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mae-gi-writes · 2 days ago

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let it be me | kuroo tetsurou (2)

In which you, as a new divorcée, can't help but crush on your 4-year-old's new PE Coach.

genre: singleparent!reader x coach! Kuroo, fluff, acquaintances-to-lovers

taglist: @patpatspatz @matchagirliris @multi-fandom-fanfic @alittlebirdahgaselx @kuroos--little--kitten @menacejelly12 @aeshiue @dreamlessnight @altheades @loonalockley @not-your-average-fangirl @bertqut1 @sunlixfl-blog @nabboo007

a/n: enjoy! <3 thanks for all the love given to the first part of this story! here's the second part. Third part is coming soon ~

---- previous | part two | next part >>>

"He can't be serious."

You sigh and watch the wine in your glass slosh around, creating beautiful patterns along the rim of your glass, "unfortunately, I think he is."

Your cousin has on an expression you can't quite place, in-between disgust and pure confusion. He's at the microwave, busy heating up some popcorn. Having adamantly asked you to sit on his couch while taking care of the snacks, you thus decided to watch Sakura play with her legos along the carpet, keeping a watchful eye in case one might end up in her mouth.

"He's only marrying her for the money," is what he concludes after a small pause.

You snort into your glass, take a sip of it and allow the bitterness to coat your tongue, "I wish that were true."

"How would you know that?"

" 'Tsumu, is it written stupid on my forehead?" your own wrinkles in distaste, "I see the way he looks at her. He's--" you choke on your words then, the knot in your throat growing tenfold, "--he's in love with her."

"Who is in love, mum?"

"No one at all," you're quick to answer upon noticing Sakura has been listening in. She normally doesn't, a kid that enjoys staring off into space and conjuring make-believe stories, where there's magic and only happy endings. You try and force a smile onto your face, "how's the house construction for Princess Peach going?"

Your daughter lets out a laugh as she presents to you a square that looks nothing like a house. Still, you coo at it, "so pretty! I bet princess peach would love it."

Your conversation with Atsumu has to wait until Sakura is tucked away in her uncle's bedroom and has listened to three stories about princesses, before you manage to join him back onto the couch where he's busy watching a rerun of volleyball matches.

You don't get to see him much now, courtesy of the fact that he's a national athlete and has been booked at the big games representing Japan. You couldn't be prouder, and yet his permanent absence does still leave a big hole in your heart whenever he flies over a thousand miles. Atsumu had been your rock since you guys were kids, defending you on the school playground and dragging you around to parties and birthdays without your consent. He'd taken care of you as a big brother would and he still is. You don't know how to repay this kind of kindness.

You're just thankful that he has one week off so that you can rant and ramble about the unfairness of the world. At least with Atsumu here, it appeases the pain, if just a little.

"Have you signed the papers yet?" he asks, handing you the bowl of popcorn.

You grab a handful, popping onto of them into your mouth as you answer, "not yet."

"You should ask him for alimony, at least."

"I'm not sure I'd win that, 'Tsumu."

"Still," his nose wrinkles in distaste, "this feels unfair. And why are you the one taking care of Sakura on your own? And I don't mean the parenting part. What about the finances? Why can't he contribute?"

"Because he's a dick and he thinks he can get away with it," you're glad that the tv is providing a welcome distraction, for you can't bear to look into Atsumu's eyes, "I'm just going to sign it and be done with it. I don't want Sakura to suffer any longer. It's not fair on her, she barely sees him."

"Well maybe it's time you find someone else too, y/n."

Your thoughts suddenly flash to Kuroo's beautiful smile and you have to physically force yourself to keep from grinning. You can feel the heat from the back of your neck and come up with the excuse that it's still too early and that Sakura wouldn't like her world shattering just for your happiness.

But it seems that Atsumu knows you better than that, for he asks, "are you blushing?"

"Wha--" Panic skitters through you, "no. No, why would I blush?"

His eyebrows raise, "you’ve met someone then?"

"N--No. Not at all. It's--" you realize you're blundering when his smile widens slightly, "it's not like that."

"So who's the lucky guy?"

"Atsumu."

"Y/N," his eyes glisten with playfulness and he nudges your shoulder, "c'mon. Tell me!"

You let out another breath and mumble, "He’'s not someone I met. He's...Just someone I know."

"And how do you know him?"

"He's Sakura's PE coach."

Atsumu lets out a whistle, "well that--" he shakes his head, "--that's not what I imagined at all."

"Shut up."

"So you like him?"

"It's not--It's really not like that. I--" you try and rack your brain for anything to say because this is really embarrassing. Who has a crush at the age of twenty-nine? Practically all of your friends are already married and have kids, talk about husband problems and how they wish for their youth back. And you? Here you are, thinking you might have a crush. You're no better than a middle school girl.

Which is why you say, "I don't even know him."

"You just think he's cute?"

"Precisely. But there are a lot of cute guys. It doesn't mean anything."

“Right,” Atsumu lets out a breath before he leans back into the couch, “but you know what I think?”

You hum in response.

“I think you should get laid—“

You almost spit out your wine in shock, gape at him in horror, “Atsumu!”

Again, your brain goes into overdrive at the thought of Kuroo and his sweaty chest, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he just towers over your small frame…

NO! You slam onto your mental brakes and shake your head, “you’re disgusting.” You spit out.

“I’m telling the truth princess. I really believe in the power of s—“

“Don’t—“ you cut him off with a raised palm, “don’t even say it.”

“So tell me,” Atsumu proceeds to wriggle his brows suggestively which makes it even harder to stop the blush igniting along your face, “this guy, how handsome is he? Must be pretty good-looking for you to be blushing like that.”

“Shut up ‘Tsumu, it’s not like that at all. Just stop. He's like--half of my age."

“Alright alright,” he laughs his deep-bellied laughter and wraps an arm around you in a gentle, comforting hug, “but if ever you do get lais with him, you gotta tell me.”

“Mum, what does ‘getting laid’ mean?”

“Oh!” Your head snaps to the doorway only to see your daughter all sleepy-eyed and clutching a spare pillow.

“Sakura!” You scramble to over, casting your cousin a scowl as you do, “c’mon, sweetie. Let’s get you back to bed.”

You hear Atsumu’s laughter follow you all the way to the bedroom.

————

It’s weird when Sakura isn’t around.

It’s almost like you’ve lost your purpose. But then again, you should be taking advantage of this right? That’s what everyone keeps telling you.

But alas, something in you cannot just let yourself rest for fear that your thoughts may go into a black hole of what ifs and images of Sakura with your ex-husband’s wife —well, almost ex-husband— and thus decide to take on a last-minute order.

It’s a simple enough request— a birthday cake. While you usually plan events from A to Z, this order merely requested a cake of any kind. So that’s how you spend your Saturday morning — creating a dough and sugar decorations that would fit into the theme of “Halloween”, as per what your client has asked.

You drive up to the pin location around four in the afternoon, strolling through the streets until the google maps signals you that you’ve arrived to your destination. Turning off the ignition at the said house — a beautiful Victorian home adorned with columns twice your height and size — you open your door only to come face to face with a familiar pair of golden eyes.

“Coach?”

“Kosuke-san?”

You both stare. And stare.

It’s shock that comes first. Before realization slaps you in the face, “oh!” You quickly bow in hopes that you haven’t been staring too long, “good afternoon, Coach. What—What brings you here?”

"Kosuke-san," he bows and looks just as surprised as you are, before he notices the way you're struggling to juggle to cake in your arms, "here, let me help you."

Without hesitation, he opens the door a bit wider and closes the gap between you, lifting the box from your arms, "jeez how heavy is this thing?"

You let out a small laugh, "it's all the icing sugar."

"Come in," he gestures with his chin for you to follow and as you step into the threshold he continues, "so when you said you were an event planner--I didn't expect you to be a cake designer too."

"It's an extra service I provide," you shrug, "I'm a patissier by career. Event planning is just something that keeps the cash flowing."

Kuroo pauses in mid-step then, "you're a patissier?"

"Yeah. Well, I was," you chuckle, "but anyway, it's been a while since I've baked now. So I hope it's just as good as you expect it to be."

Kuroo opens his mouth only to be cut off by a horde of boys stumbling into what appears to be the kitchen area. Now that you have a better look, it's all white marble and golden taps and golden handles on every piece of furniture to match. In any case, this house screams of money and for a minute, you feel a bit small and insignificant in your stained-flour blouse, the splotches of paint across your faded out jeans, courtesy of Sakura's art skills.

"You must be y/n!" one of the boys detaches himself. His orange hair glistens in the sun streaming through the window and he's a bit shorter than Kuroo. He beams at you and you can't help but be reminded of a puppy, "thanks for taking my order on such a short notice!"

"No worries at all. You must be...Hinata?"

"Yes!" he shakes your hand, "so I see you've met Kuroo! He's one of my best mates! We used to play against each other back in high school."

"Really now?" you quirk a brow in Kuroo's direction, watching the muscles of his arms ripple as he places the cake in an orderly manner inside the fridge. His voice is muffled when he replies, "yeah, he's the midget that made us jump for our lives. I hated him."

