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yeahthatwouldbedark · 3 years ago

Text

Yen per second

tropes: death trope, friends to lovers (if you have won a golden medal in squinting really hard), rivals to lovers, bully romance bestie, college au, friends with benefits, Oikawa and reader have known each other since childhood.

trigger warnings (for the entire series): child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, bullying, depression, child neglect, terminal illness at some point, broken home, mental breakdowns, panic attacks, anxiety, death, injuries (Oikawa’s bad knee for example), substance abuse

If you don’t read the trigger warnings… I am under your bed. Also, I’m keeping my prose messy for now because it fits.

chapter 2

wc: 11k

Years of training her body and mind to wake up when the alarm goes off at 6 AM have finally paid off. Don’t get me wrong, though. It’s not like she wakes up with a smile and ready for the day from the get go. In order for her brain to function, she allows herself ten copious minutes of staring at her white ceiling, scratching the underside of her breast, and sometimes check if she’s menstruating (she always forgets to install the period tracker app).

Y/n does get up… eventually. Breakfast is usually prepared by her because she’s the first to wake. She’s also used to making it so it’s no bother. It’s just eggs, olives, tomatoes, and some fried feta cheese. Sometimes she makes miso soup or omelet but that’s about it. When Kuroo spends his night in their apartment after fucking the soul out of Ayame, he insists on helping Y/n out so he can brag about it to his girlfriend. All in all, they have yet to complain.

But on days like this, when the sky seems to withhold its storm within the hoary clouds, she wishes her schedule were empty and she didn’t feel the urge to constantly fill it with research, studying, work, or even making food. On such mornings, Chiharu and Ayame let her run the pad of her index along the rim of her glass without so much as a word. Before she leaves home for her classes, she drops a ‘goodbye’ and heads down the stairs, stumbling as she goes.

The reason she doesn’t take the elevator is just so she’ll be slightly more alive upon reaching campus. Sometimes she even walks all the way there, but those days are for when it’s storming and she feels like getting drenched from head to toe (her friends have given up on fixing this habit of hers).

But it’s been five weeks since she’s started walking there every single morning. The money is tight, so that’s a reason. He is there, so walking has become an excuse.

It isn’t like he waits for her at the gates or anything. It’s the amount of time she has to tolerate his presence for after she crosses those gates. Because although she’s known for a while that Oikawa Tooru will go pro, he has decided to pursue psychology for some ungodly reason (that I know), therefore attending most of the classes she’s been assigned. Y/n wasn’t desperate enough to ask the people in charge to tweak it, but she’s been minimizing contact with the man for about six weeks since the new semester started.

As usual, she settles by the window, and he sits three rows behind her to the left. Oikawa Tooru isn’t idiotic enough to sit by her side, or anywhere close to her. He knows she’ll just ignore him just the same, if not with a demonic resolve, and he’ll be spending two hours itching to tease her or just speak to her. So he decides that some distance will do him some good.

However, he can’t stop (it’s part of his strategy really) her from bumping into him today. She seems lost in thought, as she typically is, and she seems to be struggling with her bag as she tries to cram her notes into one of its pockets. She would have an easier time doing so, Tooru realizes, if she just stopped holding on to her pen and freed one of her hands. It’s also unfortunate for her that other students are trying to pass through, whispering that she should have packed her bag before getting out of her seat. But the odds are in his favor, so he’s not complaining.

“There you go,” He says once he’s done steadying her, his lips quirking in a smug smile, “Always in such a rush, aren’t you?”

Y/n zips her bag. “Yeah. Bye.”

For the rest of the day, she makes certain to seal any opening for interaction. In the end, he watches her leave and then walks home. There, he finds a note from the house cleaner about where in the penthouse some random objects have been relocated. He checks to see if there’s any text and finds several from different chats. His father has messaged him about the dinner at his place, the one his step-mother has been planning for some time (the one he’s been trying to dodge like a bullet). Iwa-chan has reminded him to eat his damn three meals (as if Tooru, an athlete, could forget). Chiharu has threatened him with a beating in the case that he drinks himself stupid like he does every Friday (he forgets about her threat pretty quickly, pretty often). His mother has texted to tell him a neighbor of hers has given her some great pickled radish and that she’ll send him some.

Mom: It should be there in three days

He replies to all of these, adjusting his tone to each of them. Randomly, he starts thinking about the outfit she wore today; forest green sweater, baggy jeans and a black jacket. Her manner of dress truly has changed, he often finds himself musing. He does drink himself stupid, but at least he’s home, so his cousin doesn’t have to call him a cab and drag him to his bed. The next day he wakes up with a splitting migraine, so he takes a shower and tries his best not to let it get to him right before practice. In the evening, the group gathers at the mall, but she’s not present.

“She said she has a lot to study for.” Ayame answers him, taking a bite out of her mozzarella stick.

“Dumbass was drawing a whole brain from different angles.” She turns to Suna, grabbing his shoulders, “She said and I quote ‘Have to see it from different perspectives in order not to see a failing grade suddenly grabbing my ass’. Sometimes I hate her, I swear.”

Suna maintains a bored face as Chiharu shakes him. “At least she’s working hard.”

“The polar opposite of you,” she finalizes with a slap on his back. “So true.”

“All I’m hearing,” There’s a smile on Suna’s face as he says this, “Is that Y/n and I make a perfect match. Made in hell but a perfect match nonetheless.”

Suddenly Tooru can’t take another word coming out of the man’s mouth.

“We haven’t reached that chapter yet.” He arises from his seat, and the Chiharu stops trying to rattle Suna’s brain. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

When the sun has died and he’s lying down in his bed scrolling down on his photo album, Y/n is being questioned by her friends.

“The thing is that you don’t take a break.” Chiharu tells her, patching a pair of pants. “What’s so vital about one chapter that you don’t allow yourself to let loose.”

At this moment, Ayame has Chiharu’s back. “Tooru-kun said that you haven’t gotten there yet.”

Until this moment, Y/n has remained seated before the TV (finally taking a break, which seems to anger Chiharu even more), but the mention of his name has her nerves springing to action. She doesn’t let it show on her face, though. That would be problematic.

“Oh, Tooru-kun said that?”

Ayame shrivels a little at the mocking tone. “Ye-yeah. We were having lunch as a group and he asked why hadn’t come.”

“We told him what you told us and he said what he said.” Chiharu stops sewing and looks up at Y/n. “And he did well.”

Y/n fights off the urge to shout by tightening her grip around the remote.

“Maybe,” she says instead, “That doesn’t mean I owe you guys an apology. If I say I’m busy, doing literally anything or nothing at all, then I’m busy. I am the one who gets to decide how I spend my time.”

Ayame rests her head on Y/n’s shoulder.

“But we… don’t want you to be alone.” She’s so soft-spoken, even now. Oddly, it frustrates Y/n to end. “You’re always putting such pressure on yourself, never taking a break, losing sleep over research, work, and projects. We-

“I don’t hear you complaining when you come to me after I’m done doing my thing to ask for my help with a field of study I’m unfamiliar with.” Y/n’s words are even, no variation of emotion detected in her words. Ayame lifts her head, the heat of embarrassment turning her cheeks pink. “All because you don’t make an effort the entire semester.”

Chiharu bites the end of the thread and puts on the sweatpants she’d pilfered from Y/n’s closet some months ago.

“Maybe if you didn’t go all hermit on us like you did last year,” Her voice was too loud for such a late hour. “We wouldn’t use literally any excuse to talk to you.”

“I don’t need to be around people.” Y/n states, rubbing her temples. “They tire me and I need time alone to recharge. Right now you two are pushing the boundaries I have set.” She pauses, “It’s pissing me off.”

“But… we’re not just people.” Ayame raises her voice slightly, but it’s still gentle and well-meaning. “We’re your friends.”

Unable to stare into her friend’s eyes, Y/n opts for the easier choice; studying the buttons of the remote. “Friendships aren’t exempt from boundaries.” She ends the conversation and goes to bed.

Monday can’t come fast enough for Tooru. When it does, it starts and ends in a fashion similar to Friday (but he doesn’t get to speak to her). The next day isn’t much different. A week passes with her disregarding his presence and avoiding gatherings. Then another. Sometimes during lectures, when he’s bored out of his mind, he memorizes her outfits, sketching some of them as if to cement her aesthetic in his brain.

It’s another Friday, and he’s chugging a glass of vodka as he scrolls through his contacts. Oikawa Tooru isn’t shy or socially anxious, so it’s easy for him to text people. But it’s not Y/n that he texts.

Iwaizumi responds immediately, but not the way Tooru thought he would. Nevertheless, he accepts the call.

“Don’t do it.” His voice is too calm, nothing like what Tooru is accustomed to. “Leave her be.”

Leave her be? That’s what his best friend advised him to do after she left, and for once Tooru has listened. It had taken him a while to do so, but in the end, he did agree with the man on the phone. He didn’t look for her, determined he didn’t need to see her again. At his best, Tooru was calm. At his worst, when his mother would regard him with pity and discontent, he was unapologetic about his actions. There was no in between for him.

But leave her be, even now that she’s reemerged? He’s been doing this for a while now. It’s clearly halting his progress.

“She said something to me, you know?” He smiles just so Iwa-chan can hear it. “It’s been on my mind for weeks.”

There is a long pause, and then a grunt of frustration. “What did she tell you?”

Is it worth it, Tooru ponders, repeating her statement to his best friend? Is it considered a betrayal if it comes from someone she is barely even acknowledges?

Tooru brings the glass to his lips, takes a swig, and then sets it on the table.

“All you need to know is that she’s determined to pretend I do not exist, even though I sit just three rows behind her. To be honest, I’m impressed.” He supports his head with his fist as he speaks. “You’d think she’d crave some kind of closure, demand we meet up so we can clear the air between us. But she’s so nonchalant about everything.” Tooru chuckles. “She hasn’t changed at all.”

“She’s trying to move on, you idiot.” The speed at which Iwaizumi’s reply is delivered has Tooru’s eyes widening. He doesn’t breathe until his best friend finishes what he has to say. “Maybe in her case that means leaving your idiotic ass behind.”

Iwaizumi hangs up, and Tooru drinks himself to sleep.

4 months later

Y/n no longer looks forward to summer breaks. She has to work long hours, worry about expenses, and the heat is insupportable. When she’s not working, she’s doing her chores. When she’s doing neither, she’s writing or researching. When she’s doing nothing, she claims she’s doing something, anyway. Chiharu and Ayame leave her be, but she can still hear them whispering about how cold, unfeeling, and aloof she is. They used to sound concerned. Nowadays, the words ring like insults.

So Y/n doesn’t look forward to summer breaks, and her friends don’t look forward to seeing her. At least, Chiharu and Ayame don’t. Kuroo still helps her out when he stays the night. Suna visits almost every day and shares his weed with Y/n.

