness fills your heart as you heard the question that comes after.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

#nct smut #nct fluff #nct 127 #johnny suh #johnny smut #nct #nct 2020 #nct dream #wayv #johnny seo

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noirlevity · 3 years ago

Text

Scent Chapter 5

Pairing: TadaAi

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Synopsis: Ainosuke once loved Tadashi, but ever since he broke his heart, he decided to never have anything to do with him. But what happens if he meets him again after so many years and finds out a secret that will change both of their lives forever?

Chapter summary: Ainosuke finds out Tadashi has someone he goes home to.

Tags: Omegaverse, forced bonding, forced marriage, sorta angst, slow burn

A/N: Coming up with names is hard. :|

Read: AO3 || 1 2 3 4 4.5 4.6 4.7

Laughter and chatter fill the meeting room in a crescendo as members walked to the exit. The meeting had just adjourned so some of the members expected to have early dinner. Others were engaged in conversation with colleagues.

As he walks with Tadashi to the exit, Ainosuke is stopped by Representative Takanagi. He signals with his eyes for Tadashi to go first. Tadashi nods. He greets Takanagi and the others and excused himself. It is while he conversed with Takanagi that he felt someone cup his shoulder. He turns to check who it was and is greeted by Representative Yamada's wide grin. Yamada was one of his Father's close associates in their party. He is a chubby middle-aged man in his early 50s who sometimes visited their house to meet with his father. While Yamada appeared to be the approachable and down-to-earth kind, his Father was stoic and strict. Their friendship was to Ainosuke one of the mysteries of the world.

Ainosuke bows and offers his hand for a handshake. Pleased, Yamada pats him on the shoulder as he guffaws. They continued to talk as they exited the building.

The topics ranged from a variety of topics like Ainosuke's preparation to be formally initiated as a member of the party to the various events organized by his Aunts to boost his visibility and reputation. With the help of Tadashi, everything went smoothly. Ever since he met with the other members, he would only hear praises about his affable demeanor and magnetism that the senior party members and his cohorts rambled on. As early as it was, there was already a huge expectation on Ainosuke's shoulders. The Senior members who were his dad's acquaintances were eager and interested in knowing more about him and his advocacies for the party.

After they got out of the building, rather than go straight to their private cars, they talked for a bit.

“If he were alive, Aichirou would be proud of how far you’ve reached Ainosuke-san. This is just the start for you.”

“Your track record in the US, joining international student groups, and your advocacy for equality and human rights is outstanding and commendable.” Representative Takanagi added to Yamada’s praise.

“You’ve worked hard.”

“Thank you very much. I’m just glad I could use my privilege as a member of the Shindo family to help others.”

Yamada shifts his eyes to another direction; a huge smile plastered on his face. Ainosuke follows his gaze and notices Tadashi standing under the bower of the cherry blossom tree.

“I see that Kikuchi-san has been appointed as your secretary. That’s good. Your Father was lucky to have him. The kid is very talented. If someone told me he was some kind of genius I would believe them!

“I remember Aichirou was very fond of him. I guess it comes as a consequence of having such a competent employee. If he were an alpha, I would have offered to let him marry my daughter.” Representative Yamada laughed heartily, body bent in a question mark. His eyes were like crescent moons on his chubby face.

Playing with his chin he continued, “He’s a handsome young man. I’m glad he’s finally recovered his youthful glow. Before, he was too skinny and unhealthily pale. I’m glad he’s doing well.

“That Aichirou was always prone to overdoing it.” The others laughed at the remark. There was an edge to his voice that made Ainosuke uncomfortable.

“Treat him well Ainosuke-san.” Representative Yamada pats Ainosuke on the shoulder.

Ainosuke didn’t like it when Tadashi was the topic of conversation. All he can do when this happens is to force himself to smile. As he turns to look at Tadashi once more, their eyes meet. Tadashi looked away first. As always, he doesn’t hesitate to avoid Ainosuke’s eyes if he can help it. And yet, just as often as Tadashi runs away from meeting his eyes, Ainosuke couldn’t help but feel a twinge in his heart every time he looks at Tadashi. He pays it no mind. He massages the place where his heart was supposed to be.