"You're just sour because you lost that one time," Hinata pouts, "but anyway, this is the rest of the ex-team!"

And so that's how you get a round of names that you will probably forget in five minutes and Kuroo, having seen the confusion in your eyes, can't help but laugh to himself because the sight is somewhat adorable. And he knows he shouldn't find it, he knows you're off limits because first, you're a mom from the school and two, you're married and have a kid. It's definitely not at all appropriate for his eyes to be roaming over your curves or to linger over the light glittering in your eyes.

Get a hold of yourself, he mentally whacks the back of his head.

“Where’s the little munchkin?” Kuroo asks you once you’re all settled after having been wheedled by Hinata to stay (“please please please you did such a great job on the cake” is what he’d begged). You’re now perched onto a plush lounge chair, a mixture of juice and vodka in your hand and watching the nth match of pingpong between someone whose name you forget and the other whose name sounds like Daichi. Though yoj might be wrong.

You’re glad for Kuroo’s presence, for even if he is a stranger, he still feels familiar to you right now in this setting.

“Sakura’s with her father today,” you explain with a slight smile in hopes it doesn’t give any of that bitterness away.

Kuroo opens his mouth like he wants so say something — anything— but you beat him to it, “we’re not together. Not anymore.”

His eyes widen with realization and you see it, the way he’s putting all the puzzle pieces together, “I’m sorry to hear,” is what he finally musters.

“Nothing be to be sorry about.”

“So… the name Kosuke…”

“Is my maiden name,” you reply, “I’ve never changed names. Looking back, I think I’ve done the right thing.”

Kuroo isn’t sure whether he should be mad for you or hurt in your place. After all, who in their right mind would leave their wife and their toddler daughter?

He deals with little kids every day, so he knows exactly what they’re like on a daily basis, and it’s not easy.

“I’m sorry,” it seems that’s the only thing he knows how to say.

“Really,” you laugh at him, “how can you be sorry when it’s not even your fault?”

Kuroo shrugs and grins bashfully because yes, it’s true and he still doesn’t know what to say. So he decides to ask, “And Sakura… how is she?”

“She doesn’t realize it. She’s too young,” your smile fades slightly, “in a way, I hope that’s a good sign.”

His heart clenches at the thought of you raising this kid alone. He can’t even imagine it. It makes sympathy swim inside his chest like an ache he can’t quite ignore. The look on your face suggests that you’ve been let down and he has the sudden impulse to tell you that everything will be alright, will be okay.

But he can’t do that. You’ll think of him as a creep. So he bites his tongue and look away instead, at the war of pingpong ongoing between his two friends. In a way, he’s glad for the distraction as he sips on his beer.

“And you?” Your voice piping up surprises him. His eyes flit back to your face. You continue, “married? Engaged?”

Kuroo’s throat bobs as he chuckles, “no. None of that.”

“How come?” You take a sip of your cocktail, “you don’t seem like the type to wound up alone with a hundred cats.”

“No no,” he can’t help but laugh because one, you’re hella attractive to him; tiny and frail and looking like he can fit you in a box no problem and two; you’re actually entertaining to be around. Something that he’s found lacking in his previous dates, “I just didn’t find anyone special yet.”

“Well there's no rush,” you lift your cocktail as you speak, “and anyway, you’re still young. You should enjoy it while you can.”

“Young?” Kuroo’s face breaks into a grin as his golden orbs glimmer down at you, amused, “how old do you think I am?”

"Uhm--I don't know. Early twenties?"

"I'm twenty-five," he gives you a look, "how old are you?"

"Twenty-eight. Going on twenty-nine."

"You look like you've just gotten out of college though," Kuroo's smirk is visible even behind his beer as he chugs down most of his drink, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you and Sakura were sisters."

"Not even," you retort, "And excuse me, but you look younger than twenty-five."

"I make up for it in height," he peers down at you, "but I suppose you wouldn't understand that considering--"

Your arm whacks at his shoulder before you know it. A playful gesture surely, but one that you don't really use on your daughter's teachers. Let alone ones that have bulging muscles and a figure to die for. You stare at your hand for a long minute, your brain going blank, before your eyes whip up to his and horror seeps into your gaze.

"Oh my god!" you screech and recoil like he's the one that had slapped you, "I'm so sorry, I--It's just--automatic you know, my cousin--he's got the same humor and--well I--I'm really sorry--"

The guffaw that leaves Kuroo's mouth is so loud that it causes heads to turn, even the ones invested in the ping pong game. He bends over while holding his stomach and the initial panic that you have wears off upon seeing him look so joyously happy. You can't help but chuckle along.

"What?" you say when he's regained most of his breath, "what's so funny?"

"You are," he grins, before it turns mischievous, "senpai."

"Hey--now that's going a bit too far!"

You're not quite sure what time you get home that night. But you do know that you've gone to sleep with a smile on your face.

————

"Kuroo sensei! He stole my ball!"

A typical Monday morning where Kuroo is busy surveilling the fifth graders as they decided to play basketball during their free time. He's not one to deny such requests, actually enjoys watching them play and seeing them grow day by day, developing their techniques. But to say that he's a bit in the clouds would be an understatement.

"Kuroo sensei!"

He finally snaps back to reality. Blinks down at the tiny boy with the biggest scowl he's ever seen yet, "yes I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

"He stole my ball!" the young boy points at one of the chubby classmates who seems quite content in playing by himself, "and now he's saying that it was his!"

Kuroo can't help but raise a brow. He's taught that class before, knows exactly that the chubby little kid doesn't have that many friends, including the boy standing before him.

"I don't think he stole your ball."

It's a bold statement, but from the way the tiny student squirms and averts his gaze, Kuroo believes he is right, "but--but he did! He really did steal my ball!"

"I have an idea," Kuroo bends down to his height, not able to restrain the grin along his face at the pout forming on the student's lips, "why don't you go and play with him? He seems a bit lonely."

"Yeah that's because he never talks to anyone in class."

"Then why don't you be the first? hm?" he nudges the boy's shoulder, "show your class a good example. Come on."

With a bit more reassurance, the said student goes over and Kuroo watches fondly as the two exchange awkward greetings before the chubby student nods his head, glancing at his PE coach like he'd just dropped a bomb.

Five minutes later, they're playing together like best friends.

And Kuroo goes back to daydreaming.

He's not usually like this. So out of it, so inside his own head that he can't see the outside world. But ever since that party he's been wondering when's the next time he'd get to see you, to talk to you. Not just as Sakura's mum but as someone, maybe a friend. He's addicted to the way your eyes curve up before your lips are even drawn into a smile, like you're sharing a special secret with him before the world gets a flash of blinding white teeth. He enjoys watching you move about because you're just so tiny, holding cups with two hands and always having to tiptoe about to find stuff. But most of all, that conversation with you had him dreaming of more. He wants to know you, that initial curiosity turning to what he'd define as stupid infatuation.

Yes, Kuroo Tetsurou has a crush, and he's not quite sure how to feel about it.

"--Earth to Kuroo?"

He blinks. In front of him stands his colleague and friend Bokuto. Having faced each other off countlessly during their high school days, it was a miracle and lovely surprise to see him at the new year induction. Since then, they’d been a constant pair inside the school walls and creating assignments, organizing and coordinating events had never been so fun.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and rubs a hand over his face.

“You look like death, mate,” Bokuto leans on the fencing that separates the courts from the building, “why the long face?”

“Haven’t slept well,” Kuroo says, but he knows he’s not convincing when Bokuto’s eyebrows raise in question.

“You? Firm believer of 10hrs of sleep every day?” His friend shakes his head, “no way. Tell me what happened. What’s got you looking so dazed?”

“It’s noth—“ he halts. Maybe he can find some advice? Bokuto’s known for being a badass romantic after all. Maybe he can have something wise to say.

Like tell Kuroo you’re way out of his league and— what the hell is he even thinking, dating someone’s mom? Someone older than him, at that?

The words burst out of his mouth without warning:

“I think I like someone.”

Bokuto merely blinks. His face lights up, “well that explains it. Who?”

Kuroo’s arm swings to the back to scratch his neck, “it’s… one of the student’s mom’s.”

The last few words are said in a mumble, causing Bokuto to lean into his friend with a wide-eyed gaze, surprise flitting across his face when he realizes what Kuroo has just said.

“No,” the grey-haired man’s mouth turns into an “o” as he stares his friend down, “no way. Who?”

“I don’t think you know her. Sakura Kosuke?” Kuroo prompts.

“Sakura Kosuke…” Bokuto shakes his head in thought, “haven’t heard of that one. But—-Kuroo! I thought older women weren’t your style!”

“She’s not that old,” Kuroo’s face flames, “only by three years.”

"Who would've thought," Bokuto breathes out with a chuckle when a thought suddenly occurs to him, "wait-- it's not the chick who came by with the cake last weekend?"

Kuroo nods and awkwardly clears his throat, "yeah, the very same."

"Ha! If only I knew! I would've done my best to set you up!"

"It's not funny!"

But now that Bokuto has some leverage of information, he's definitely not going to let it go and Kuroo kind of regrets spilling the beans to him, of all people. That, and the probably fact that he’ll be spreading this news like wildfire across their friend group.