She’s in her blue cotton shorts and striped spaghetti strap top, memorizing the motion of his pale fingers as he rolls the weed. Y/n doesn’t know this but her proximity and the way her breaths fall and fade on his shoulder have him envisioning moments that would have the annoying couple in the neighboring bedroom yelling ‘scandalous’. He’s just horny, really. The moment he’s done, Suna hands her his masterpiece and never asks for anything in return, which causes her to frown in displeasure.

“I won’t let you waste money on this cheap ass weed, Y/n.” He speaks before she can, eyes half-closed. “When I need your rusty coins, I’ll ask for them.”

Her frown deepens, but he just waves her off as he plops down on her bed, leafing through her porn magazines.

“Consider it a thank you gift for helping me pass.”

That makes her feel lighter.

It’s Kenma who texts her one night, demanding in his passive voice that she come to his house. He hangs up before she can ask what’s wrong. She speaks his name about three times, each time increasing in volume. Huffing and puffing, she shoves her feet into her white sneakers and takes the bus to his and Kuroo’s apartment.

She rings the bell, and a half naked, sweaty Kuroo Tetsurou flings the door open. She steps inside.

“Kenma asked me to come.” Y/n tells him before he can think to ask. “He didn’t even tell me why. Go figure.”

Kuroo looks just as confused as her as he closed the door. “You really came all this way just for him? At this hour?”

“Well,” she started taking off her footwear, “I thought he might be in trouble.”

Kuroo laughs. “He’s been holed up in his room for two days straight. Had to feed him like a caged beast this morning.”

She bids him goodnight and swings open the door to Kenma’s bedroom without preamble. A slice of pizza hangs from his mouth, the cheese obeying gravity up until the moment that he scoops it up with his tongue; the light radiating from the screen imparting a comical air to his expression. He’s in a white shirt and crimson shorts, both of which exceed his size. Y/n can’t judge him (doesn’t bother to). Not when she’s dressed in a purple shirt two sizes too big and lime green shorts that don’t compliment her figure.

“Oh, hey,” Kenma says. “You’re here.”

He gestures to the chair next to him. Y/n sits and waits for him to tell her why he’s asked her to come.

“I’ve been thinking,” He sounds cautious. Y/n nods her chin to let him know she’s listening, “About starting my own company.”

She reacts the way he’d expected her to; another nod, waiting for his next word. Upon realizing it is her turn to speak, she gets comfortable in her chair.

“You want my help with that?” She asks, and Kenma nods. Y/n starts fidgeting. “Don’t you think it’s better to ask Chiharu or Ayame? Ayame is majoring in economics and Chiharu knows more about gaming than me, so their criticism-

Kenma cuts her off, devouring the last bit of the crust with an aura of disinterest. “We had an argument last week.”

“Why?”

“About you.”

The world, life itself, seems to be made of whirlpools that insist on never allowing her a chance to breathe. Y/n wants to be shocked more than anything else. She wants to be caught off guard by the fact that her friends are talking badly about her behind her back, but as it’s already been established, this knowledge is one she already possesses. Most of the time, when one possesses something, that thing holds no power over them. She wishes memories worked the same way.

She wonders, momentarily, if Kenma wants her to act. Does he want me to be sad, she asks herself as she bends one leg on the chair, or is he just answering me honestly. He isn’t looking at her, but Y/n knows he’s watching, waiting for her to say something.

“I’ve been reading up on how to build an empire.” This makes Kenma’s head turn. Y/n continues. “Different books that say basically the same shit over and over again. Anyway. Bottom line; not every starting point is everyone’s starting point. Do you work better with words or images or charts or something else?”

He is quick to answer. “Images.”

“Okay, I’ll cook something up. But first I’ll need you to lend me one of your devices for research.”

Y/n hears the tiny wheels of his office chair turning as propels himself to the right.

“Use this one.”

“Also, Kenma?”

He tears his eyes from the screen to look straight at her, which is uncharacteristic of him to do for most people. “Yeah?”

“Will you teach me how to play?”

Kenma Kozume would be a mega fool to let such an opportunity go to waste. Considering that Y/n is a beginner (or noob as he likes to label them) he picks an easy one. He clicks and types away, explaining as he goes. She’s a quick learner. He already knew that, but it’s different to see it happening right before his eyes, especially when it’s his passion she’s devoting her body and mind to. Even if she doesn’t continue to play after she’s done helping him build his company, Kenma doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget her smug smile or the yelp that lurches from his throat the instant she passes the first level.

She plays some more, taking notes after each completed task. He introduces her to different games, some of which are old (she asked to him to show them) as well as the newest editions of his favorite games. She asks him to give her some pointers as she sketches, and he obeys her as if it’s second nature.

It’s 3 AM, and it’s so hot that they have to turn on the AC because opening the windows isn’t enough. He tells her to eat, and she reluctantly accepts. By now, she’s finished fifty three sketches all from different angles. They sit in silence and she asks him what he hopes to achieve.

“Aside from profit, I mean.”

“I love games.” His answer is as quick as a lightning bolt. Y/n almost smiles. “And… I want other people to be as happy as I am when they play the games I create.”

So they start with recruitment; how many teams he’ll have working with him, what kind of people he’d like to have on these teams, the motto and aesthetic. She presents him with imagery that personifies each of his expressed desires. They’re not perfect, not by a long shot. But her strategy and diligence make up for her lack of expertise.

Needless to say, Y/n doesn’t go home that morning. She goes to work, then straight to Kenma’s bedroom. She showers and eats there (always insisting that they go dutch).

Y/n is grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge (Kenma ran out of them) when a wild Kuroo speaks from behind her.

“Are those Kenma’s clothes?” He sounds almost giddy.

She glances down at the white shirt and grey shorts she’s wearing. “Um… yeah.”

Unable to repress his excitement any longer, Kuroo starts shaking her as he all but shouts.

“Are you two fucking?!”

“Keep it down, will ya?” Kenma appears out of nowhere, helping her out by carrying some of the bottles. “And no, we aren’t. Stop making her uncomfortable, Kuroo.”

Once they’re done putting all the bottles in Kenma’s mini fridge, she speaks up.

“Hey, just so you know,” He’s already seated before the monitor when her voice has his ears perking up, “He’s going to tell the others. So… if it makes you uncomfortable, I can go home.”

“The reason I called you here is that I need your help. You don’t drain me, so you’re good company.” He shrugs and this is another mannerism they share. “So if he tells them, and they believe him, that’s their fault. If they make it awkward the when we meet on Thursday, we can just leave them there-

“Wait, wait, wait,” Her hand shoots out as if to stop him, and Kenma freezes a bit, “Thursday? We?”

Kenma wants to take back what he just said. Instead, he blushes and lowers his head.

“I told them you’re tired and busy, but Kuroo wouldn’t hear it.” His gaze flits from Y/n’s face to his knees. “Sorry. It’s because I asked you to come.”

She regards his appearance in the monitor-lit room. The bags under his eyes mirror hers and his hair is two inches short of brushing his shoulders. Out of the blue, her fingers itch to gather his hair in a ponytail or small bun so that it doesn’t obscure his vision as he plays. She’s also resentful that her staying here has been used as a free pass to utilize her time for their rendezvous. This isn’t Kenma’s fault.

“Don’t say things like that.” Y/n holds up a hand, desperately hoping the joke clicks with him, “Kuroo might barge in waving condoms.”

Suppressing a smile, Kenma tells her to shut up before drinking from a water bottle.

For the next two days, Kenma and Y/n calculate the money they’re going to need to found the company (some loans are necessary), the advertisements they’re going to insert online, as well social media accounts once it’s all set. Though the nights have become cooler, the days are still sweltering, which is why the AC stays on from 11 AM up until 7 PM. On Wednesday, Kuroo comes home carrying three flowerpots of cacti, yellow rose, and amaryllis, and Kenma waters them as she identifies the species and the characteristics of each, something that surprisingly doesn’t bore the two of them to an early grave.

Whenever Kuroo forces them out of the bedroom to eat something a bit healthier, he makes no mention of Ayame and Chiharu. Y/n thinks it’s in order to avoid conflict, and she’s right. That’s when he informs her about the gathering the next day, telling her she’s coming since she’s already here. Next to her, Kenma releases a sigh.

“Okay,” she says, already dreading finishing the sentence, “Alright, I’ll come.”

In the evening of the following day, after Kenma has taken a shower and she’s done organizing the research in separate documents so they can find them more easily, she tells him she’s going home to take a quick shower and get dressed.

“We’re not going anywhere fancy.” He tells her, toweling his hair dry. “Just take a shower here and wear my clothes. Then we leave with Kuroo.”

Y/n snorts. “You’re running out of clean underwear because of my staying here.”

But she stays and ends up wearing his boxer briefs, a purple shirt she’s seen him wear a couple of times (hers is in the washing machine), and her lime green shorts. He‘s dressed in a similar manner, only the colors are slightly lighter, pastel. They dry their hair and for the first time in forever, Y/n speaks before she thinks.

“Want me to tie it up for you?” She says, pointing at her own half up-half down hairstyle. “So we match.”

He looks down at her, and it’s at this moment that Y/n realizes that Kenma is actually a bit taller than she is. He has to bend down a little for her to get to work. When she’s done, she loosens some of the strands and tucks them behind his ears.

“Don’t lose my hair tie, Kenma.” She says before she heads out of the bedroom. “It’s one of my favorites.”

The whole way to their destination, Kuroo keeps stealing glances at the two of them, no doubt weaving scenarios of them being in a sexual relationship. Y/n wonders why he hasn’t told anyone else about the goal he’s working to reach. She’s always assumed that he could tell Kuroo anything, seeing as they were childhood best friends.

Y/n: am I the only one who knows

Y/n: about the company

His reply would have come in a flash, considering that he’s playing games next to her as they navigate through the crowd, had it not been for the fraction of hesitation as his fingers hovered over the screen.

Kenma J: I don’t want them to make a big deal out of it

Kenma J: so you’re the only one

Kenma J: for now

Y/n: fair

The moment Ayame and Kuroo set their eyes on each other, the air is filled with squeals and a smacking of lips. Chiharu and Suna say ‘hey’ in unison, but even then Y/n can tell the difference. Of course, he is there as well. She’d almost forgotten about him these past few days, too involved in the process of strategizing to think about how he is always certain to be there whenever she decides to join the others. He’s dressed for a summer outing like most of them; shorts, shirts, and sneakers. The color scheme reminds her of sea foam and dusk.

Her palms are sweaty, so she rubs them against her shorts in a way that it looks like the most natural thing there is. Y/n wants to make herself scarce. But how can she when they’ve just arrived? Even Kenma is participating in the conversation that takes place (more like listening as the rest talk) as they advance towards a spot that Suna has picked out.

The whirlpool draws her further to the center. She can barely breathe.

“I shouldn’t have come.” Y/n mutters low enough so none of them can hear her. “It’s ruined now.”