He doesn’t need to be told to treat him well.

He continues to gaze at Tadashi. Ainosuke thinks about his talks with his Father’s colleagues. It gave him an idea about how Tadashi was doing when he was in the states. It seems that he was useful to his father and to the party. With how they saw Tadashi, it was not a surprise that his Aunts liked him. Ainosuke furrows his brows. Well, it’s not like they appreciate him for who he was. They just like him for his devotion to his work. This was what Ainosuke told himself. He didn't even know why he was trying to rationalize their interest in him as if he were jealous.

Chatter continues to fill the air. Ainosuke tries listening to the conversation but he is still distracted. With how futile it was to engage in the conversation, he allows himself to steal another glance at his secretary.

Tadashi was looking in the distance. The sakura blossoms in the background made a perfect picture of spring. Tadashi always had a gorgeous profile with his high nose bridge and his slender nose. His raven hair fluttering in the wind made Ainosuke's heart stop. He remembers Yuki. Oddly, he’s already forgotten how he looked. His thoughts settle on Nico and how he tried so hard to search for pictures of Ainosuke’s father hoping to get a glimpse of adult Tadashi. He remembers how interested Nico was when he saw the picture with Tadashi; claiming that somehow he understood him better when he saw it.

“He looks like your childhood friend in profile?”

“Yes.”

“Are you blind? They don’t look the same.”

When Nico told him that he was somewhat offended.

“Maybe you just really miss him? You separated badly, didn’t you? And every time it's November 22, you just act weird all of a sudden. Ai. I hope things will be better for you. Even though it’s hard, walking away from something that hurts us is always the right choice. I was glad that you finally decided to date someone. Maybe that already made a difference.”

Too bad. Ainosuke realized that he still hasn’t taken a single step forward since the day they parted. Too bad that he is still stuck somewhere, caged by his unresolved feelings towards Tadashi. And even if it was requited, a Shindo can never marry a beta.

Representative Yamada was right. Tadashi was handsome and competent. He deserves someone who is on his level. He deserves more than being someone’s secretary.

A faint sweet smell from Tadashi hovers in the air and makes his dejection worse.

“Do you smell something sweet?” Ainosuke asked Representative Takanagi who was beside him. Even though he knows that he is the only one who can smell it he still wants to make sure it is still true. Representative Takanagi sniffed.

“No. I smell nothing. Ainosuke-san, what sensitive nose you have.”

"Something sweet? Maybe your fated person is here?" Representative Yamada jokes. Everyone laughed again.

Ainosuke glances at Tadashi. He stares until he finds himself looking into the older man’s jade eyes that beckoned him.

The afternoon sun peeks behind the thick clouds that hover in the sky. Orange and red rays spill across its expanse painting it with a warm gradient. The streets are bathed in sephia as day starts to fade into night. Ainosuke watches the changing scenery as he waits to be home.

He wakes up from his reverie when Tadashi stated that they had already arrived. Since Ainosuke didn’t bring important documents with him, there was nothing to bring into the office. Tadashi doesn’t follow Ainosuke inside the mansion. He stops at the entrance and instructs the other butlers to prepare Ainosuke’s bath for him.

Ainosuke has accepted the fact that he was going to be with Tadashi 24/7 but on that point, it seems that he was mistaken. When he arrived in Japan, it was Tadashi who prepared his bath for him.

The butlers nodded and went to prepare the bath.

Glancing at his watch, Tadashi gives Natsuno a signal.

“Ainosuke-sama, please feel free to wait in your room. The butlers will inform you when the bath is ready. Natsuno will take care of your needs. Good night. I’ll come in the morning. I’ll wake you up like usual.”

Tadashi took out his organizer to check Ainosuke's schedule.

“Tomorrow at 10 am we are going to meet with Mr. Honda for a meeting about a charity the party is hosting.”