Thankfully, Kuroo’s schedule makes it that it’s hard to think about anything but work since midterm season is approaching for his other primary school colleagues. There’s after-school shows and events for every single activity and since he’s being asked to help for every single thing (because he’s the preschool teacher and, yeah! How come you don’t have any events planned for your preschoolers?!). Which means that he doesn’t have actual time to think about you, not even when he’s finally home and mustering up enough strength to brush his teeth, take a shower and dump himself in bed.

He does, however, collide head-first into you one week day as you’re hurrying out of the principal’s office, looking flustered and red-faced.

“Kosuke-san,” he takes a longing glance your rosy cheeks and felt his hand tingle with want. Just to see if it’s as soft as he imagines it to be? “You okay?”

“Kuroo sensei,” you run a hand through your locks and causing your hair to get even more disheveled, “hi, sorry— how are you? It’s been a while.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You’re looking a bit more greenish now that he sees you in the light.

“Yes I—“ your hands flutter up before you in an attempt to find an explanation, “—just came back from a meeting with Sakura’s teacher.”

“Oh?” Kuroo frowns, “what—nothing bad, I hope?”

“It’s just—well,” you try to chuckle but it comes out like a whimper, “apparently she got into a fight with one of the other girls in her class. Got a few injuries herself so…”

Your eyes are wet and it seems you’re half a second away from a breakdown. So it’s only natural for Kuroo to take a few steps closer to you before he whispers a soft, “hey hey, you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you take a shaky breath, “it’s just been a long, hard morning.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo bites onto his lower lip, not sure what to do to make things better as he watches your chest move up and down in staggered breaths.

That’s when an idea hits him. He makes a grab for the back of your elbow and the smallness, the thinness of your limb takes him be surprise as he steers you out of the corridor.

And when your wide eyes flutter up to his, he quickly says something along the lines of, “I know a place. It’ll make you feel better.”

That’s how he finds himself dragging you to the nearby coffee place he always frequents— called Espresso Block— a small vintage bakery run by none other than his good friend Osamu Miya, as part of his expansion branch from his onigiri restaurants.

"Y/N!" Osamu greets as soon as he spots your face trailing behind Kuroo's tall figure. He pushes the raven-haired man aside with impatience before sauntering over and wrapping you up in a bear hug.

"Osamu," you breathe in the scent of baked croissants lingering on his uniform, "you're choking me."

"Oh--sorry," he drops you and grins sheepishly, that is before he registers that you're together with one of his friends, causing his eyes to narrow, "how do you two know each other?"

"Kosuke-san is Sakura's mother and she was having a bad day," Kuroo explains before he turns to you, "how do you know him?"

Did you imagine the five-second frostiness that came from his tone? Maybe not, as you reply, "he's my cousin. We grew up together. I taught him how to play volleyball back in primary school."

Kuroo's relief is instant. Thank god, it's not a close friend, nor is it a romantic partner candidate. His mood brightens instantly and without further ado he proceeds to lead you towards a table in the back.

He doesn’t fail to ignore the way Osamu’s eyes are following him all the way back to his table as he carries the two drinks — strawberry latte for him and a black coffee for you — and Kuroo can just hope that his dear friend can keep his distance until you've gone.

Becayse he's quite certain he will be subject to interrogation. Especially if you're that close to Osamu.

Placing the tray on the table, he takes out the mug and pushes it into your hands before finding his seat opposite you. You grab the cup between your two palms and take a deep breath as Kuroo sips on his latte.

The sweetness of the strawberry never disappoints. It’s refreshing and brings a smile to his lips. Osamu sure knows his desserts.

“I'm really sorry about what happened earlier," you seem to have composed yourself from earlier. You take a small sip of your coffee and Kuroo watches in amusement as you shudder.

"Do you want some milk with that?" he can't help but ask.

You nod and look shameful, and Kuroo's heart squeezes with sympathy. Your eyes are tinged with aprons of blue and there are tired lines lining your eyes and the corners of your mouth. It's only when he comes back -- from having gotten some steamed milk from Osamu and a suggestive wink to match -- you dip your head into a nod and mumble out a soft 'thanks', eyes glued to the way the dark brown turned into a creamy latte.

"You could've asked me for a latte," Kuroo smiled to show that he didn't mind at all. But you winced.

"I'm sorry--"

"Don't say sorry," he softened, "just--next time, you can tell me what you want, Kosuke-san. I'm not here to bite you...unless you want me to."

Your eyes flit up to his in surprise and Kuroo pinks at his words. They'd just slipped out on their own. It's not like he'd wanted to sound flirty when you're looking all shaky and worse for wear. He quickly clear his throat and tries to change the subject, "how are Sakura's injuries?"

"She's fine, got herself a bruised lip."

His eyebrows raise in surprise, "woah, that's still something."

"Yeah," you mutter and take another sip. And then another, "I hope this doesn't become a habit."

"I've taught Sakura since the start of this semester," Kuroo leans forward, elbows propped onto the table, "and I can tell you--she's anything but violent."

"I really hope you're right about this. I can't have her running around beating up everyone."

Kuroo stifled a small laugh, "to be honest, I think it's good she knows how to defend herself."

You shoot him a look and he can't help but laugh. And it's so contagious, the way it booms out of him like a melody, that you cannot restrain yourself from joining in.

"You're right," you say in-between chuckles.

"Maybe she got her mom's feisty spirit," Kuroo adds.

"No way. I was as silent as a mouse," you retort, "if she got anything like that, it's probably from her father's--"

You halt in mid-conversation, wanting to bite down your tongue for even mentioning him and quickly flash Kuroo a bashful smile in hopes he'll just brush it off, "sorry, let's not talk about him--"

"Kosuke-san, you really have to stop saying sorry all the time," Kuroo says with a grin, "it's not healthy."

"I know, I'm--" you catch yourself and he bursts out laughing once more at your face, "don't say it! No matter what!" he chides.

"Stop--" but you're grinning from ear to ear, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, "--Kuroo sensei, I hope you're not as playful with your students or they'd never learn anything from you."

"Course not," he winks, "I keep that solely for the pretty ladies."

His suggestive tone makes you blush despite it all and you look down at your coffee with the blush blazing so hard across your cheeks you swear everyone can see its colour from afar.

"I don't know how it is at home though," Kuroo's voice brings you out of your small bubble of warmth, "it must be tough handling Sakura all alone. Do you ever take a break?"

"Well, she goes to see her dad ever two weeks. But other than that, she's always with me unless my parents decide to come over. Which isn't as often as I would like."

"Why's that?"

"They live in the countryside and have a farm. It's hard for them to take days off, and I don't blame them not wanting to be around," your voice lowers to a mutter at the last few words, "especially after what happened with the marriage and all..."

"Marriages fail every time," Kuroo says gently then, "that too, isn't your fault."

"I wish my parents believed that," you let out a small laugh, "but they're right. We were too young to get married."

"But you have Sakura right? Isn't she worth it?"

His eyes, golden flecked and filled with so much hope and softness, meet yours from across the table. You suddenly feel a bit hot in your seat, wanting to squirm as you quickly look away from Kuroo's gaze because dear god, it's almost like he's ripping away, ripping apart every single layer of self-protection and preservation and reading you out like an open book.

"You're right," you clear your throat upon realizing he'd still been waiting for your response, "she is worth every single second. I wouldn't change anything about what happened. I just--I wish my parents could see it that way too."

"I think you spend a little too much time stressing about things you can't control," Kuroo takes another sip of his latte, "how about you learn to let go a bit? Maybe take the day off? Go hiking?"

"With Sakura?" you shake your head, "impossible, I--"

"Surely you have someone that can take care of her while you're gone," he tilts his head, jaw resting into one of his hands and making him appear all the more handsome.

Your thoughts flash to Atsumu. He's right, you could technically take a day off by dropping Sakura with the blonde. But she's not his responsibility and Atsumu has other priorities in his life rather than hang out with his niece. But Kuroo's persistence is strong and he makes you -- practically orders you -- to text him when he connects the dots that you two are also family.

"That guy can learn a thing or two about being responsible anyway," grins Kuroo, "so I'm sure he won't mind."

————

How did you end up here?

That's the question you keep asking yourself -- even when you're busy picking out your clothes only to realize that you barely have anything that's worth 'party material', even when you're attempting to do your makeup even though it's been almost three (or four?) years since you've tried to look your best because Sakura's wellbeing always came first.

Even when you're strapping up your black ankle boots, the question is getting drilled into your brain like a broken mixtape as you wonder whether this is a good idea after all.

"Go," Atsumu is firm when you call him for the nth time. It's five minutes until Kuroo's supposed to pick you up and feeling the pressure on your shoulders, you quickly decide to call your cousin in an emergency, "you have to do it, y/n. Stop making this all about Sakura. You need to be happy too."

"I am happy," was what you'd mumbled out in the phone receiver. You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the phone, so tight that your knuckles have turned white.

"I know you are, but you'll be happier if you live for yourself. At least for one night," Atsumu responds, "and Sakura's safe with me. And if ever there's an issue I'll call Osamu first to--"

"What?! No! No you call me first, okay?"