But she stays and bears with it. They stop at an unpopulated area overlooking a vast part of Tokyo. There’s a shop some yards away from where they sit, so if any of them feel like snacking, they can just walk there.

At some point, the rest notice her hair and Kenma’s and, in their minds, they conclude that something is definitely going on between the two of them. Y/n wants to point out that their pattern of thought as well as their logic is faulty. Are they truly so starved for the sight of her or Kenma being in a relationship that the smallest of interactions or coincidences sparks their irrationality?

She has to give it to Chiharu for not becoming part of this. It’s not that she and Suna don’t have those looks of suspicion, but they’re at least silent about it. Ayame and Kuroo have no regard for how their friends might feel about their assumptions. It has Y/n’s anger spiking up to the point where she just inserts her air pods to drown out the noise.

Before she can pick a song, she feels something lightly brush her arm. Y/n recognizes him by scent (the combination of peaches and vanilla), by the energy he exudes. He doesn’t bother to conceal his presence or intentions, either.

“So this is how you used to tell whenever I was nearby. Memorizing my cologne,” He clicks his tongue, “You’re a real creep, aren’t you?”

There’s a gentle but cool breeze so Y/n bends her leg as if to feel the caress of the current along her inner thigh. Tooru catches the motion and thinks that maybe she’s into temperature play. This thought is so random and comes so abruptly that he barely catches her next words.

“This creep isn’t forcing you to sit so close to her.”

Her words ring true. Tooru knows this. He understands that his proximity goes against his expressed dislike for her entire existence. He acknowledges that what he said might not have been the ideal starting sentence, that he might have already killed the first conversation they’ve had in months. Oikawa Tooru doesn’t have to sit next to her, but he’s already here and the gravity of her presence won’t let him leave.

“What’s your favorite color?” The mediocrity of the question almost makes him want to choke himself to death.

He awaits her answer with fingers curled around the edge of the bench.

“I’ll keep treating you like a stranger, you know? It works for both of us.” That wasn’t the answer he had anticipated, but had expected it nonetheless. “Like… it makes no sense that we should interact when there’s no middle ground where we can meet.”

Tooru turns his face to the left, looking down at her.

“Little liar,” He smiles, “You don’t even want to find a middle ground because you’re too comfortable with things as they are now. If you truly wanted us to find it, you’d keep up a conversation and that,” He takes the fabric of her sleeve between his thumb and index, “Includes answering questions, within reason of course. And before you ask why, I’m making an attempt to have a conversation with you.” Her eyes drift to where he’s messing with her shirt, “Call it curiosity.”

The frown of doubt and confusion on her face makes him want to laugh. She’s so distrustful of him that it simultaneously entertains and discourages him. She won’t answer, Tooru thinks. But then she’s raising her head, taking out her air pods, and setting her phone down between them. A spark of triumph lights up in his chest.

“Purple or green. Maybe orange.” Y/n speaks slowly, as though she’s choosing her words carefully. She hesitates even more to return his question with one of her own. “What about you?”

Tooru twists his body slightly. “Take a guess, cutie.”

“Yellow?” she asks after she’s thought about it for half a minute.

At first, it makes no sense that she would say that. He’s never worn much yellow in his life. Not much logic behind it (there rarely ever is any behind one’s favorite color), just a lack of interest in the hue. Then a small voice reminds him that such isn’t the case.

Because, even if for the longest time Tooru forgot about it, he now remembers the yellow alien figure his mother had brought home one evening. For years, its place had been atop his nightstand. Then one day, during a visit at the age of twelve, his mother had asked her to wake him up from his afternoon nap. Her voice had been low and even, as it usually was, which meant millennia could pass and he would still be lying supine on his bed. But that evening he’d just been pretending to get on her nerves. He hadn’t thought she might acquire an interest in his precious yellow figurine. Tooru had put it away the moment his bedroom door had clicked shut.

He lets go of her sleeve and looks her straight in the eye, smiling for reasons he hasn’t quite figured out yet. He can’t put a leash on his enthusiasm, the urge to charm her.

“Bravo.” A laugh almost escapes him as her eyebrows shoot up, “You guessed it.”

For someone who starts conversations and tries to get in the last word, Oikawa Tooru finds himself retreating, moving to the other extreme of the bench even though this is the last thing he wants to do. In truth, he wants to tease her more, annoy her until she’s stomping away from him. But he’s learned not to expect this of her. Y/n doesn’t slam the door. She saunters out without bothering to shut it. So Tooru lets the conversation fade. He can build a middle ground another day.

But he’s still Oikawa Tooru, the boy whose face would contort in a scowl whenever the professor would have her be the setter during PE in high school, who would snicker whenever her teammates shunned her after she failed to set perfectly, who would catch glimpses of her practicing so she’d do a better job next time. Oikawa Tooru is the same boy who had, against the judgment of his inflated ego, admitted to himself that her skills had improved a little. So when the clock strikes 10 PM, he looks on as Kenma whispers something in her ear, too low for the rest to hear. The two leave soon afterwards.

Two weeks later

There’s still work to be done, but Kenma is ready to speed down the path of success, so that’s enough for now. She still does her own thing (reading, writing, researching, working, and studying in advance for the semester to come), but she does pencil Kenma’s dream into her list of priorities. She decides that analyzing and strategizing could be worth her time and effort in the long run.

She spends more nights at Kenma’s than in the apartment she shares with Chiharu and Ayame. Not wanting to be indebted to neither Kenma nor her girl-friends, she pays rent for both places. Kenma refused and kept on repeating that she doesn’t have to since it had been him who had reached out to her for help, but eventually surrendered and let her pay 10% of the rent.

Two hours have passed since they started brainstorming names for his company as well as the main color of his aesthetic.

“Any color other than yellow is fine.” He asks her one night as she’s brainstorming company names. “It’s so… loud.”

Y/n hums. “Alright. I think purple and crimson would suit it since you’re going for city lights as well as bedroom-in-the-dark aesthetic-

“Bouncing Ball.” He cuts her off, and her head slowly gravitates to the right. “That’s what I’ll name it.”

“It’s cute and fun.” Y/n smiles a little as she applies the final touch on their work. “It’s great, Kenma.”

They sit like that for a while, eyes glued to the screen as the first episode of Devilman Crybaby plays. No comment is spoken, no looks exchanged. The credits roll. Before they hit the sheets, Kenma remarks that the club lights in the anime looked very appealing, that he wishes he could bring the aesthetic into his room. Only without the rambunctious atmosphere. Y/n hums in agreement.

September

Work and college take up most of her time and she doesn’t spend as much time at Kenma’s. Kuroo and Ayame still think they’re fucking but are no longer as earsplitting about it as in the beginning. Chiharu doesn’t participate in the rumors, aggressively stating that she’s uninterested. Suna is too busy trying to get serious about his grades this semester to humor the couple’s attempts at gossip, while Oikawa Tooru just listens and tries to pretend that he’s enthused about the whole thing.

However, he’s not about to complain about it. After all, it’s because of whatever the two of them have going on that he does get to spend time with her in a friendly environment. Tooru could have texted her the night she’d reminded him what his favorite color was, but he hadn’t. Not because he was anxious or anything like that. He’d just been too busy draining the bottle of whiskey to remember he wanted to. In the days that had followed, he’d been too occupied with practice from 10 AM to 9 PM, so texting had been the last thought in his mind. He’d only remembered when, two days before the new semester started, Chiharu had sent him a message.

Chiharu: Yo

Chiharu: We’re meeting up at Kuroo’s this Saturday

Chiharu: Wanna come?

(This part is really boring because all they do is work, eat, shit, study, and meet up but bear with me because these are some of the moments you will remember when this is over.)

Tooru had agreed, hoping like a pathetic fucker that she’d be there. Shockingly, she’d been there for some time. Chiharu had said something along the lines of ‘apparently there are no limits with Kenma’. Five weeks later, and he still has no what the fuck his cousin had been groaning about. All he knows is that for a split second Suna carried the same disgruntled look about him, one that Tooru hadn’t been able to efface completely.

Tonight, he’s tired after bawling his eyes out at home for not doing that well on his Biochemistry quiz (courtesy of that diabolical professor Y/n and he both share) so when he catches a glimpse of her conversing with Suna on the floor he decides he’s not going to bother with overly affectionate greetings like he’d planned this morning. Not that Y/n cares much about the warmth he exudes in regards to her.

Her outfit is the one she’s been wearing all day; corduroy skirt the color of cedar, and black tights. Her wrist is visible through a small hole in her wine red turtleneck. It’s slightly different from Tooru’s black jeans and sapphire blue sweater, but he thinks the two of them would look good side by side. Her hair is down and her fringe has grown past her earlobes (her hair grows so fast during autumn for some reason), so she tucks it behind her ears constantly as she listens to Suna speak. Tooru has had years to study her body language, but that doesn’t mean he’s an expert at it. He believes he is, but that’s not true at all. He reads her mannerisms towards everyone but himself, which is why he doesn’t know that she used to listen to him joke around the same way she’s listening to the man that isn’t him.

The doorbell rings, and Chiharu tells him to get his ass off the couch and pay for the pizza (he doesn’t ask for them to pay him back).

They sit down before the TV; Kuroo sharing a pizza with Ayame, Chiharu with Suna, and Tooru with Kenma.

“Because.” Kenma responds, almost antagonistically, when asked why Y/n gets to eat a whole pizza by herself. Tooru nearly burst out laughing. “And she’s been helping me build my company from scratch.”

All heads turn towards the man, and he shrivels instantly. Having so many eyes on him is enough to drain him of temerity and energy.

“Huh?!” As expected, Kuroo is the first to exclaim. “Your company! Why am only hearing this now, Kenma Kozume?!”

Kenma slides his phone out of his pocket. “Keep it down, Kuroo. This is why I haven’t said anything.”

“But- but this is amazing, Kozume-kun!” Ayame joins Kuroo, waving her arms around as if to encompass the importance of this revelation. “We could have helped you!”

Kenma shrugs, and it reminds Tooru of her. “Didn’t want to raise everyone’s hopes in case it flopped.”

But Kuroo isn’t listening. He’s pointing at Y/n the way Tooru used to, only he does it in a joking manner.

“And you!” His voice is louder than it normally is, but lower than before. “How could you keep us in the dark like that?! You fiend!”

She shrugs, catching the cheese with her tongue. To Kenma’s never-ending dismay, the couple engulfs him in a hug. His eyes go even wider when Chiharu joins them.

“This calls for a celebration!” Kuroo says, ignoring the way his best friend is struggling to breathe. “We’ll double the amount of takeout for tonight!”

Kenma finally manages to crawl free of their hold. “Just say you’re still hungry, Kuroo.”

“Fear not, for I shall pay!” Kuroo, Ayame, and even Chiharu regarding Tooru with looks of adoration as he stands and slides out his phone to type down their orders in the notes app. “One must always show utmost consideration towards the less fortunate!”