Surprised at the turn of events, Ainosuke couldn’t catch what Tadashi said. His thoughts were in haywire with disappointment and frustration. It was like the feeling you get when something you have been expecting doesn’t come true. Ainosuke was at a loss what to do. His thoughts were filled with Tadashi not living in the mansion. It’s weird, particularly because as a secretary and member of the household staff, it would be easier for him to just lodge in the mansion. Without any further explanation, Tadashi bowed. He also said his goodbyes to the Senior butler and Natsuno. Natsuno nods in response, cheeks reddening. His eyes looked like he was looking forward to something but after a realization came to him, the light in his eyes became dejected.

“Ainosuke-sama, I’ll accompany you to your room,” Natsuno said with a faint hint of disappointment in his voice. He guided Ainosuke to his room.

Footsteps fall heavy on the floor. The mansion was quiet so it was the only sound that reverberated in the hallways. Ainosuke clears his throat as curiosity gets the better of him.

“Natsuno, Tadashi didn’t lodge here when he was working with my Father?”

It was the first time Ainosuke talked casually with Natsuno. Somewhat surprised, Natsuno stops walking and gapes at him. After collecting himself, Natsuno smiles.

“He stayed here, but it was because the master insisted. Initially, Kikuchi-san went home every day. At that time, the master advised that he should since it would cut his travel expenses that way.”

Ainosuke swallows a lump in his throat. “Ah, I see.”

“Ever since the master passed away Kikuchi-san started going home.”

Ainosuke arrives in front of his room. Natsuno takes his suit. He excuses himself and tells him the butlers will call him if the bath is ready. Ainosuke sits on the bed, stiff like a machine. He still couldn’t put his mind into what happened. The only thing that is clear to him is he wanted to see Tadashi again. He went to the room that will allow him to see him leave. He wasn’t sure if he was still there but there was no harm in trying.

When he took a peek at the balcony, he saw a car come in and park in front of the entrance. A tall guy with dark cropped hair got out of the car. They talked for a bit. Ainosuke is surprised to see Tadashi sit next to the driver's seat.

As he gazed at them, Ainosuke didn’t feel anything at first. After a while, he felt a pinprick sensation where his heart was supposed to be. As he breathes the sensation becomes a stab as if tiny needles were being inserted in it. Suddenly, he felt dizzy. His throat felt unbearably dry. Before he knew it, he was already running towards the entrance with everything he got. He didn’t know why, his body just moved on its own. The maids and butler who saw him rush widened their eyes in surprise.

“Bocchan, what’s wrong?” Takahisa gasps, worried.

“Who was that?” Ainosuke heaves.

“Oh, you mean Sato-san? I don’t know how to put it, but everyone assumes he is Kikuchi-san’s partner.”

Partner? He almost choked as he repeated the word in his head. He feels a sting at his temples and winces at the pain.

“Bocchan, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

After a short silence. The Senior butler offers,

“Ever since the master passed away, about a year or so since he asked for a leave, sometimes, he would pick Kikuchi-san up.”

Ainosuke furrows his brow. Feeling somewhat defeated, he went back to his room and prepared to sleep. As he lay down to sleep, he couldn’t relax. He kept tossing and turning. Thoughts about Tadashi, about that guy he was with, and most of all the weird feeling of abandonment he felt when he looked at the two of them being close like that filled him with dread. He grabs his phone and dials Tadashi’s number. The ringing sound on the line made him feel pathetic so he hung up immediately.

Before Ainosuke knew it, it was already morning. To him, it felt like he just took a nap. He notices the sweet smell permeating inside the room and sits up. The sound of the curtains being parted and tied was the only thing that filled his ears. Now there was a rustling sound and then finally footsteps walked towards where he was. The sweet scent is stronger than ever, even if it was neutralized by some other unknown scent.

“Ainosuke-sama?”

When Ainosuke didn’t respond, Tadashi asked what was wrong. His voice sounded worried. His worried voice made Ainosuke feel even worse.