"Y/n please just relax. It's supposed to be a fun night."

You slump against the wall in defeat, "I don't even know why I'm doing this," you mumble mostly to yourself, though you're certain he can hear it too, "there's no point trying to prove that I'm content with my life. There are things that are going to leave me unsatisfied. I'm--I was fine with that, really."

"Are you though?" your cousin's voice is accusatory this time, "you're ready to live just for Sakura? Making her happy will make you happy too? Is this how it's supposed to work?"

"Technically yes, I'm her mother--"

"--And you've been left behind!"

The words are like a slap. You bite down onto your lower lip.

It draws blood.

You hiss, sucking on the skin as the metallic taste hits your tongue.

In truth, Atsumu has a point. You can't just live to make Sakura happy because that will ultimately destroy you. Not because she's not the only thing you need in your life. But because despite having your little girl being the center of your world, despite being able to sustain her with your career, you still feel like it's just yesterday when Aoi had upped and left you. His excuses, as pathetic as they had been, were arrows shooting straight into your heart. He left you crying into your pillow that night, hovering over your figure until you'd told him to 'get lost or I'll call the cops on you' before curling up on the small couch that you'd gotten rid of once he'd moved out for good.

So much pain. So much pain and haunted nights and obstacles that had come your way. That, along with caring for Sakura, had been a big hurdle. You remembered the long mornings, how hard it had been to drag yourself out of bed for the first few days. Atsumu had volunteered to stay with you then, giving you all the support you needed until you'd had enough strength to get back on your feet.

So he knew exactly what you'd gone through. Had seen it all first-hand. He wasn't kidding when he said you really needed to get laid. Somehow, he seems to have a valid point.

But it's been so long since you've left the dating scene that the thought of it makes you want to vomit.

"I'm sorry y/n, that wasn't cool." Atsumu's voice flows through the receiver like a lullaby and you take a deep, staggering breath, "I just--I know how hard it's been pulling your weight and caring for Sakura. It practically consumed your entire life. It's about time you get that motherfucker back for screwing things up--"

"Language," you tsk at him.

"You know what I mean," he replies impatiently, "So go out there, have fun. Get smashed. And at least do something to make you happy for a change. Alright?"

"Yeah okay," you mumble.

"And plus, you're with a bunch of guys that I know. They're cool. They'll keep an eye on you."

"Thanks mom."

"Anytime hun."

You can't help but giggle before you hear a car pulling up outside, "alright. I think my ride's here."

"Yeah, try to get laid okay--"

"Atsumu!" your cheeks flame, "I hope you're not saying all this in front of Sakura!"

A burst of laughter echoes from the receiver, "don't worry, miss Sakura is asleep. Have fun y/n! Take pictures!"

The drive there is less awkward than you'd imagined it to be, despite the fact that Kuroo's get-up does make your mouth salivate. And not just you. You realize a bunch of girls have him on their radar, from the stolen glances driven his way as you follow his broad back out of the parking and into the small terrace-looking entrance flanked by colored glowing palm trees.

"I haven't been in a club for like four years," you confess to him as you trudge into the queue. The air smells like cigarette and smoke. And something else. Something dangerous. It makes you giddy, you realize.

"Four years?" his eyes grow round as he looks down at you, "you have drunk before right? To the brink of passing out?"

"Like...maybe four years ago?"

His mouth opens, then closes. He shakes his head, a smile curving at the edges of his lips, "remind me not to drown you with tequila."

"I'll try my best."

You meet the rest of the gang upon stumbling into the club. It's dark and pulsating with music, with two dance floors separated by the DJ stationed on a platform right in the middle. Lights are bouncing off the space like crazy and all around you are moving bodies that writh and mold together until you're not sure where one ends and the other begins.

“Y/N! You’re here!” A drunk Hinata hooks an arm around your shoulder before steering you towards the bar, “you’re just in time! We were going for a round of lambos.”

“Lambos?” You balk and meet Kuroo’s eye, “you mean— Lamborgini’s?”

“Hell yeah!” Another one of the guys chimes in. It’s almost comical, the way they’re all stumbling against each other as you move like a congregation until you’re straight up in front of the barman.

“Ten Lambo’s please!” Hinata slams his card ontot he counter.

It brings back a wave of nostalgia, seeing the line of glasses and the way the bartender drops the alcohol in like he can do it with his eyes closed. You’re jostled and pressed against warm chests and shoulders, surrounded from all sides and yet, you feel safe with them all. That is, until you feel a soft brush against your elbow.

You turn to see Kuroo’s warm golden orbs.

“All okay?” He mouths to you.

You nod and give him a smile in return, and the grin that he cracks makes a troop of butterflies swoop into your stomach.

You look away just as Hinata thrusts a glass into your hands, “come y/n! This one’s on me!”

One shot becomes two. And two become three. Soon enough you find yourself on the dance floor and moving to the beat with one of the girls from the group— Yachi?— while the guys are trying to pay each other back their shots. The music vibrates through the floor up your body and flood your veins so that you get lost in it, ecstasy and the thrill of just being alive finally gushing through your brain, fogged up and amplified by the alcohol in your bloodstream.

It’s amazing. You feel free. Like nothing can stop you.

It’s honestly the best you’ve felt in a while.

After a while, you and Yachi decide to take a well-deserved break, stumbling over to the clustered seating space filled with red cushions as the boys scatter to find more alcohol. At this point you’re surprised that they’re still moving around and conscious, considering the amount they’ve drunk.

One of the boys— the one with the kind smile called Daichi— offers to get you guys some water as you take a seat, allowing your tired legs to take a break.

“I’m going to fine Hinata!” Yachi says into your ear and you nod before ushering her out of your way. There’s something between those two, a kind of tension that will develop into something more if they just allow it.

But you’re not one to meddle, not when your own love life’s a mess.

That’s when you notice.

It’s the lingering stare out of the corner of your peripheral that makes you turn your head.

Then you see him.

A tall, lanky man. He’s seated right opposite you, a drink in his hand and taking a swig. But there’s no mistake, for when his eyes meet yours across the room you can only jolt in shock.

You look away with embarrassment and disgust. Heat spreads to the back of your neck and goosebumps run up your arms. Suddenly, it’s a little too cold in this hot, sweaty club.

Why is he looking at you like that?

There’s no mistaking the intention. You risk one more glance and confirm that indeed, there’s a darkness in his eyes; the kind of a predator.

The kind that wants to strip you bare.

It’s unsetttling, unnerving.

Disgusting.

You don’t even hesitate. It’s like instinct for you jump off your seat with the only purpose to find Kuroo. But to your terror, the man starts to follow you. And soon enough it becomes a game of catch: of cat and mouse. You almost trip over your high heels as you push through the moving bodies as quickly as you can.

But the figure is there, hovering over you like a dark shadow that causes your heart to clench.

You bite back a whimper, pushing through a throng of girls as you frantically search for a sign of Kuroo’s familiar mop of hair. Or Hinata’s. Or just about anyone for that matter—

Bumping into a chest, you’re more than surprised as you let out a small yelp only to hear a familiar alto.

“Kosuke-san, everything alright?”

“K—Kuroo sensei,” your mumble is drowned in the beats of the music, eyes darting between his face and the dodgy man.

He’s now standing by the bar a few feet away from you. The same kind of withering stare that makes you wince.

Hurriedly, you turn to Kuroo and grip his shirt, wanting nothing more than to hide behind him, “I—uhm— there’s someone—“ the words jumble up as they pour out of your mouth and you find you can do nothing but grip his shirt for dear life, like Kuroo’s the only thing that can help you out of here.

Thankfully, he seems to understand your dilemma, for he puts a hand on your shoulder before steering you a little closer to him and away from the main path, a frown evident on his face, “what’s wrong Kosuke-san?”

But it’s only when he follows your fear-stricken eyes that Kuroo realizes there’s something — someone tormenting you. He recognizes the dark hunger, the prowling intent.

Instantly, his hand grips your waist. Tugs you closer.

You stumble into him, “Kuroo sensei—“

But Kuroo’s not having it. He stares the man down with a glower, longer body practically wrapped around yours in a protective embrace as he dares the man to do something, anything.

Try me, his eyes are saying, you’re not going to lay a single hand on her.

The stranger finally breaks eye contact after a few beats of silence and Kuroo keeps watch, golden eyes blazing until the man is nothing more but a memory of smoke as he disappears into the crowd.

Only then does he allow his hold to relax. Tilting down towards you. He murmurs out softly:

“He’s gone, Kosuke-san.”

You’re practically glued to him at this point, face buried in his chest and hands gripping so tightly onto his shirt that you might’ve grown claws. Kuroo nudges you gently once more, and that’s when you look up from the depths of his shirt.

The sight makes him almost coo because goddamnit even in the dim disco lights you look adorable. He has the sudden urge to pinch your cheeks and he’s glad his hands are somewhat occupied along your waist.

“You okay?” Is what he whispers.

You nod, looking a bit shaky and green int the face, “yeah—I’m—I’m fine. Thank you. He was—it scared me.”