To show their appreciation, the three of them kneel to show their gratitude towards Oikawa-sama and his magnanimous heart. Tooru closes his eyes, smiling and nodding at the praise. He takes their orders one by one. This includes Y/n, who is seemingly oblivious to Suna’s hand on her knee. She is painfully straightforward in stating that she’s no longer hungry. Tooru would feel offended by her assumption that he doesn’t recognize the symptoms of her unquelled appetite, if it weren’t for his awareness of how long he’s pretended not to see her.

He shoots her a smile, watches the glint in her eyes come to life. She’s waiting for something, he realizes, waiting for the moment he’ll say something to make her leave. In the end, he places her order as ‘shrimp pizza with extra olives’. That’s what she used to have when they were kids.

The delivery is quick, and they’re even quicker to devour the food.

“What’s that?” They hear Suna mutter as Y/n types away on her phone. “M-B-T-I… what’s that?”

She takes in her surroundings, only to notice how everyone has drawn closer.

“Oh, it’s something I found on Pinterest.” She shows Suna something on her screen. “A personality test based on cognitive functions. It’s fun.”

Suna pulls out his phone. “Link me.”

“Just take mine.” Y/n hands him hers. “I already took the test. Then I’ll explain the cognitive functions… if you want me to.”

They take turns finding out their personality types. Kuroo is an ENTP, Kenma an INTP, Ayame an ESFP, Chiharu an ENFP, Suna an ISTP, and Oikawa and ENFJ. She explains each cognitive function, even going as far as to sketch images in order to present her thoughts in a clearer manner. The more immersed in her work she becomes, the more she forgets about the hair tumbling before her eyes.

When she asks them if they understand a thing she’s saying, Tooru inquires about her personality type.

“INTJ.” she answers, retrieving her phone from where she’d placed it on the table. “Anyway, I’m surprised the test was accurate. It rarely is, so you have to check the functions to know you haven’t been hoodwinked.”

Tooru chuckles and leans forward. “Hoodwinked?”

“Yes, hoodwinked.” She asserts. “Because many tests type people based on the stereotypes. For example, Chiharu looks like a classic ISTP at first glance, but then you see she leads with extraverted intuition instead of introverted thinking. Likewise, you sound like a cocky ENTP but you don’t have extraverted intuition in your function stack because you lead with extraverted feeling, which allows you to understand the feelings of others, thus making decisions based on this. You’re like the glue of the collective.”

After she’s finished, Kenma says, “Each type seems to have two natural partners. Mine is ENTJ or ESTJ.”

Each of them checks theirs while she goes back to speaking with Suna, whose hand has now settled on her thigh. When the results of her natural partner show, Tooru presses down on the frustration that bubbles within him. He knows this test is worth nothing, that a friendship or romantic relationship can turn out amazing if both parties are willing to work on it. He knows he has no right to envision for soulmate scenarios, but for a moment, there he had. The fault is his.

Ayame’s sudden glare is full of envy and its target is none other than Y/n.

“Aw babe, don’t worry.” Kuroo gathers her in his arms. “It’s you I’m in love with, not Y/n.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Ayame,” Y/n assures her, nodding, “I don’t wanna steal your boyfriend.”

Kenma’s intervention cuts Ayame off before she can even begin. “It says here that you’re analytical, a natural leader, and a planner.”

She takes a sip of her soda. “Don’t know about the natural leader thing but I like to analyze yes.”

“I’m glad I asked for your help.”

The interaction between the two causes that last patient neuron in Chiharu to implode.

“Careful, Kenma,” Chiharu chimes in, setting her phone down on the sofa, “Careful or she’ll remind you of everything she’s ever done for you.”

The only sound in the room is Kenma’s videogame, even though he, just like everyone else, has stopped doing his own thing to observe the exchange between two best friends with bated breath. Y/n is a master at shielding her emotion, numbing them down until they lie flat in some forgotten corner of her mind. Everyone knows this about her to some extent. What they don’t know is that she denies their existence. It’s akin to a child cowering under the covers at night so the boogeyman can’t hurt them. She has perfected this coping mechanism to the point where it’s one with her natural response toward stimuli and events.

“I’m actually under no obligation to be of any help to anyone,” Her demeanor is nonchalant, which makes Chiharu go red in the face with rage, “Especially to people who cross the boundaries I have set, people who push my buttons then get mad when I react.”

Chiharu stands up abruptly. Thinking his cousin is about to lay a hand on her, Tooru yanks her by the elbow. She doesn’t advance towards Y/n but she doesn’t sit down either. Tooru stays alert in case the raging punk decides to change her mind, which allows him to discern the slight twitch of her right ear.

Throughout childhood, it had been his duty, as the elder cousin, to look after her whenever they played. She’d always been more adventurous than him, but he’d taught her to be more cautious, which has kept Chiharu out of trouble until this day. It’s true that she slaps him on the back of his head, but Tooru is the one who lets her because he knows this is no big deal to him.

Taking all of this into consideration, he has had years to collect and organize the character traits and mannerisms of those around him. In particular, the behavioral fractions of those he cares about. So when Chiharu’s ear twitches twice within two seconds, Tooru knows that whatever she is about to spout stems from concern. He’s not so sure Y/n will see it that way.

“We were just asking you to spend more time with us. It’s not like we asked you to hang yourself.”

Anger flashes in Suna’s green irises. “What the fuck-

Chiharu is having none of it.

“You’ve been like this since that boy you liked in high school, that fucking moron,” she raises her right arm, but there’s nothing to point at, “Who doesn’t deserve you, told you to go fuck yourself.”

There is a beat of silence. The tune continues to drift from Kenma’s phone. No one asks him to mute it or at least lower his volume, otherwise the silence would impose on them a tension thick enough to dull the sharpest of knives. Ayame is the only one staring at her lap as Kuroo runs his thumb along her knuckles. Suna’s grip on Y/n’s thigh tightens. In reassurance or possession? Tooru doesn’t know. At this moment, that’s the last of his concern.

The boy you liked in high school told you to go fuck yourself. The sentence becomes a numb limb inside his head. All the while, he’s trying to get his cousin to put a leash on her fury and sit her ass down.

“Sit,” Tooru smiles as he whispers the words in her ear. “And calm the fuck down.”

She breaks free of him, pushing him backwards before she walks over to where Y/n is sitting.

“Choosing to waste away because of some insults?” Chiharu wishes Y/n would look her in the eye and display the same intensity of emotions as her. “Are you really that dumb?! You can’t be that dumb, Y/n. We wouldn’t be pestering you day and night to spend time with us if it was just an introvert thing. Don’t you realize that you’ve been in utter isolation for more than a year?!”

Ayame’s voice comes out weak. “Haru-chan-

“Don’t you?!”

Chiharu doesn’t expect much of Y/n when it comes to allowing emotions to play on her face. But she does expect an honest answer from some she considers a friend. All she gets, however, is absolute silence on the other girl’s part. Y/n’s response to criticism is unresponsiveness, a nonchalant stare that reminds Tooru of the way she’d gone back to watching TV after he’d attacked her over a bag of sour candy. Her attitude unnerved him to this day.

“I’m beginning to think,” He doesn’t think it’s possible for a person to be this tense, “I’m beginning to think that if this is how you’ve always acted around him, then maybe what that fucker did wasn’t enough.”

It’s all Tooru can do to curb his anger, to maintain that aura of diplomacy that seldom suits his persona.

“Please stop, Haru-chan!” Ayame shouts, tears spilling from her eyes, “Don’t say those things. That- that’s not right-

Kuroo begins to rub circles along her spine. “It’s okay babe, she doesn’t mean-

“Well, this has been boring.” Y/n drawls out as she stands. She heads for the hallway. “Talk to me when you lot aren’t this pathetic.”

As she leaves, Chiharu calls her a coward and Oikawa tells her to shut the fuck up. The little things aren’t lost on her as she puts her shoes on; Oikawa’s coat hung right next to hers, the scent of wet leather wafting from the leather boots discarded on the floor (something many people frowned at), or the burgundy hue her scarf had obtained as a result of the drizzle she’d run through on her way here. She commits them to memory in order to expunge her friend’s accusations.

This isn’t going to be her last time visiting this place, or seeing any of them, but it feels that way.

This is different from last January, she thinks after stepping inside the elevator, nobody is coming after me. She preferred it this way; no futile, insincere attempts at comforting that did nothing but paint what had transpired in a theatrical light. One thing that hasn’t changed is her inability to cry. Because again… she has no need for it.

So Y/n goes home. Regardless of the damages that the scalding water is certain to inflict on her hair and skin, she takes a hot shower. She rubs on the $9 moisturizer she ordered online three months ago, then opens her biochemistry textbook. She doesn’t realize this now, but for her, each piece of knowledge acquired is a block used to build a wall between herself and the pain that gets a little taller every day. It’s therapeutic. It’s also the worst form of ignorance.

The next day is Sunday, so she wakes up a little earlier than the day before to set her rhythm for the day to follow. It’s 5 AM and the first thing she does is turn her phone on silent (ignoring the texts from Kenma and Suna). She’s not even fully awake when she flips her laptop open and looks up shit that ranges from the symbolism of yellow to necrosis (causes, symptoms, and treatments). She remains unimpressed by the imagery and information available on the internet so she downloads some books on pathology.

After disemboweling her drawers, she finds a notebook she used a while back in high school and tears off the pages that are no longer of any use. She takes notes as she reads, too immersed in the process of acquiring new data to hear the soft knocks on her door.

“Y/n-chan?” Ayame’s voice is muted by the wooden barrier. “Y/n-chan, are you in there?”

If that’s truly Ayame outside her bedroom, then it must be late. After consulting her phone, she confirms that it’s 10:47 in the morning.

“Yes?” Y/n answers after a few minutes of consideration, “Yeah, what is it?”

“Oh, nothing!” Ayame squeaks out an immediate reply. “I’m just checking up on you. Have you had breakfast yet?”

Y/n ponders this as well. In the end, she decides, “Nah, not hungry. Go on and eat without me.”

She doesn’t eat all day, instead choosing to intern her body and mind inside the abstract and the macabre. She jumps from topic to topic, from crafting characters and plot to inhaling an entire article on FFI or whatever the fuck she’d heard glimpses of before and wishes to gain a more thorough understanding of.

It is 1 AM when Oikawa Tooru texts her for the first time in more than a year.

OT: Starting tomorrow I’m sitting next to you

OT: Better get used to it

She’s awake, of course, so she sees it since she’s scrolling through the dramione tag on AO3. Both of them are fools; Y/n for putting little faith in his declaration, and Tooru for thinking those two sentences can fulfill the role of a sincere apology.

October the 12th

The moment she tries to wrap the woolen scarf around her neck, the wind swiftly yanks it off her hands and hurls into a puddle. For a moment, Y/n stares at her empty hands, perplexed. How is it that every time she’s remotely enthusiastic about the future, something similar to this happens? Water seeping into her footwear. Leaking faucets and broken shampoo bottles. Socks with holes she could have sworn she’d patched before. These phenomena popped up at her happiest moments, which weren’t even that quotidian or intense.