“Excuse me,” Tadashi touches his forehead to check his temperature. Ainosuke feels static electricity as Tadashi's finger grazes his temples. Tadashi flinches. Relentless, Tadashi touches him again. The warmth from Tadashi’s touch, his nearness, and his smell made Ainosuke feel something. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead. Despite the bitterness that clogged his throat, he couldn't help but want to be near him, to be close to him. This is the most frustrating part. It's as if he was bound to him.

Ainosuke looks up at Tadashi. He saw that the other's face is impassive yet he could see the clear blush on the older man's cheeks. What was this? What was happening? What was this weird feeling?

“You don’t look so good, Ainosuke-sama. Shall we cancel your appointment? I’ll call Mr. Honda.”

Tadashi runs his fingers through Ainosuke’s hair gently just like how he’d always done once upon a time. Ainosuke's throat constricts at the gesture. He finds it foolish. Childish to even feel his stomach churn just from a small gesture. He isn’t sure whether this is because of anger or something entirely different, but the feeling of softness and relief in his chest betrayed his true feelings. It was a hard pill to swallow.

He bites his lip and succumbs to the desire that clouds his mind. As if in a trance, Ainosuke takes Tadashi’s hand and buries his face on the other’s wrist. He doesn't care anymore although every time he does something like this he remembers the painful words he said to him. But even then, he still could not resist. It's almost like he was hypnotized.

A sweet familiar scent fills Ainosuke’s nose. Tadashi was sweet, so sweet to the point that he wants to take a bite off of him as if he was a fruit. He feels the older man tremble at the touch. Was this because of Tadashi’s instinctive fear of being eaten? The thought turns Ainosuke on. His heart rammed violently in his chest, so violent like it never had before. He heaves and feels his gums throb.

“You must be in a rut. I’ll get your medicine.”

Before he was able to figure out what was happening, Tadashi injected him with his suppressant. As he ingests the serum, he feels a little better.

Ainosuke groaned as he lay down. He didn't like the feeling of ingesting his suppressant. It always made him feel weak. Opening his eyes, he watched Tadashi over languid eyelids. He expected he would inquire about his rut but he didn’t. It was weird, surely Tadashi was mistaken. How could an alpha go into a rut outside of his rut cycle without an omega around? Ainosuke covered his eyes using his arm. He remembered Representative Yamada's joke about his fated pair. Is it possible? But Tadashi is a beta. How could that be? Fated pairs are only a myth. It's not proven by science.

“You’ve been busy lately, haven’t you? You haven’t gotten any proper rest since you came back from the states. I’ll call them.” Tadashi touches Ainosuke’s arm gently to reassure him. Ainosuke gazes at his hand and tightens his lip in a line. He shakes it off.

“No need. Tomorrow I will be free. So it’s fine.”

Ainosuke’s meeting with Mr. Honda for the charity event went smoothly. The man was taken with him.

“You better be careful, Shindo-san. I heard alpha attacks are becoming frequent nowadays. Even for us alphas, it would be hard to break a bond so everyone is on the lookout. The strain between sexes has risen again.” Mr. Honda wiped his sweat, clearly distraught.

“These terrorists like to target public officials. It’s a pain.”

“Yes, we’ve had reports coming in about this matter and have strengthened our security. You take care too.”

Ainosuke enters the car thinking about the alpha attacks. This was not the first of its kind. When he was in the US, sometimes he would hear news about them. Warehouses have been raided full of illegal drugs particularly used for these attacks. Japan was relatively peaceful but this was a rising problem in the country as well.

Tadashi is cautious. He carries Ainosuke’s suppressants inside his suit all the time.

“Mr. Honda is right sir, we must be careful. No one knows when danger will strike so it's better to be prepared.”

Ainosuke is silent. He fiddles with his fingers as he debates with himself to finally ask what he's been thinking about all day. Summoning the courage to ask, he finally cleared his throat.

“Are you going home today?”

He tries his best not to reveal what he wants to say.

“Yes, I'll go home.”

Ainosuke feels his heart sink but he trods on.