“I know,” Kuroo draws away ever so slightly so he can have a better look at your face, “I’ll bring you home, alright?”

“No no it’s okay,” you shake your head and attempt a smile, but even Kuroo can see past those shaky lips, “you stay and have fun. I’ll call an Uber and—“

“Nonsense,” he grabs your elbow once more, “I’ll accompany you. C’mon.”

———

It’s definitely unnerving. It leaves you shaking with fear and you’re thankful for Kuroo’s strong grip on your arm as he maneuvers you out of the club.

The rush of cold wind hits your cheeks, leaving the soft beats of the club behind. Slowly, the world comes back into focus as the air rushes through your lungs and the sound bustling traffic in the distance is brought back into focus.

Only then do you realize how close you’re standing to the coach.

With a start, you stumble away with a muttered “sorry”, not daring to meet his eyes while quickly brushing off your clothes because dear god you weren’t sure what to do with your hands.

The uber arrives without much delay — thankfully — and the ride home is silent, almost as if there’s an awkward tension that has settled between the two of you. Away from the alcohol and now sobering up, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that you’d practically glued yourself to this man earlier. The act is so embarrassing you decidedly keep your gaze on the flurry of bustling streets and dim lamps flying by.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until a warm hand is shaking your shoulder, followed by a soft; “we’re here.”

You gasp, noticing that you’ve been pressed against Kuroo’s shoulder all this time.

“Oh,” you scramble away as quick as lightning, “I’m so sorry—“

His lips quirk upwards, “no harm done, senpai.”

You hate it when he calls you that. It makes you sound… old.

Nevertheless, you decide to be quiet as he accompanies you up to your flat, hands in his pockets while following you up the rusty stairs. You hope he’s not judging; it’s not like you have unlimited amounts of funding, what with Sakura’s education and activities.

“Well,” you finally reach the door to your flat and turn on your heel so that you face him, “thanks… for everything.”

"No problem," he's smiling down at you. Still so patient, still so happy to help. Your heart swells in your chest and you ask, "how are you getting back?"

"Oh, probably Uber..." he trails off, already turning away to fish his phone out of his pocket, "it's not far."

"Where do you live?"

You almost bawk when he tells you his address, because it's practically at the other end of town. He'll be there in forty-five minutes, at least.

The words are automatic, shooting out of you, "I'm so--"

But Kuroo's hand whips out, clamping over your lips. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, only to see the young man grinning like there's no tomorrow.

"You really need to stop doing that," he finally says before drawing back. Already, you're hit with the cold air following Kuroo's touch upon your skin, "I wanted to accompany you. There's nothing to apologize for."

"I know, but--"

He throws you another pointed look that has you clamping down on your mouth. You're about to say sorry once more because you're being a pathetic blubbery mess, but the look in his eyes makes you say a soft, "thank you" instead.

"You're welcome," and with one final grin and a wave to match, the school Coach disappears down the corridor, leaving you gazing at his broad back until his silhouette turns the corner and away from your sight.

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bishopmyrielfundraiser · 2 days ago

Text

even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise--

--as Victor Hugo didn't actually say.

The Winter 2025 Bishop Myriel Fundraiser is now open. This year will be dedicated to immigrants, many of whom are languishing in private prisons whose stock just went way, way up.

Our goal this year is at least 25 auction items and over $1000 in funds raised. If you've never participated before, this is your year. DM if you would like to participate but need advice!

Get your fic, art, books, crafts, costumes, and other offers ready. You can submit them according to the rules under the cut, and bidding on each item will start as soon as it is posted. Bidding in REPLIES, NOT REBLOGS, will continue through the end of December 21st, the darkest night of the year.

The recommended places to donate this year are: 1) RAICES Texas, an immigration-focused group which freed more than 2,000 people from immigration detention over the years. They fought to reunify families when children were ripped from their parents' arms during the first Trump administration, and have now pivoted to using funds to provide legal support for the detained, while continuing to pay bonds for those clients.

2) Annunciation House, a shelter serving immigrants. Run by Catholics in Texas who open their doors to the stranger without asking to see their papers, this year they faced down a vicious attempt by the Texas government to shut them down as a "stash house." The attorney general claimed in court that they followed "a more Bohemian set of ‘seven commandments,’ including commandments to ‘visit’ people when ‘incarcerated’ and ‘care (for them) when they’re sick.'” What could be more in the spirit of this fundraiser's namesake, Bishop Myriel? If you are not in the US and/or find it difficult to donate via those pages and/or want to support a particular organization doing good work to assist immigrants that's not listed above, please feel free to select another organization. From groups funding rescue ships in the Mediterranean to those supporting refugees stuck in camps around the world, there is a lot of good work to be done.

Rules for submitting your offers and bidding on them under the cut

Rules

1. Offering

SUBMIT your offering post to this blog! Include a link to this rules post in your own post, and also a minimum starting offer for your item, which can be a fic, art, or a physical item--be creative! Your offer does NOT have to be connected to the Les Misérables fandom, although such items are always welcome! Any terms and conditions of your offer should also be included in the post, eg what fandoms you are wiling to write for, any hard no’s on content, etc. Offer posts can keep coming in through the SUBMIT button until the auction closes.

2. Bidding

Bidding on each item opens as it is posted. Only bid on items tagged #Winter25. There will also be a masterpost to help distinguish this year's items from last years. Bid in REPLIES NOT REBLOGS (this is important because replies enable me to figure out who bid when and avoid conflicts) until 11:59PM Eastern Time December 21st, 2024. The highest bidder at that time will be the winner. Bidding can start as each item is posted.

3. Claiming or delivering your item

Please do not donate your bid until I have contacted you to inform you that you won the item!

If you have won an item, I will contact you directly via DM and ask you to provide a receipt or other verification for a donation to an immigration organization in the amount bid. This DM may come from either @bishopmyrielfundraiser or my main blog @lifeisyetfair. After you have made your donation, send such the receipt or verification [email protected] or in a screenshot on Tumblr. Make sure the proof contains the amount you donated!

AFTER I have verified your donation, I will contact the offerer to let them know they can deliver the item. If you do not respond at all to my attempts to contact you within one week, I will move on to the next highest bidder. So check your DMs.

4. Sending the item you offered

All items should be delivered by March 31st, 2025 at the absolute latest, unless you have made other arrangements, eg the custom item/fic takes longer than that to create or write and you communicate about this. Earlier is even better, but remember that the most important thing is to keep the winner informed and make sure everyone has a good time.

#bishop myriel fundraisers #bishopmyrielfrundraiser #les miserables #fandom auction #winter25 #auction rules #immigration #refugees #freedom #resistance #bishop myriel #jean valjean #enjolras #okay i'm running out of tags #let's go

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celli-ohs · 1 day ago

Text

I Can't, I Have Rehearsal

pairing: socially awkward!park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

synopsis: What happens when you get seated right next to the most handsome boy in your entire grade? Well you thought it'd be a great excuse to get to know him better, but the guy won't even talk to you! After a mishap in the science lab, you come to find out that Park Sunghoon, the cold-hearted prince of EN High, isn't in fact rude, he's just afraid of women.

before you read: character profiles

warnings: language, cooties, wild subplot, loser enhypen

word count: 3.78k

taglist (open): @ancnymcnzjy

note: part 1 of my and scene! series, loosely based off en-drama.

Log 3: Wednesday - March 6th, 2024

The blaring screams of his alarm clock has Sunghoon jolting from his sleep. “Oh my god,” He gasps, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “It was all just a dream!” He says relieved.

Jumping out of bed, he hurriedly gets ready for the day. Once clean and changed, he walks to the kitchen, opening a packet of natto to indulge in.

“Yeji! Don’t forget to comb your hair,” He hears his mother scold as she enters the kitchen. “Oh, Sunghoon, you’re up?” She sounds confused.

“Yeah, I’m walking with the guys, just like every morning.” He shrugs her off. She doesn’t say much after that, only rushing his little sister around the house, helping her get ready.

“I’m off, see you later.” Sunghoon waves goodbye as he heads out. “Have a good day!” His mother smiles.

“He’s having a good morning for someone who locked himself in his room last night.” Yeji grumbles. “Your brother is… a teenager Yeji, let him be.” Her mother tries to keep a positive mindset.

“Will I be like that when I’m a teenager?” Yeji asks, looking worried.

“You better not, your brother is enough trouble as it is.”

In the past ten minutes no one has said a single word. Sunghoon can’t seem to figure out why though, his eyes searching for the answer.

Finally, Jungwon clears his throat. “Sunoo,” He calls out. “How did your audition go? For the theater club?”

The other boy suddenly sighs. “You won’t believe it- they rejected me!” Jaeyun looks completely shocked, eyebrows furrowed together.

“I know! And then they had the audacity to ask me if I could instead be a prop decorator when I’m meant to be on stage!” Sunoo groans.

“That’s mean,” Heeseung frowns. (He keeps popping up out of nowhere, he’s like a ninja, it’s starting to actually scare Sunghoon).

“But then something happened on my walk home,” Sunoo hums, rummaging through his pocket. “Some guy stopped me when I was getting ice cream, he said to call him and I could become an idol!” Sunoo flashes the fancy business card in front of all his friends.