She picks up the scarf, which is now wet, and heads out the gate. At 9:17 PM, the campus is mostly empty, with the exception of the janitor and students like her interred in research. She is, for the most part, content to have had this evening to herself if it weren’t for the rain that had trodden the earth into absolute submission two hours ago. At the time, she had felt a sense of security, an excuse to stay in the library a little longer. Now, with her scarf dangling from her fist like seaweed… she could only curse it.

“You look uglier,” she tells the green scarf, and it suddenly feels heavier. It reminds her of Howl when his hair turned orange and he began to melt. “Ugly.”

“Hurting the scarf’s feelings now, are we?”

Y/n doesn’t need to lift her head to recognize the owner of the voice. For the past two weeks, he has become a constant, one she’s determined to be nonchalant towards. But try as she might, Oikawa Tooru is just as unwavering in trying to get her attention to pivot back to him. That’s why, after he made the mistake of leaning on the wrong side of the gate the first day, he’s started to do the opposite. And now it’s all Y/n can do to avoid his presence as he stands before her.

She pretends to busy herself with buttoning up her jacket to her throat, and carries on. This doesn’t work in her favor, however, because Oikawa Tooru puts a hand on her shoulder. Instinctively, she shoves it off and leaps three feet away from him.

He pouts the way he used to when they were kids, the lines of displeasure glaring through the film of charisma.

“Would you relax?” He says, getting closer as he lifts his hand with the intention to unwind his scarf, “I’m not-

“Would you stop trying to touch me?”

Her clipped tone is only perturbed by the slight shake of nervousness. But it’s her stance― the defensive shrug of her shoulders, the slightly bent knees ready for dashing, and the curled fists― that stops him in his tracks and compels him to reason. Maybe she doesn’t like being touched on the shoulder, it’s his first thought. Because Oikawa Tooru wants more than anything not to believe he’s the only one to have earned her caustic scorn.

“Let me walk you home,” He offers, all thoughts of lending her his scarf now abandoned, but she ignores him and carries on like before. He jogs up to her side. “I will even if you don’t want me to.”

The streets are bustling but thankfully there is no traffic or the horns would be blaring from every car. It’s still noisy, as every city tends to be, but it’s a symphony that pedestrians and vendors can get accustomed to within four minutes or so. The damp that slithers into their lungs helps to soothe their senses, so it’s easier to wade their way through the crowd when the air they breathe isn’t contaminated with dust. Still, there is a sharpness to every gulp of breath that keeps them on their toes.

They’re passing by a store with stars and crescent moon decorations, its front awash with silver by the LED lights installed from one corner to another. Tooru catches her eyes lingering a second too long on the star-shaped trinket in the corner. That is, before she moves on like nothing has piqued her interest.

Tooru is the one who halts before the shop’s front, thus influencing her to turn around slowly.

“Do you like that?” He asks, pointing to the little purple-red star.

“Uh… no.” She responds a tad too late to sound convincing, but Tooru decides not to let on, “I was just… I think Kenma would like those and his birthday is in two days so I thought…

He waits for her sentence to claim that beat of finality. When it doesn’t come, he faces her, only for her to look down and then away.

“Never mind,” Y/n says, “We’re not friends anymore.”

Is she being serious, Tooru thinks. Because what he sees whenever Kuroo invites him over for volleyball advice, is Kenma refusing to acknowledge anyone other than his best friend and Suna. Ayame, he considers weak. Chiharu, in his eyes is the reason Y/n has shown no signs of being alive for the past two weeks. Tooru, of course, has become persona non grata by association.

It’s not like everyone has put their lives on hold for her. Chiharu has to work on that new technique she’s been screaming about for weeks. Ayame is trying to get her schedule to work… and failing. Every three days, Suna has Kuroo tutor him in chemistry in exchange for weed, which the latter accepts in earnest. And Tooru… he’s trying to one-up Y/n in every subject while doing his best at volleyball practice in the evening.

He’s aware that she knows this. What niggles at him is the fact that this seems to be the default. It’s what edges him closer to her, urges him to crouch to her height.

“You can’t afford it, can you?” He hopes the smirk is enough to infuriate him, and it does, momentarily, plant a scowl on her face, “Aw, it’s okay to be poor for I,” He stands tall, with his palm on his chest, “The magnanimous, gorgeous, breathtaking, not to mention humble Oikawa Tooru,” She snorts at this, “Am willing to lessen the burdens of your current financial state.”

“Good night.” She mutters before making to leave.

He wraps his fingers around her elbow, raising his voice for theatrical points.

“Oh, why condemn me to solitude when I am merely trying to compensate for the seconds you have spent in my presence.”

“Not by choice, Oikawa.” Y/n’s response is, once again, an intelligible mumble.

“Come with me, come on!” He can’t stop the grin that emerges as she struggles to yank herself free of his hold. In the end, she relents, but her scowl remains. “Please, stop making that face, cutie. People will think I’m harassing you.”

He catches her resigned ‘not far off’ and smiles indiscreetly as they cross the threshold, the bell announcing their presence within the store. He has to redirect his thoughts from the feeling of Y/n’s arm brushing against his side as he pulls her in, to the minute ornament put on display. He makes certain to greet the employee that receive them both with attitudes that differ drastically.

The man’s disapproving gaze lands on her wet scarf just as easily as it rests on Tooru��s charming smile. Tooru suspects that she’s paying the two of them as little attention as humanly possible, by studying the items organized in the shelves (from afar). This could also be the lack of awareness she has for her surroundings. If he weren’t in a hurry to get her that star-thingy he would have initiated a fight with the employee.

“I knew it was expensive.” She says after they’ve exited the shop, the gift wrapped and secured inside an elegant blue box, “But… 27857.96 yen?”

Tooru’s mouth is stranded in a permanent beam, because her concern is as infinite as his lack of it. “So specific.”

They say nothing the whole way to her shoddy apartment complex. Only glances are exchanged, along with e few sparse comments on the weather. At some point, he mentions the assignment that is due on the 21st of October and asks her who she would like to be paired up with. She answers without a beat of hesitation that she’d rather work alone. He calls her a true individualist, to which she takes no offense (he’s appreciative, because he meant none).

In the physical sense, he only remembers to take his hands out of the pockets of his brown jacket when they reach the front door. Y/n doesn’t invite him in, for there is no reason he should need your permission. He has already been granted that by his cousin and Ayame. So… Y/n is dismally outvoted.

“Better go inside before it starts raining again.”

His advice would have sounded like it if it came from somebody else. From him, he realizes it’s patronizing, similar to the many comments he used to throw at the sight of her. Tooru hasn’t the slightest clue about what he ought to do with his hands. Should he ruffle her hair, shake her hand? Maybe a little pinch on the cheek? Will she flinch?

How pathetic is it that he shoves his hands right back in his pockets and smiles in the hopes that it will put her at ease?

“Goodnight, cutie.”

Letting the straps of the bag slide to her elbow, she bunches up her scarf and nods. It’s all she does before she leaves. It’s not all he remembers by the time he’s lying down in bed, but it’s all he thinks about. That and her ‘goodbye’ wave.

Chiharu is sitting on the couch, Ayame’s head resting on her shoulder as laughter roars from the TV screen. They hear her coming, and say their greetings (Chiharu’s significantly lower). Y/n returns the gesture before entering her bedroom. Ignoring the smell of spicy octopus as she locks the door behind her, she shrugs off her jacket and dumps the scarf on the basket by the wall mirror where some of her other damp shirts have been discarded.

She has no intention of doing her laundry or dusting the furniture. She’s drained, exhausted. Because while Oikawa Tooru― with his big brown eyes, grins, smooth voice, chivalrous spirit when he deems it necessary to use― imagines himself to be charming and charismatic (he is), he is also an energy-vampire buffoon who refuses to take a hint. She sits at her desk and all but shivers at the memory of his hand on her shoulder.

Y/n doesn’t understand why he’d been surprised. Is it not clear that he is amongst the people she wishes to efface from her memory at all costs? That she doesn’t wish to see him, doesn’t he realize this?

But one look at the package and, like the tender feelings of a child, her resolve becomes mellow. Nothing as drastic as texting him a ‘thank you’. More of a ‘thinking about him doesn’t hurt as much now’. This confuses her all the more, because she remembers what she’d said to him before he’d dragged her into the store.

We aren’t friends anymore.

It’s true, in her head. Despite their attempts at keeping in touch, she’d spoken neither to him nor Suna since the night she’d walked out of Kenma’s apartment. Y/n figures they have forgotten about her, so she doesn’t mind opening the messages now.

Kenma J: Y/n (10:12 PM)

Kenma J: did you get home okay (10:12 PM)

Kenma J: text me… whenever (10:27 PM)

But she hadn’t, and she still doesn’t. Y/n taps on her chat with Suna (a train wreck of depressive jokes coated in self-deprecating humor that had never failed to lift their spirits at least two inches off rock bottom.

Suna: hey (11:53 PM)

Suna: I can see you’re online and probably gonna ignore this (11:54 PM)

Y/n snorts.

Suna: just don’t disappear on us again (12:36 AM)

She had, and she continues to do so. Drifting in and out of their lives is what she does best. She’s used to doing this- the ghosting, the blocking, and the obdurate refusal to grant herself or anyone else the finality they might need. It’s spineless but efficient, and if there is one thing Y/n makes her world revolve around, it is precisely this; the ability to avoid unnecessary trifles and cutting corners when such a thing is needed.

But Y/n is a little too tired, and her head hurts a little too much. She forgets to block them. The rain at once grounds and batters her focus, its impact on the shutters startling her and lulling her to sleep time and time again. Head resting on the paper-cluttered surface of her desk, she is all too aware of the remnants of consciousness dissolving into dust before her eyes, but she lets the stream of thought run its course. In the thin divide of reality and void, she struggles to find the dissimilarities between the two.

Chapter 3

#oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa tooru x y/n #haikyuu #suna x y/n #suna x reader #suna rintaro angst

31 notes · View notes

hetalia-has-a-secretary · 3 years ago

Note

Axis + Prussia and Allies + Canada playing Sims with their lover who loves the Sims (I’m asking this cause I love Sims)

... I will not lie I have Sims and the fact I haven't made me and Russ is dissapointing at best. Going to have to fix that...

Allies and Axis (Prussia and Canada): Play Sims with their S/O!

Allies:

America:

His sims is immediately friends with everyone, especially that goth family.

Has more friendships with the children and is pretty much a babysitter.

Definitely cheated to get the most money because he didn't have patience to earn it.

SPACE CADET TIME! His sims room is space Everything, and an American flag if possible.

He made his Sim look like him, obviously.

Has a doggo named Pluto.