“Hmmm~ Isn’t it dangerous to be traveling back and forth? You are at risk of being attacked as well since you work for me."

Ainosuke paused to study Tadashi's face.

“Some betas have also been affected by the attacks, right? The drug is too strong even for you. You should be cautious too.”

Tadashi remains quiet. Ainosuke tries to read his facial expressions over the front view mirror.

“Actually someone also advised the same thing to me.”

Ainosuke feels his heart throb. He knows the person who did.

“Maybe I should stay at the mansion for a while. But I need to go home first to get my things.”

The prospect of Ainosuke going to Tadashi’s house made him excited.

“We can stop there first before going home.” He offers. He tries so hard to hide the anticipation in his voice.

Tadashi looks over at the front view mirror with a surprised look on his face.

“Is it really okay? I can just get them later.”

“You heard me right? Don't dawdle.” Ainosuke pouts.

----

Tadashi’s apartment was surprisingly near their mansion. It was a 32 story condominium that looked as if it was just built three years ago. Ainosuke wasn’t expecting Tadashi to live in such a place. He looked like someone who preferred a humble apartment rather than an extravagant one. As they enter the vicinity, Ainosuke notices a swimming pool.

Ainosuke roams his eyes. The complex looked so much like a high-class hotel. The lobby had a marble counter at the center, on its side, there were couches where people could sit back and relax. Apart from the pool, there was a mini-park outside and a gym. Shrubs and plants were decorated all around the place.

Tadashi didn’t say anything as they rode the elevator. They finally reached his door. Ainosuke could not help but stare. As opposed to how lavish the complex was, Tadashi’s apartment was minimal. Ainosuke notices that there were sets of shoes on the shoe rack. Tadashi notices Ainosuke staring at it.

“I have a housemate.”

Ainosuke raises his eyebrows unconsciously.

“He has work so he isn’t here.”

“Please come in.”

Ainsouke takes off his shoes and follows Tadashi inside. This was the first time Ainosuke ever visited Tadashi’s home. It gave him such a weird feeling. The faint sweetness he forgot earlier was now as obvious as before. Ainosuke drove unnecessary thoughts away. He sat down at the dining table and waited. Tadashi was checking out the refrigerator. He took out something and heated it in the microwave.

"What would you like, water, coffee, or tea?"

"Tea."

The faint sound of mugs colliding and the ticking clock filled the silence. Tadashi handed Ainosuke a cup and poured him his tea.

While waiting for the food, Tadashi sat down in front of Ainosuke and drank his drink quietly. Ainosuke was stealing glances at him. If Tadashi realized this, there was no way to know. The ticking of the clock seemed eerie as the seconds dragged on. The microwave dinged. Tadashi took out the food and placed it on the placemat. He took two additional mats and placed them on the table and prepared the plates and cutlery and chopsticks.

Hesitant, Tadashi looked stiff and uncomfortable being alone together with his boss. It might be because they don't interact much outside of work so Ainosuke being here in his personal space was something he wasn't expecting or even dreamt of. But after what seemed like an eternity he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry if the dish doesn't fit your palate. But rest assured my housemate is a good cook. But it’s fine too if you don’t want to eat it.”

Ainosuke took the serving spoon and took a portion of the food. He couldn’t decline Tadashi’s offer. It’s the only personal offer he ever told him ever since he was back in Japan.

They both ate quietly. Ainosuke was bothered by a lot of thoughts. The information about Tadashi’s life outside of the mansion overwhelmed him. Why was he still so affected? It's been years since they both separated. He was convinced that there was nothing left of his feelings. There was not even hatred there. Sure there was bitterness but it wasn't enough for pain and disappointment to sprout from. But as he ate the food that was prepared by Tadashi’s special someone he feels defeated somehow. It was true, the cooking was good. The Sato guy can actually go pro with this level of skill.

“How long have you been rooming together?” Ainosuke can't help but ask. His tone is the softest he has spoken to Tadashi since being back.