“Is that real?” Riki swipes it, observing both sides of the cardstock. The card gets passed around, and everyone gets a good look before it’s returned to Sunoo.

"Belift Lab? What kind of stupid company name is that?" Jungwon scoffs as he reads the card.

“Do you guys think I should do it? Being an idol sounds fun.” Sunoo smiles. That is until Jaeyun shakes his head. “Sure yeah you’re famous, but don’t you want to be an actor? That’s pretty different.”

“True, you could be training for years before you debut, or maybe you don’t debut at all,” Jungwon adds.

“Riki A’s older brother almost became an idol, he says he trained for like almost 3 years.” Riki comments.

“Oh gross, I think I’ll just stick to acting.” Sunoo tosses the card into a nearby trash can.

“Was he from a good company?” Sunghoon asks. Sunoo shrugs. “Don’t know, I've never heard of them.”

“Sounds sketchy, probably good you didn’t say yes.” Jungwon agrees.

As the six of them continue on their walk to school, there’s the familiar sound of a thud behind them, causing them all to turn.

“Fuck, I got my pants dirty,” Jongseong grumbles as he stands up, dusting himself off. “You’re late,” Sunghoon teases, making the other boy roll his eyes. “I’m early actually, and I have been this whole week.” Jongseong argues.

“It’s only Wednesday.” Sunoo points out to him. This has Sunghoon confused. “What do you mean? It’s only Tuesday.”

The boys all stop, turning to Sunghoon with crazed expressions. “Sunghoon, it’s Wednesday,” Jaeyun shows his calendar on his phone.

He takes a closer look, stepping forward. Right there on Jaeyun’s screen it lists the date: Wednesday, March 6th.

“No.” Sunghoon stumbles over his words. He looks up at his friends. “That means yesterday-” He chokes up.

“Dude are you high?” Riki asks, concerned. “Do you not remember what happened yesterday?”

Yesterday. Tuesday. March 5th.

He went to school, and then he went home. Yeah. No. Maybe?

Because then that would mean that what happened wasn’t a dream-

“You left home early, remember? Actually you ran out, Jaeyun had to drop your stuff off.” Jungwon clarifies, and suddenly everything clicks.

After humiliating himself in front of you and his entire class, Sunghoon didn’t even think about dashing out of the classroom. To be honest, he just kept running, past his homeroom, past the front doors, and right out the school gates down the street.

“Sunghoon!” Jaeyun shakes him by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond, brain shutting down.

Sunghoon has to be wrestled into his seat. Jaeyun and Jongseong hold him down, trying to convince him to apologize to you.

“Just say you’re sorry,” Jongseong holds him firmly down by the shoulder. “Yeah! I’m sure she’ll understand.” Jaeyun tries to stay positive.

“Please, please just let me go. You guys are my friends, can’t you just-” “We’re doing this because we’re your friends you idiot.” Jongseong argues.

Sunghoon tries to argue, but is swiftly shut up when Jaeyun suddenly announces your arrival.

“Hi Y/n! You’re looking nice today.” Jaeyun sounds overly enthusiastic as he compliments you, his arms are not so subtly trying to get Sunghoon to turn your way.

“Hey Jaeyun,” You sound unsure as you get closer.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jongseong.” Sunghoon’s other friend greets you.

“Hi,” You say quickly before clearing your throat. “Um, Sunghoon, do you think we can talk really quick? In private?”

Sunghoon shakes his head no, but his two friends decide to take matters into their own terms.

“Oh, he’d love to! Right, Sunghoon?” Jongseong stares him down. Sunghoon clenches his jaw and rigidly nods.

He’s released by his friends, and like a robot, follows you out of the classroom. He’d try to make a break for it, but he could feel both Jongseong and Jaeyun’s eyes following him down the hall.

You lead him to a corner by the janitor’s closet, it’s a lot quieter as it’s away from the rowdy crowd of teeangers.

He stands far from you, not able to get closer than 10 feet. But you begin to close the space in between you, forcing Sunghoon to back up. Except he instead ran into a wall and found himself cornered by you.

“I was worried you wouldn’t show up today.” You begin to speak, stepping back and keeping a respectable distance. Sunghoon is as stiff as a board, eyes trained onto his feet.

“I wanted to say I’m really sorry for what happened yesterday.” You suddenly apologize. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I had no idea you were scared of girls, Jaeyun told me after you ran away.”

His best friend of the past eight years, Sim Jaeyun, revealed his most deepest darkest secret?! He felt so betrayed.

“But I want you to know I want to help you.” You say, and suddenly Sunghoon is looking at you (more like the outline of you, he still can’t look at you directly) with wide eyes.

“I mean we’re seatmates and club members, we should be able to help each other out.” You begin to explain. “And Jaeyun kind of asked me to help you.” You add sheepishly at the end.

Sunghoon was seriously going to get his revenge on that kid.

“So what do you say?” You ask, rocking back and forth on your feet as you patiently wait for his answer.

Sunghoon felt trapped. On one hand, his looming fear of women was stopping him, but on the other hand provided a (very scary) solution to his big problem.

“H-How would you help me?” He coughs out. “I was thinking we could start by being friends? Maybe work on the small stuff.” You offered.

The small stuff, yeah, he could deal with that, right?

Eventually, he nods, causing you to clap your hands together.

“Great! This is going to be easy, I promise!” You grin.

It was in fact not easy.

All morning you would try to get Sunghoon to give you as much as a look in your direction, whispering to him random questions and facts to try and start a conversation.

When lunch finally arrived, Sunghoon had never run so fast to the cafeteria before in his life.

“I’m gonna kill you Sim Jaeyun!” Sunghoon is seething as he sneaks up behind his friend. Jaeyun’s signature smile vanishes, and is replaced with fear.

“Sunghoon please-” “You told her?!” Sunghoon leads Jaeyun to sit down at their table.

“How else do I explain why you suddenly dipped in the middle of class? I could’ve told her you had to take a massive shit, but I didn’t!” Jaeyun argues, tugging Sunghoon off of him.

Hmm, touche.

“This was for the greater good, we all agreed on it.” Sunoo suddenly adds in. Sunghoon turns to his friends in shock.

“You guys voted? With Heeseung?!” He points to the (technically his) senior. Heeseung stared wide eyed, looking slightly guilty.

“We voted because you’re getting out of hand. Dude, my older sister ran into you at the supermarket the other day with your mom and when she said hi, you hid behind the cans of soup display.” Jungwon reveals.

“I thought she wouldn’t recognize me.” Sunghoon winces from the embarrassment.

Heeseung (awkwardly) claps a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Sungho.” “-Sunghoon,” Jaeyun whispers to him the correction.

“It’s okay, Sunghoon.” Heeseung pretends to have never made his mistake. “Everything will be alright.”

Sunghoon turns to him, lips thin. That one look has Heeseung’s arm falling back to his side.

“Come on Sunghoon, stop acting like this. You already agreed to let her help you anyways.” Jongseong argues. The boy sighs, rubbing his face in despair. Even Sunghoon can’t believe he still agreed.

“I take it back, can you guys tell her I’d rather be a hermit for the rest of my life and never want to see another woman again?” Sunghoon asks, looking stressed.

“Well don’t look now, but I’m pretty sure that’s her coming our way.” Jungwon points out, sipping his drink as he nods to his right.

The younger boy proves to be right, you’re making your way through the crowded cafeteria, holding your tray of food as you walk confidently towards Sunghoon and his friends. Unfortunately for him, Jaeyun traps him down to his seat before he can run again.

“Hey Sunghoon,” You smile, waving as you stop at the head of the table. Jongseong kicks his shin, forcing him to respond.

“Hi,” He grunts. The other boys snicker, finding all of this amusing.

“I was just wondering if we’re still having Calligraphy club today after school?” You ask.

Oh crap. With everything that happened today, Sunghoon had totally spaced out and forgotten what he’d promised the day before.

“He wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Riki grins at you. The youngest sticks his hand out to you, giving you an enticing smirk. “I’m Riki B by the way, you like younger guys?” His question earns him a slap on the arm by Jongseong.

As Riki gasps from the pain, you chuckle awkwardly. “So I’ll see you after class then? At the old library?” You check, facing Sunghoon again. He stiffly nods, still not looking at you.

“Cool, see you!” You finally leave, going to eat a few tables away. Once you're gone, Sunghoon feels as if he can breathe again.

“She’s pretty.” Heeseung giggles, earning quiet but strong agreements from the other boys. “You sit next to her?!” Sunoo sounds surprised, mocking the boy in question.

“Okay, shut up. All of you.” Sunghoon glares, his ears turning red.

“Don’t worry Sunghoon,” Riki begins to chuckle. “I won’t actually steal your girl, I’ve got my eyes on someone else.” He teases. “Just don’t get too butt hurt when she falls for my good looks and charismatic charm.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, deciding to ignore the youngest.

“Speak of the devil,” Riki suddenly laughs. “Yo shortcake!” He stands up in his seat, hollering at someone.