When he felt like he accomplished what he wanted he decided to go and murder the neighbors because he wanted their house, and couldn't have it.

He has split the house in two so his S/O can decorate the way they want! Always compliments them too!

Him and his S/O made a roulette wheel that usually causes chaos and breaks the game.

England:

He made both his S/O and him as sims and they share a file.

Was a mistake because his S/O filled his house with plants, and he couldn't figure out how to sell them all.

Had to restart.

His Sim works as a freelance writer.

The house is pretty much a mystery murder mansion, where he actively gets people killed only to play detective.

Doesn't ever go well.

Has kept a room specific for his S/Os plants.

France:

Spends most of his time decorating, and editing his sims.

His wall decorations consist of nothing but paintings his Sim painted.

Nothing else

He didn't really want his Sim to be so flirty with literally everyone.

Still laughs when his Sim gets slapped.

Has no clue how to build a second floor, and his S/O chose to let him suffer

His house changes theme every couple of weeks.

His S/O logged on one day to the whole house filled with books like a giant library with death casually eating a hot dog.

Confusion resumed.

China:

He had to choice the highest paying job, and has the prettiest house.

He made a whole family with his S/O.

The children are Panda 1 through 5.

They lost two of them the first couple days due to the amount of filth that piled up.

One child kind of just, left and didn't return?

As a joke, his S/O locked his Sim out of the bedroom and he couldn't figure out how to get back in.

He did know how to rebuild the house.

The goth child scares him.

Russia:

Absolutely loves the game.

They made themselves as sims, and after a week or two his S/O had to interview Russia as to why there was 3 kids in the house all of a sudden.

Was painfully upset there was no sunflowers.

But has a garden of deadly plants, and a single cow plant.

He has taken it upon himself to kill all the Sims, Despite his S/O protest

Thinks the goth family is cool, so they die last ^J^

Has an ungodly amount of cats.

One of them is named Kot.

Canada:

He's a major vanilla player.

Also just let's his sims do whatever they want, and it's funny to him.

Doesn't call it Sims. He kikes calling it the babysitter simulator.

His S/O showed him the cow plant.

He wants 5 and has named all of them.

Also has a dog named Bruce.

Axis:

Germany:

It's already cannon that he plays work simulators.

So his Sim does nothing but work, farm, and sleep

Accidentally killed his Sim because he managed to trap it in the bathroom, and forgot about it.

He likes walking away from his game so he can pick up after the messes the Sims make.

When his S/O plays with him, he Pretty much does what they want.

They share a sim, and he had a nice chuckle when he logged on to the whole house covered in pink.

Pranks consist between them now.

Japan:

Has way to many Mods.

Knows how to get away with murder and steals stuff rather than buying it.

He loves watching his S/O play, it makes him happy.

Knows how to play, but doesn't because he spends most of his time being a sneak and cheating the system.

Dogs. So many dogs.

He adopted a random child of the street and named it KawaiiKaiju as a joke.

Loves pranking his S/O on their shared file.

He turned the whole house into a maze and the both of them enjoy tormenting the Sims

Did I mention they have two sims who are the male and female versions of Hatsune Miku?

Also spent way too much time on that.

His S/O spent a month not knowing about the secret attic that he built for their sims wedding.

Italy:

Finds the game relaxing, and loves watching them be all chaotic.

He really wanted a child sim, and his S/O made an old sims.

The house is run by Italy's sim.

Was sad when his Sim grew up, but filled the void by flirting with the goth mom.

That's his wife now.

She actually killed him one week after marriage and he doesn't know why, neither does his S/O.

Loves the kitty cats in the game.

Has three cats.

His S/O has to take control very often to avoid him breaking the game.

They did make one of the prettiest gardens in the game though.

Prussia:

Made his Sim as evil as possible, but his S/O's sim is just as bad.

Neither him or his S/O have a plan, and it's just chaos.

His S/O made the mistake of letting him decorate the house

It's a mess and nothing makes sense.

And he's made it so it takes any sims trying to rob them virtually impossible.

Other than that he prefers to let his S/O take over

He loves seeing how their mind works, and enjoys seeing them happy.

He hits top level mechanic and moves on to mathematics for fun.

Their sims had a child and Prussia named it Awesome JR.

#hetalia #aph #hws #hetalia american #hetalia england #hetalia france #hetalia china #hetalia russia #hetalia canada #hetalia germany #hetalia Italy #hetalia japan #hetalia prussia

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refinedbuffoonery · 4 years ago

Text

Flawless (3)

masterlist.

Content Warning: swearing, violence, sex, PTSD

IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE SKIP THE SEX SCENE. It’s the last part of the chapter, and all you need to know is that is happens.

*****

There were never enough showers.

Never enough showers to wash off the grit and the smell and the fear. Not from the dumpster—that came off pretty easily—but from before.

Riley had initially turned the handle all the way hot, but she didn’t turn it down when she stepped into the shower. Water scalded her back, her chest, her thighs, but she didn’t care. She welcomed the pain with open arms. Anything to keep the numbness from returning.

She left the glass door partly open. During her first shower since coming home, Riley had closed it normally and immediately panicked. The once spacious shower was suddenly too tight, closing in on her with each breath, like if she didn’t open the door right then she would’ve been trapped in it forever. Now Riley left the door open. The shower felt less like a cage when she did that.

Riley went through the motions almost mechanically. Wash face. Shampoo hair. Wash body. Condition hair. Shave legs. In that order. Always in that order.

She turned the water to freezing cold for a minute before stepping out. The shock to her system hurt worse than the hot water did. It felt like force-rebooting her body the same way she would a malfunctioning computer.

She pictured the start-up graphics on a screen as her brain woke back up. Blackness. The mouse appeared, barely more than a white smudge against the dark. Then the loading screen.

She got dressed, and it felt like typing in her password. The first outfit felt wrong, like she’d typed in the password incorrectly. Riley tried again. She got it the second time, mental fingers landing on the right keys, in the right order—clothes that felt like her, embracing her body.

Skinny jeans.

Rolling Stones t-shirt.

Silver hoop earrings.

When the mirror unfogged, Riley re-did her makeup—smokey eyeshadow and eyeliner sharp enough to stab the demons colonizing her mind. All part of her armor against the world.

She’d need it with the whole team in her apartment tonight.

Unsurprisingly, Desi and Cage let themselves in without bothering to knock. Riley’s only warning was an unmistakable squeal that could’ve only come from Cage before someone pounced on her from behind, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground. Pale arms wrapped around her, and Riley awkwardly reached back to hug her friend.

From somewhere behind them, Desi scoffed, “You could’ve at least waited for her to turn around, you know.”

Cage shot back, “Don’t be all macho. You already got to see her.” Riley didn’t think picking her, Nikki, and Jill up from their dumpster adventure counted, but she didn’t correct the blonde.

Cage let go only long enough for Desi to give Riley a real hug. Lowering her voice so Cage couldn’t hear, the more reserved woman whispered in Riley’s ear, “If you need anything, even just to talk, you come to me, okay?”

Riley whispered back, “Okay.” Desi gave her a long, knowing look before pulling away.

They brought Italian takeout from the fancy place downtown and an ungodly amount of wine. Riley eyed the expensive labels. She’d long been banned from alcohol duty; Nikki didn’t mind beer and tequila, but Cage and Desi just sneered and said she and Nikki drank like college students. Which, to be fair, they did.

Cage poured a glass for each of them, and the trio migrated to Riley’s black leather couch. “So,” Cage began, “how does it feel to be out?”

The interrogation was beginning early, it seemed. Carefully sipping her wine, Riley answered, “Good.” Cage narrowed her eyes at the one-word response, and Riley fought not to squirm under her all-knowing gaze. The former interrogator was literally a fucking mind reader.

Cage pressed on. “What was it like in there?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Desi quickly assured, shooting her girlfriend a warning glare. There was something in Cage’s returning look that made Riley think this wasn’t the first time they’ve talked about this.

Of course the team had talked about her while she was in prison. They had to process the events leading up to Riley’s arrest too. Riley didn’t blame them for that. But for some reason it still stung that they talked about her behind her back.

She was saved from answering Cage’s question by Nikki’s loud arrival. The blonde gasped audibly from the doorway, eyes locking on the wine glasses in their hands. “You started without me? Rude.”

Riley rolled her eyes. “Speaking of rude, did you all forget what knocking is?”

“If you wanted us to knock then you shouldn’t have given each of us a key,” Desi sneered. Riley frowned but didn’t disagree.

Jill cautiously trailed Nikki into the apartment. Riley arched a brow in surprise; she hadn’t been sure the woman would actually show. She put up an icy exterior before speaking. “So,” Riley drawled. “You came.”

Jill smiled awkwardly. “Hi.”

“It’s Jill, right?” Cage got up to introduce herself. “I’m Samantha.” Riley watched the exchange carefully, studying Jill’s body language. She seemed to fold in on herself under Cage’s intense gaze, but Riley didn’t blame her. Even after six years of friendship, Cage was just as scary as the day Riley met her.

With food in front of them, the conversation flowed easier. Riley was content to let Cage and Desi pester Jill with endless questions while she ate her pasta in peace. Hopefully they’d forget all about interrogating her.

“So how did you all meet?” Jill asked after Cage finally ran out of questions.

Riley smirked, but it was Nikki who spoke first. “Well, I met Riley the day I was fired from my first job. We ran around with the lowlifes of LA for a while until we met Cage, who was a professional gold-digger at the time.” Nikki took a sip of her wine. “And it was all fun and games until one day I found myself making breakfast for this cranky ex-military chick Cage brought home—” a pointed look at Desi— “who did the walk of shame out of our apartment every day until she moved in.” Desi stuck her tongue out at Nikki, who returned the gesture with glee.

Meanwhile, Jill’s eyes widened with each new piece of information. “There is so much to unpack there.” She pushed her glasses up her nose, focusing on Cage. “You were a professional gold-digger?”

Cage smiled and poured herself another glass of wine before snuggling into Desi’s side. “I was.” Desi wrapped a protective arm around her girlfriend.

“She had a good thing going for a while,” Nikki explained. “Get with a hot millionaire, spend a year embezzling his money, fake her death. Repeat.” Cage wiggled her eyebrows, making everyone laugh. It was moments like this Riley missed most in prison—the gossip, the easy laughter.

“And what about the other girl?” Jill asked. The laughter died immediately. “The one I’m replacing.”

Riley’s grip tightened around her glass. “My best friend from high school.” There was just enough edge to her words to keep Jill from asking anything else about Leanna or the past. Riley knew what her next question would be: If she was your best friend, then why isn’t she here now?

She’d asked herself the same question every day Nikki visited her in prison, alone.

The rest of the night passed without incident. Carefully timed trips to the kitchen enabled Riley to get Cage and Desi’s opinions on Jill without arousing suspicion. The team was in agreement—recruiting Jill was a yes.