Tadashi doesn’t seem to be surprised at the question, as if he was used to the question being asked multiple times. Fiddling with the handle of his mug, it was clear that he didn't want to answer the question. Ainosuke just studied him. The silence that loomed over them wrapped its tentacles around his throat threatening to choke him to death.

“It’s been quite a while.” Tadashi finally answers. It feels as if the tentacles of silence loosened their grip on his throat a little bit. Ainosuke didn’t press the matter anymore but it still felt like his throat was still being crushed by the silence.

"My roommate made dessert. Do you want to try?" Tadashi took out the desert. Ainosuke was surprised it's petit gateau. Rather than be pleased he was somewhat offended.

"I don't like sweets much but sometimes I crave this." Tadashi flashes a faint smile.

Ainosuke's heart softened at the sight. When he was younger he always told Tadashi how much he liked petit gateau. He couldn't help but get flustered at what Tadashi said.

"You don't need to ask him to make it for you. I can just bring you to my favorite patisserie if you crave it again." Ainosuke said as he tried the gateau. For someone who was just baking for fun, the taste was acceptable.

Tadashi took a slice and ate.

"I probably won't crave it anymore," Tadashi whispers. Ainosuke wasn't able to catch what he said.

----

Tadashi didn’t bring much with him. When they arrived at the mansion, the one that greeted them at the entrance was Natsuno, who was usually prim and proper and quite stiff around Ainosuke. He softened when he saw Tadashi carrying bags with him. Natsuno greeted Ainosuke first, then he turned to Tadashi.

“Ainosuke-sama is Kikuchi-san staying the night?”

“He’s going to stay here for a while. Guide him to his room.”

“Certainly.”

Ainosuke finds it odd that it seems Natsuno was prepared for this to happen.

“It's a sudden request so the room must take time to prepare.”

Ainosuke notices Tadashi looking down.

“A room is always prepared for Kikuchi-san. The senior butler makes it so…”

“Natsuno,” Tadashi interrupts him.

Ainosuke raises his eyebrows but thought nothing of it. Accompanied by another butler, he heads to his room, leaving Natsuno and Tadashi to have their conversation. When he turns to steal a glance, he saw that Tadashi looked uncomfortable as Natusno happily talks. Ainosuke is curious why it seems Tadashi hated staying at the mansion.

Tired, Ainosuke decides to take a bath first. Like before, the butlers were the ones who prepared his bath. It seemed that Tadashi won’t be accompanying him anymore like before.

Bathing made him ponder about some things. The botanical garden given to Tadashi’s dad, Tadashi’s obvious dislike of staying in the mansion. The room that’s always ready just in case Tadashi decides to stay. Why does it seem as if Tadashi was important in the household? Like he was a part of the family. He was just his dad’s assistant. Even his aunts treat him well. In Ainosuke’s observation, Tadashi was reserved and distanced himself from people but somehow people are drawn to him, whether they realize this or not was no consequence. He was well respected. Ainosuke soaks thinking about this. He decides to keep a close eye on Tadashi. He was curious about his life while he was studying in the United States.

When he is done bathing, he dries his hair. He saunters towards the bed to check his phone. He browsed his gallery and noticed that some of the pictures that were sent to him included Tadashi. He didn't take a lot of space but he was there. Ainosuke felt something well up in his chest. He put down his phone and sat on the bed. He really should sleep. The exhaustion and the grogginess he felt earlier when he had his rut still made him feel not unwell. He wore pajamas that were placed neatly on his bed. Then he tucked himself in. Ainosuke closed his eyes to try to sleep. After half an hour, he still could not. His thoughts drifted to the fact that Tadashi was staying in the mansion. The mansion was quite large, so he wouldn’t meet Tadashi by chance if he just nonchalantly wandered the house. Ainosuke remembered the times when they used to sleep together and felt a prickling sensation at his heart. He hates times like this when he feels powerless over his emotions. Closing his eyes a second time, Ainosuke finally fell asleep.

#tadaai #shindo ainosuke #tadashi kikuchi #sk8 the infinity #fics

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