A girl in the sea of students spins around, first looking confused, then angry as her eyes land on the tall boy. She promptly flips him off, before stomping away with her friends.

Riki laughs, finding the situation funny. “I’ll see you guys later, with my new girlfriend.” He says confidently, dumping his food in the trash to go chase after the poor girl.

“Oh this is gonna be good,” Jungwon begins to chuckle, pulling out his phone before following his friend. “Send me the video!” Sunoo shouts and Jungwon gives him a thumbs up. “I pray for that girl,” Jaeyun shakes his head.

“She’s gonna need a miracle to get rid of him,” Jongseong agrees. “Same way Sunghoon’s gonna need a miracle to get out of Calligraphy club today.” Sunoo comments.

This was always one of Sunghoon's favorite parts of calligraphy: the setup. Being able to prepare and organize before he wrote felt calming in the sense that it was a comfortable pattern. He opens his box, revealing his multiple brushes and supplies safely packed inside.

Relishing in the silence, Sunghoon carefully takes out sheets of paper, placing them to his right. Using water from his designated calligraphy water bottle, he pours a small amount into his shallow ink stone.

Like a machine, Sunghoon begins to sternly rub his ink stick against the stone, breaking it down and mixing it with the water to create the dark opaque ink. He sets this to the side once finished, taking a piece of paper, and flattening it out with his paper weights.

With a deep breath, Sunghoon feels his heart calm down to a trill. This was the most relaxed he’s felt all week.

“So that’s how it’s supposed to look, huh?” Your voice interrupts his thoughts and suddenly Sunghoon is reminded of why you’re here in the first place.

Across from him you sit, copying him as you begin to set up your own supplies. You do so messily, but nonetheless, you get the job done looking satisfied.

“Okay! I’m ready whenever you are.” You clap your hands together, eager to start. Opposite to you, Sunghoon is silent as he begins to dip his brush into his ink, carefully calculating his brush strokes as he writes, quoting a poem he enjoyed.

“So, are you actually scared of catching cooties?” You ask, not so subtle. Your abrupt question has him frozen.

“Cause if you are, has anyone told you that cooties aren't real? It’s just a thing kids say-“

“I know.” He interrupts. “I just…” He loses the words, grimacing instead. You two grow quiet again, the tension in the air is thick.

“What are you writing?” You eventually speak up again.

“...It’s a quote from the poem ‘Flowers That Bloom When Shaken’ by Do Jonghwan.” He explains.

You nod. “Well I’m drawing a cat playing in a field.” You suddenly hold up your paper, showing him your art.

If he thought your calligraphy was bad, it was safe to say you weren’t an artist either. “Looks like a second grader made it.” He mumbles. You huff, grabbing a new paper.

As you both return to writing in silence, Sunghoon is able to focus and finish his piece, setting it to the side to let it dry properly.

He notices you suddenly stop writing, setting your brush down as you lean back into your chair. You sit with crossed arms, observing him. This has Sunghoon feeling like his skin was crawling.

“Sunghoon.” You call out. “Let’s play a game.”

He pauses. “I don’t like games.”

“Too bad, this is a fun one.” You assure him. You sit upright again and lean against the table.

“We’re just gonna ask each other questions, and we have to answer them.” You say it like it’s so easy.

“What if I don’t?” He fidgets.

“Every question you answer, you get to go home five minutes early.” You prompt. Sunghoon’s eyes flit across the room to the door. Leaving early sounded nice.

“We get three questions each, okay?” Sunghoon slowly nods. You clap your hands together, excited.

“I’ll go first,” You clear your throat. His heart begins to race, palms getting sweaty, and mind running wild at what horrible grotesque questions you could ask him.

“For my first question…” You hum. “Why do you like calligraphy?”

That wasn’t what he expected you to ask him.

“I-” He chokes, blinking as he tries to formulate an answer. “I… feel calm when I do calligraphy.” He answers slowly. “I can focus better, and I can relieve stress.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard was it? Now for the next question, maybe try looking at me and not the table.” You tease, and he begins to feel embarrassed.

“Now you ask me a question.”

Sunghoon shifts in his seat. There’s been something that’s been bugging him all day.

“Why-Why did you agree to help me?” He steals a quick glance at you, before opting to focus on the bookshelf behind you.

“Don’t get upset when I say this,” You mumble. “But you looked really scared yesterday at the science lab. I got worried when you ran off and didn’t come back. I thought I did something wrong.”

You were worried… for him? You two barely knew each other and yet you still stressed over him deserting you in the middle of class. Even more confusing, you thought it was your fault.

Sunghoon feels his heartbeat slow down.

“Okay, my turn again.” You clear your throat. “Are you scared of like all girls? Or just some of them?” Your curiosity seems to have gotten the better of you.

Sunghoon tilts his head to the side. “I’m normal around my mom and my sister. Family for the most part I'm fine. But I have trouble around everyone else I guess.” He sheepishly admits.

“I see.” You nod, and as you turn slightly, he catches a glimpse of your pouted lips. You seem to be deep in thought.

“My turn.” He speaks up, already prepared with his next question. You wait attentively.

“Why did you join the calligraphy club?”

You shrug at his question. “We visited my grandparents for the new year. My grandmother gifted me a set. I wasn’t gonna use it originally but then my friend convinced me to join the club. You guys know each other, his name is Kai. He said you were really nice and that you’d teach me.”

Sunghoon knew Kai alright. Kai was very close to his calligraphy club senior Soobin. The boy would often hang out in the club room last year when Soobin was around. He had no idea you two were friends.

But what really caught Sunghoon off was how highly Kai regarded him. They didn’t speak much, as both were pretty introverted. The fact that their little interactions were good enough for you to believe your friend was surprising to him.

“Thanks.” He nods, feeling a bit better about himself.

“Okay, my last question.” You drum your fingers against the wooden table. “Why are you scared of girls?”

If Sunghoon was being honest, he had a feeling you’d ask him this. He’d expected it earlier on, but there was no doubt you’d want to know how his fear started.

His words clump up at the back of his throat, refusing to come out as you wait patiently. He glances at the door and is reminded why he’s doing this in the first place.

“You can take your time, don’t feel pressured to tell me everything if you don’t want to.” You assure him, sliding back into your seat.

Your words help calm his nerves, and Sunghoon nods as he takes a deep breath.

“I wasn’t always scared.” He says after a moment. “But when I was seven, I got bullied by the girls in my class.”

“Everything used to be normal, but then one day I came to school and all the girls were whispering about me. They wouldn’t play with me, talk to me, they’d just watch me from afar and gossip.”

“And it was just me, none of the other boys in my class had it happen to them. When I tried to ask one of the girls during recess, she screamed at me to leave her alone.”

“After that, I just stopped talking to girls. I feel like I can’t understand them, I don’t know what they’re thinking, what they’ll do, or what they say. Even now, everyone’s always whispering about me like I'm disgusting.”

There’s anger in his voice as he finishes, and Sunghoon realizes his fists are clenched. He releases them, swallowing thickly as he tries to relax.

He slumps in his chair, hiding his face in his hands. Despite how horrified he was right now, he felt a bit relieved you now knew his secret.

“Please don’t tell anyone this. You’re one of the few people who know.” He admits.

“Okay, yeah. I promise.” You say softly. Your voice brings him some sense of tranquility.

“Why don’t we go home?” He nods solemnly, and the two of you clean up.

You two don’t speak again until you’re outside, the brisk March air hitting you both in the face, a large contrast to the warm temperature from inside.

“Thanks for telling me all of that back there.” You say, gripping your school bag as you two walk side by side (albeit a few feet in between you both, Sunghoon still wasn’t used to the idea of close proximity).

“Jaeyun probably would have told you anyway, that snitch.” Sunghoon mumbles. Hearing this makes you laugh. Something about it makes his ears turn red, and it's not from the cold.

“Oh!” You gasp, jumping up. “We forgot, you still have one more question to ask me.” You remind him.

Sunghoon begins to think, not sure what to ask. Unconsciously he turns, more focused on hearing your answer to realize he’s actually looking at you.

“How do you actually plan to ‘help’ me?” He raises a brow.

You look up at him and smile, giggling to yourself. “You’ll just have to wait and see!”

You skip ahead of him before waving goodbye as you head down a different street on your way home.

Sunghoon doesn’t wave back, instead, he stands there in the cold as your figure eventually disappears. It’s then does he realize his friends were right.

You are pretty.

Log 2: Tuesday - March 5th, 2024 | Log 4: Monday - April 1st, 2024

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justevelynnnn · 1 day ago

Text

I want to be more

Summary: You work in a brothel in the early 1900s after WW1. You had few clients but just started having one regular. He was solider. You fall for him only after a few times of meeting. You soon wanted to be more than…whatever this is.

Warnings: Cussing, Reader is a woman, prostitution, smut mentioning throughout, alcohol consumption, signs of limerence, angsty ending

(this is barely proofread too)

A/N: This idea came to me out of nowhere..i’m so happy with it though. I had fun incorporating 1920s slang into this too. I think i have an idea for a part 2 but that might come later..

It was a cold winter day. Clients came in less when it was cold, not wanting to travel through the snow. Only the really, truly libidinous would come during these times. You enjoyed it. A break. But with breaks came no money being made.