After the movie ended and the dishes were done, Riley gathered her team in the kitchen. There were times in prison she thought she’d never see this again—Nikki standing to her right, Desi sitting on a barstool with her boots on the counter, Cage just sitting on the counter, and now Jill, who miraculously knew how to both be polite and sit in a chair correctly. But here they were. Her team. In her kitchen. Waiting for Riley to pitch their next job.

“So,” she began. “I’ve got a job for us.”

Desi snorted. “I had no idea.” Rolling her eyes, Cage smacked her girlfriend’s calves in reprimand.

Riley ignored her. “Paris Fashion Week is next month, and it’s time we attend. While we’re there, we can do some sightseeing, eat at fancy restaurants, visit the Louvre.” Desi and Cage sat up straighter at the word “Louvre.” Nikki already knew part of the plan, but until now the others had no idea what Riley had been planning.

Nearly as perceptive as Cage, Jill asked, “What’s special about the Louvre? I mean, aside from the fact that it’s famous and holds lots of cool stuff.”

“The Louvre,” Riley began, fixing her intense gaze on Jill, “contains some of best-guarded treasures on the whole planet. Which will make them all the more lucrative when they hit the black market.”

Jill looked between the other women warily, as if she suddenly found herself surrounded by people who should be in a mental institution, and Riley had to fight the urge to laugh. “No offense, but you’re insane,” the recruit said. “Do you even realize how impossible this is?”

“Not impossible,” Riley corrected. “But the challenge is what makes it fun.”

Curiosity flooded Cage’s eyes. “I’ll bite. What’s the target?”

“The French Crown Jewels.” Riley was met with a series of gasps and raised eyebrows.

Even Nikki showed concern. “Riles,” she said softly. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much, even for you?” The others nodded in agreement.

Appalled, Riley demanded, “Are you doubting me now? I’m gone for two years and then...nothing? Where’s the trust?”

“Of course we trust you,” Nikki said, stepping closer. “But maybe we should try for something easier.” After what happened last time, her eyes finished.

Fire roiled in Riley’s gut. Who were these people? What happened to the women who jumped at every batshit plan thrown their way? Riley didn’t recognize the cautious people in front of her. Nikki, of all people, didn’t get to lecture her on easier.

“This is the plan,” Riley snapped. “Either you’re in, or I replace you too.” She held Nikki’s gaze in challenge, making it clear she wouldn’t back down.

It was Desi who finally dared to break the charged silence, standing up to pour herself another glass of wine. “Well, if you insist of doing something stupid, I’m not letting you do it by yourself.”

Riley barely hid her surprise. Desi rarely took her side in an argument, if ever.

Cage’s lips formed a grim line. “Guess I’m in too.” Even Jill reluctantly nodded.

That just left Nikki. She glowered, clearly unhappy with being outvoted. “Fine,” she grumbled. “But I’m just as much the leader of this team as you are, and I reserve the right to pull the plug at any time.” Riley figured that was as close to agreement as she was going to get for now.

She grinned wickedly. “Then it’s settled. We’re going to Paris.”

*****

The next night, Riley took Nikki and Jill to a headline-making new club that just opened in Hollywood, as both an apology girls night and an opportunity to instruct Jill in Con Artist 101. Even though it was a weekday, neither protested. No local goes out on a weekend. Not in this city.

The club featured the finest of LA’s nightlife—pulsing music, beautiful women, overpriced drinks, the occasional person who may or may not be a celebrity, and people doing lines of coke on the bathroom counter. Truly a sight to behold.

The women to men ratio was surprisingly close to equal for an LA hotspot, and Riley didn’t waste the opportunity to check out all the eye candy her city had to offer. At the same time, she watched the crowd for easy victims.

She found one easily. A young blonde woman barely contained in her tight, sequined dress stepped up to the bar, and Riley could just see the edge of her ID sticking out from the top of her dress. She’d be easy to pickpocket, especially once her large, bubblegum pink drink was in her system.

The three women ordered their own drinks, and while they waited, Riley pulled Jill aside, lowering her voice. “You see her?” She tilted her head in the direction of the target. “Drunk blonde in a sequin dress.”

“What about her?” Jill asked cautiously.

“You’re going to pickpocket her.”

“I’m what?”

On her other side, Nikki chuckled, resting a hand on Jill’s shoulder. “Con Artist 101, babe. You’ve got to start with the basics.”

“Okay.”

Riley continued, “You’re going to steal her ID. It’s stuffed down the front of her dress—easy, unsecure. First step, watch her to figure out exactly where it is.” This was the first test, seeing if Jill was perceptive enough to pick up the kind of small details most people ignore. It wasn’t enough to just be aware of her surroundings; she had to know exactly where everything was at all times. People in their line of work couldn’t afford surprises.

After a few minutes, Jill nodded with confidence. “Found it. Right side, in between her boob and her armpit.”

“Good,” Riley praised. “Now you have to go get it. Bump into her so she’s more focused on that than your hand in her dress. Maybe even spill your drink on her.”

Jill’s newfound surety was short lived. “Can you show me first?” Unease returned to her voice.

Riley smirked. “Gladly.” She found a new target for herself—a man, tipsy but not drunk, and not so big that he’d overpower her if he got a little handsy. She spied the outline of his wallet in the left leg of his jeans. “When you’re stealing heavier items, say a wallet,” Riley explained while her eyes searched the bar, “you need to put something in its place. Otherwise your mark will know pretty quickly that something is missing.” The club was swanky enough to use real coasters at the bar instead of napkins, and Riley leaned over the bar to grab one. It wasn’t quite heavy enough, but it would do. “Watch carefully,” she instructed.

She sauntered right up to the man, eyes focused on a random point in the distance, and collided with his left side. In the brief moment their bodies touched, Riley slipped her hand into his front pocket, snagging his wallet and leaving the coaster in its place. “Sorry,” she apologized with a demure bat of her eyelashes. Slipping the wallet into her purse, Riley kept walking before the man could do or say anything else.

The theft was as easy as breathing, the thrill short lived.

“Your turn,” Riley said, returning to Jill’s side. Jill shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. “If you second-guess it, it won’t work. Have some faith in yourself.” Emphasizing her point, Riley shoved Jill forward.

Nikki slid into the newly open space beside Riley. “Are you sure we should just throw her in the deep end like this?”

Her eyes never leaving Jill, Riley replied, “The only way she’s going to learn is if she practices. You know that just as well as I do.”

“I guess.” Nikki sighed. “I just don’t want anything to happen to her.”

Maybe it was the lingering annoyance from yesterday’s fight that Riley had yet to let go of, but something about Nikki’s words rubbed her the wrong way. Riley snapped, “You mean unlike what happened to me?”

Bristling, Nikki didn’t rise to the bait.

On the dance floor, Jill bumped into the woman well enough, but she was a little slow on the grab. Thankfully the woman was too drunk to notice.

Subtly flashing the ID, Jill asked, “What do I do with it?”

“Keep it,” Nikki said. “She looks enough like you. Use it the next time you get carded.” Jill didn’t look too happy about that, but she slid the ID into her purse all the same.

Riley murmured just loud enough for Nikki to hear. “See? I told you she’d be fine.” Nikki gave her a look she wasn’t sure how to interpret.

The bartender dropped off their drinks, and Riley knocked back both her tequila shots, one right after the other. Nikki raised an eyebrow. “There something you need to tell me?”

The burn from the alcohol lingered in the back of Riley’s throat. “Nope. I’m good.”

“Riles—” Nikki protested, but Riley cut her off.

“You, however, look desperately in need of a good fuck.” She said it more to get Nikki off her back than anything else. Riley scanned the crowd, eyes settling on a tall, muscular man with dark skin and close-cropped hair. He stood right at the edge of the dancing, talking to a group of guys, providing Riley with an excellent side-view of his chiseled silhouette. “He’ll work.” She didn’t wait for a response before striding through the mass of writhing bodies.

Riley sidled up next to him, and the whole group of guys turned to her in unison. “Hi,” he said. Riley immediately liked the sound of his voice, deep and smooth and sensual.

She smiled. “I’m Riley, and if you’ll come with me, there’s someone I think you should meet.” The boldness came easily. The tequila added to her already high self-esteem was just a bonus.

The man turned to face her fully. “Riley,” he crooned. Her name rolled off his lips like melted chocolate. “And what if I’d rather just get to know you?” Riley smirked. That plan was fine by her. Nikki could find her own man. It had been a long time since Riley had a fuckable man’s hands on her body, and she wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. She lightly tugged on his shirt.

“Dance with me.”

They melted into the crowd, and his broad hands found Riley’s waist as she eye-fucked him, gently drawing her into his hard, warm body. He took his time, giving her the chance to change her mind if she wished. His courteousness made him even hotter. Riley pressed her body closer.

The rhythmic bass rattled her bones, but Riley welcomed the sensation. She let it carry her away, guiding the swinging of her arms and the rolling of her hips.

The man’s lips brushed her ear as he spoke. “I’m Kalei, by the way.”

Kalei. Riley repeated his name, committing it to memory. Kuh-lay. She liked the way it rolled off her tongue.

“Turn around,” Kalei commanded. Biting her lower lip, Riley obeyed, and Kalei tugged her hips firmly against his own.

Riley leaned back, resting her head on Kalei’s shoulder, running her hands up and down his thick, muscular arms. Kalei’s fingers curled into her hips, his breath was hot on Riley’s neck, and Riley already found herself wanting more. He moved perfectly with her, their bodies in sync.

Her arms rose up, fingers finding purchase on the nape of his neck. Kalei’s hands steadily grew braver—first skimming up her waist, then down over her thighs—leaving a delicious burning sensation in their wake. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, and his palms traveled higher, just brushing the undersides of her breasts. Riley gasped.

She growled over her shoulder, “Do that again.”

He did. Again and again and again.

When Riley finally turned around, the hungry glow simmering in his eyes matched her own. She wanted him. She wanted him now.

He smelled like cedar and something else she couldn’t quite place with the stench of sweat and alcohol accosting her nose. Riley pulled his mouth down to hers, but Kalei stopped just before their lips brushed. “Shouldn’t I at least buy you a drink first?”

She chuckled, deep and full of wicked promise. “I already cut myself off for the night. Besides, we both know you’d rather skip that step.” Riley pressed her hips against his for emphasis, feeling him hard against her.

Kalei tensed. “Are you sure?”

Riley knew she’d picked a good one. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Apparently that was all the reassurance he needed. Kalei grabbed a fistful of Riley’s hair and kissed her, hard and desperate. She moaned into his mouth, imagining all the depraved things his tongue could do. Riley planned on becoming intimately acquainted with every single one of those things by morning.

She started to drag him toward the bathroom, but Kalei stopped her. “I am not fucking you on a bathroom counter. Let’s get out of here.”

Fair enough. “Your place or mine?” she asked.

“Do you have a roommate?”

“Nope.”