The owner was generous enough to let you and a few others stay in your private rooms and live there. You’ve been here for 5 years now. A job is a job. It paid enough for you to scrape by. Not that you really enjoyed it.

You got used to it quick. At least, as used to it as you could. As one could. At first, you were a nervous, naiive olive, but now you’re a stronger, almost street smart woman. You knew how to handle yourself, how you should be treated. Men knew now to respect you. To not try and get out of paying or overstep boundaries.

You drank often to hide any pain. Forget any and all traumas. You always were tipsy if it could be helped when it was time to work. It made it…easier. Lighter.

The brothel itself was nice. Spacious. Luxurious. A blind tiger as most described it. Disguised as just a fancy bar for any authority figures who passed by.

You got paid well because of this by each client but really only ever made just enough for rent some food and maybe a dress or something else. You weren’t too popular to get many clients. Most men you had were Soldiers from the war. Occasionally, if you looked nice enough, an egg or wealthy man. Most of them were married. Older. Drunks, whether it was a secret or not.

You didn’t care for them. They didn’t care for you more. It was just business.

But there was one man who was different. One man who stood out to you. Who made you feel something other than a deep disgust.

His name was Logan Howlett.

He was young seeming, never telling his age. He just got back from the war. Obviously worn down by the trauma he possibly witnessed. Eyes told it all as well like many other soldiers. He always drank. Sometimes smoked a cigar. But always went right up to you.

At first, you almost refused him. He was dirty, and swaying around. He gave you a damp crumpled up $50 and mumbled about your hips and eyes. He smelled a bit too-

But then he pulled out another $50. You were convinced now. $100! was alot. You’d choke this encounter down too.

But he was surprisingly good. He didn’t just fuck you. No. He made love to you. He was soft. Gentle. You were almost taken aback. He treated you like glass. He actually even licked your core, something 90% of your clients ignored. Until you came 3 times you didn’t see his manhood.

He fell asleep next you, exhausted and sad. He was a sad drunk. He told you how he wanted to marry you, how he wanted to run away from everything with someone. Most men would confess things to you either before or after. But you ignored a lot because they were often drunk, like Logan.

Logan logan logan.

His first encounter with you left an impression.

A week passed and you still couldn’t get him off your mind. It was almost depressing. And just when you felt like he’d never return, he did.

He walked in, head down. Sat at the bar for an hour just drinking. And then he looked for you. You didn’t go up to him, just to see how long he’d look before he settled for another. But he never did. He keep looking. Looking and looking and walking and walking.

Then he saw you and walked up to you quickly. A hug. A drunken, messy hug and kiss.

“I never got your name, dear..” He whispered. He could barely stand.

Did you want him to have your real or work name?

“It’s y/n.” You said softly.

“y/n……… y/n…” Logan repeated slowly. “Beautiful li’you. Pretty girl…”

You could barely hear him. He had his hand in your lower back that horribly distracted you. A soft, “your mine” hold. Possessive. Different from other men.

You started to love the taste of whiskey just because you always tasted it on his lips. You started to love the faint scent on cigar on his hairy chest. Dog tags hitting you in the face has he thrusted into you. The way he held you like you’d get away. Treated you like you weren’t just a couple of wet holes but a human. A woman. Even drunk he was somewhat of a gentleman.

You wonder why he chose you. Why did ever go to you. Did he go to other brothels too? He seemed infatuated with you and you him.

You told the other women about him after the fifth time. They barely believed you. A bit of jealousy filled the air as they were rarely, if at all, treated so lovely. No, everyone was just holes. Just holes. Eye candy and holes.

The next time Logan came some women tried to climb on him. They offered him discounts. You almost wanted to fucking spit. He wasn’t yours though so why did you feel like this?

It made you damn near giddy as you watched him shoo them away like flies. Almost disgusted. Like he was some virgin waiting for marriage. Like it was almost rude for women to act like that despite where he was. The women huffed and walked away, some back to their rooms and others to other men. A couple have you a glance or so but said nothing.

You just waited for Logan to come back to you and touch you and treat you like you were more.

You felt spoiled.

He really acted like you two were going together. You began to wonder if he was courting you in some odd way.

Rumors started amongst the women who cared that you two were dating and you almost got put out. The number one rule was to never date your clients. Ever.

You assured he was just stuck on you or something and it wasn’t your fault. That he paid you the best. Out loud you say money, in your head you say attention.

He certainly becomes all you think about. Oh yes. Ohhh yes. You started noticing little details. His beard that was sometimes shaven. His hair. How it smelled. How it was the only soft thing on him. His nose. He once confessed he hated it but you loved it. He let you ride it once. Amazing experience.

And was such a sex magician. That’s how’d you describe him anyways. He was awfully skilled. You really wondered if he got practice before you. And how much?

You learned bits and pieces about him after sex. He’d lay there and talk about the war. Why he drank sometimes. How me missed his family. How he wished he was “normal”. Normal huh.

You never spoke much. You didn’t have anything but this. Your home life and childhood was rough, obviously leading you here. You had no special talents or dreams really. You recently has some interest with becoming one of those flapper women. But he was the first bit of true excitement you had in a while.

Logan stopped coming for a while. This time you were sure he wouldn’t return. The first week was horrible. You laid in bed like a rag doll as men used you, thinking about how Logan would at least butter you up before anything started. You mindlessly counted money as you wondered where Logan could be. You drank and drank to try and forget but he left such an impression on you it didn’t work.

The other women “comforted” you, but deep down we’re happy you were back to their level, with no special clients.

“You shouldn’t get so attached to the clients!”

“It was fun while it lasted huh now, sweets? Oh, i experienced the same thing.”

“An odd cat he was…maybe it’s for the best.”

You ignored it all. You didn’t care for any of that shit. Fuck it all. You just wanted him back.

Did he even care for you the way you did him? Would he even remember you? Did he? He was so drunk sometimes….you couldn’t tell if he cared at all. He remembered your name sure but that was it. You just couldn’t deny your feelings anymore.

These deep feelings.

Limerence.

There was passion that drove you crazy. You felt like you were going crazy.

Days blurred. Holidays passed. Men came and went. Take that both ways.

But this cold winter day, he returned. You were sitting on a stool, drinking again. It was just your 3rd.

You hear the door open and the little bell rang. Heavy footsteps. Leftover snow underneath crushing under boots. You turned around as you felt the presence behind you, getting ready to say your prices and hours assuming this man wanted your services.

However, you stopped mid breath as you turned and saw… “….Logan?”

He took his hat off and nodded. He quietly sat next to you and stared into your eyes. He was sober but had dark circles.

“I been busy you see..” He starts, his breath smells of straight cigar. “Th’s why i haven’t been around.”

You’re buzzed and you think you’re dreaming. You’re sure you look a mess right now.

“I missed you, Lo..” You whispered.

Logan looks away. He sighs. He says nothing for a long while. It worried you. Did you cross a boundary? Was it too far?

“That’s the issue, doll.”

Logan turns to look you in the eyes, brows furrowed. Your heart rate picks up but you felt a heartbeat elsewhere after the nickname came out his mouth. Doll..

“Wait-” You start but he puts a finger to your lips.

“You are a prostitute baby. I’m…a mess. A drunk vet. Addicted to giggle water. You don’t want me. It don’t make sense. We’ve gotten too deep into this. I come for a quick fuck and then back to reality as it should be. You don’t want this, pretty..”

You feel your heart break. You sober up a bit too.

“It don’t feel quick to me. You treat me like i’m human. You the only one.” Your voice cracks a bit. You are also a sad drunk most days so the alcohol was not helping you process this situation properly.

Logan has an unreadable look on his face. He shakes his head soon after and licks his lips. He’s thinking. Maybe you caught him off guard? The lobby was suddenly very quiet even though it’s been like that the whole time. Just you, Logan and the bartender. There was a woman in the corner but she was preoccupied with a man herself, paying no mind to you or Logan.

You want to puke.

“Logan-”

“Close your head, woman. You stuck on me or something?” He says a bit sharp.

You just nod biting your lip. Suddenly you’re drunk again. The room is spinning a bit and you couldn’t sit straight with a constant nagging to go hysterical.

“We can’t keep doing this. We just can’t.” He says not looking you in the eye anymore. “We can’t.”

“Oh, applesauce…why not?”

“Because we can’t. You listening? You must be zozzled. Listen to me, you don’t want this. I’m telling you.”

“But, i do want you. It’s all i want now. You’re all i want now. Please, Lo. Don’t leave me here.”

“Y/n…”

“I want to be more than this.” You spit out. Logan freezes. He almost looked scared for a second. A tear falls out your eye as Logan gets up swiftly after you say it.

“Goodbye, y/n.”

You say nothing. He hands you a $100 and tells you to buy something nice. You watch, sadly, as he goes out the door.

You swivel back around.

“I need everything this can buy please.” You hold up thr $100 to the bartender. He looks at you like you have two heads but starts getting many cups out.

You’re going to be drinking for days.

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine angst #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #brothel #post ww1 #logan howlett angst #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut

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