His fingers trailed down Riley’s arm and linked through hers. “Then yours.”

The cab ride was short, but tense. The driver dutifully kept his eyes glued to the road as Kalei’s hand stroked the inside of her thigh. Riley shivered in her seat.

Kalei’s eyes bulged when the driver pulled up to Riley’s swanky apartment building. “Wait, are you in the industry? Should I know you?”

Riley laughed, picturing herself as some whiny, simpering actress. Pathetic. “No. I’m just a businesswoman.”

The easiest lies were mostly true, after all.

The lobby was empty, and the elevator doors slid open mercifully quickly. As soon as Riley pressed the button for the top floor and the doors slid shut, Kalei resumed kissing her, hands tangling in her curls as he pinned her against the wall.

The doors opened, and Riley didn’t waste any time leading Kalei down the hall to her apartment, unlocking the door, and shoving Kalei inside first.

Her apartment was mostly dark; the only light came from the city lights shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. Riley didn’t bother to turn on a light. Kalei backed her against the door, and Riley let out a gasp as her legs wrapped around him and his mouth lowered to her throat. Her dress bunched around her waist, becoming little more than a shirt.

“We can stop at any time,” he rasped. “Just say the word.” Kalei held out his little finger in a pinky promise, and the gesture had Riley already contemplating where she’d take him out to breakfast in the morning.

Riley had no intention of stopping. She told him so, and Kalei’s mouth slanted over hers, kissing her thoroughly. Her greedy fingers made quick work of his jacket, then his shirt, and Riley smiled into the kiss as she traced his chiseled abs and chest. Kalei was hot, polite, and ripped.

In short, he was perfect. Not that she’d ever inflate a man’s ego by telling him that.

She pulled away just far enough to ask, “Are we doing this against the door or on my bed?”

Kalei’s dark chuckle set every nerve in her body on fire. Riley wanted to carve the magnificent sound into her memory forever. “Bed,” he murmured. “I want to take my time unraveling you and learning exactly what it takes to make you scream my name.”

Fuck. Every coherent thought vanished from Riley’s mind. The best she could do was nod furiously as he set her down.

Riley yanked off her heels before dragging Kalei down the dark hallway to her spacious bedroom. Their clothes came off all at once, without ceremony, and then her back was against the mattress, and Kalei’s delicious weight hovered over her.

He kissed his way down her body, all the way to her knees before moving back up to where she really wanted him. She was right, earlier, about what his tongue could do. Broad licks, circles, delicate, methodical strokes—magical, toe-curling, spine-arching, embarrassing noise-inducing stuff.

Riley whimpered his name as a wave of pleasure crashed over her.

And then his hands were shackles around her wrists, pinning them above her head. Riley froze. The confinement made her want to crawl out of her own skin, and not in a good way.

Noticing Riley’s shift in body language, Kalei released her wrists and sat up, seeming to know she needed space. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

A deep breath. “Yeah,” Riley lied.

No I’m not okay.

I felt trapped.

That’s never happened before.

“Okay,” he said. “Let me know when you’re ready to keep going.”

“I’m ready now.” She didn’t hesitate, flipping them so she was on top.

Despite her reassurance, it was slower now, less desperate. Riley focused on the sounds escaping his lips, letting them wash away the shackled feeling. The more she touched him, the more she felt powerful, in control. Her smirk finally returned as Kalei sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes screwing shut and head tilting back, exposing the strong column of his throat.

It was control Riley really craved, after not having any for so long.

And Kalei seemed to be more than happy to surrender to her. Chuckling at her haste, Kalei stroked her calves as Riley ripped open the new box of condoms in her nightstand drawer. His broad hands on her hips guided her, meeting her halfway, but Riley dictated the rhythm and pace, giving her desperate, touch-starved body everything it desired.

She nearly got off on the high of watching this beautiful man come undone beneath her alone.

Riley was in awe of how quickly he had figured out her body—how to tease her, draw her pleasure out, send her over the edge. Kalei earned every utterance of his name on her lips.

And god were there a lot of them.

When Kalei woke her up in the middle of the night for round two, they tousled for dominance. Riley knew there’d be marks on her body in the morning, but she didn’t care. There would be just as many on him.

Kalei didn’t touch her wrists again. He only pinned her shoulders and hips, leaving her limbs free to do as she pleased. “Is this okay?” he’d asked the first time he held her down. She assured him it was.

If Riley had time for love, she thought she might be able to have it with him.

With her common sense still lost in the delicious, post-release haze, Riley said, “I never say this, but do you want to get breakfast in the morning?”

Kalei pulled her against him, her back to his front, his arm possessively circling her body. “I never say this either, but yes.”

Riley smiled as she drifted off to sleep.

#beth writes #flawless au #macgyver #riley davis #nikki carpenter #desiree nguyen #samantha cage #jill morgan #macgyver fanfiction

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hale-13 · 3 years ago

Text

Euarthropoda

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 9 - Bugs

Peter enjoys visiting Tony out at the lake house - even though his mentor insists on going hiking.

Words: 1924, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

TW: Light Discussion of Mental Health

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“A hike?” Peter asked, his voice dubious and still heavy with sleep. Tony had dragged him out of bed at an ungodly hour to shove a homemade breakfast with all the fixings down his throat before their supposed foray into the ‘great outdoors’.

“A hike,” his mentor confirmed, putting an ungodly amount of ketchup and sriracha on his omelet, making Peter crinkle his nose in disgust. “Eat up! We want to get out there early so we aren’t out in the hottest part of the day.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed,” Peter pointed out, talking around a mouthful of hash browns with grilled onions – it still blew him away that the Tony Stark he remembered severely burnt or set everything on fire before the Snap but now was perfectly capable of cooking a delicious meal. Wild. “But neither of us is what one might call ‘outdoorsy’,” Peter pointed out, air quotes included, adding another mound of bacon and sausage to his plate when Tony nudged the platter closer.

“Sure we are!” Tony protested. “You spend most of your day outside and I live at a lake house.”

“First of all,” Peter said imperiously, using his fork to point at this mentor and speaking with his mouth full. “Living at a lake house doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly a skilled outdoorsman. It just means that you have money. And second,” Peter continued, speaking louder over Tony’s spluttering, “I spend no time outside at all whatsoever.”

“Lies and slander,” Tony argued. “I’ve seen the logs for your suit so I know just how much you aren’t in your apartment no matter what you tell May.”

Peter threw his arms up in indignation. “Time in the suit does not equate to time spent in the wilderness! It’s climate controlled for fuck’s sake.”

“Language,” Tony admonished with a glance toward the stairs. Morgan had a penchant for creeping around to eavesdrop and had picked up lots of new… vocabulary… that she was all too pleased to teach her multitude of friends at school much to her teacher’s anger, Pepper’s embarrassed rage and Tony’s chagrin. Peter just rolled his eyes – he had super hearing, he would know if Morgan was creeping up on them. “Finish your breakfast.”

“Ugh,” Peter groaned but gave in. He knew a losing battle when he saw one – he was pretty stubborn but, if anyone could beat him out, it was Tony Stark. “Where are we even going?”

“Just around the lake,” Tony answered, spreading Nutella liberally on his toast. “It’s a few miles and I realized I hadn’t shown you the trails yet.”

Peter hummed and looked out the window where the watery light from the early morning sun was cascading over the kitchen and leaving long shadows. It was so much quieter here than the city, the only noise coming from the birds and the gentle lapping of the water from the lake onto the shore. It really was a beautiful place and, despite his verbal protests, Peter actually wasn’t that upset about spending a quiet morning walking around the shore of the lake and relaxing – it had been a rough week of Spider-Manning and he was ready for a break.

“Pete?” Tony asked, pulling him from his musings. “We don’t actually have to go if you really don’t want to. You know that right?”

“I know,” Peter reassured him. “I think I do want to.” Tony gave him a bright smile before grabbing his empty plate to put in the dishwasher.

“Go get changed,” the man said. “I’ll meet you by the dock in a few minutes once I get this put away,” he gestured to the few dirty dishes left on the table, completely empty due to Peter’s voracious metabolism.

“Sure,” Peter agreed. “I’ll do my best not to wake up Mo.”

“Oh God,” Tony groaned. “Please do. We’ll never get out of here if she wakes up.”

Peter laughed, leaving the kitchen to climb up the stairs and enter his room. It was supposed to be a warm day so he pulled on a pair of shorts and a worn out tank top along with a pair of beat up sneakers. Tony was already down by the dock when Peter made his way outside, stretching out his calves, two HydroFlasks sitting in the dirt next to him.

“Ready?” Tony asked, tossing him a bottle which Peter caught easily.

“Yep,” he agreed, stretching his own arms over his head to pop his back and release the tension in his shoulders that was a constant from all of his web-slinging. Tony set an easy pace, following the dirt trail around the lake and Peter fell into step next to him, their conversation light and lulling into comfortable silence in some places as they hiked, just taking in the scenery.

The area truly was stunning; an uncovered gem that Tony had been lucky to find. Land like this didn’t sit around unoccupied for long in the upstate area and Peter could see himself – one da, hopefully – retiring somewhere similar. Maybe Tony would let him build a house out here someday, he was certainly developing a taste for peace and quiet.

“May said you’d had a tough week,” Tony finally brought up lightly, confirming Peter’s suspicions for the alone time away from curious and meddling ears. The two were the absolute worst gossips at their bi-weekly co-parenting lunches – Peter was just lucky Happy hadn’t started joining them since he and May had started dating. Peter wouldn’t get away with anything if all three of them were involved.

Peter mulled the question over for a few minutes before shrugging, deciding to try for nonchalant. “It wasn’t great but I’m okay,” he finally conceded, voice carefully light.

“You can talk to me Webs,” Tony said carefully, his tone neutral. “If anyone knows what this business is like its me.”

They continued in silence for a minute more before Peter stopped in the path and leaned against one of the trees overlooking the lake, watching a Great Blue Heron wade in the shallows a few hundred feet from them pursuing its next meal. “I lost somebody,” he ground out. “I was right there and I’d already webbed up the bad guy but I guess one of his arms was free enough to still aim and fire his gun and…” Peter sniffed, eyes dry but stinging.

Tony sighed but didn’t offer any platitudes. “It sucks and it’s not fair,” he agreed, reaching out a hand to squeeze Peter’s shoulder quickly in solidarity. “And its going to happen again; all that matters is how you handle it. How are you handling it?”

“Mostly by punching a brick wall until I break my knuckles,” Peter admitted, carefully not looking at his mentor’s facial expression which he knew would be disapproving – Tony wasn’t really a fan of Peter’s penchant for using pain and violence to work through his emotions. He held up his right hand though, allowing the man to inspect the unmarred skin and healed bones without protest knowing he would be fighting a losing battle.

“I think we should talk about healthy coping mechanisms again,” Tony joked without humor. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I know,” Peter admitted.

“You give any more thought to my offer?” And Peter had. After the ‘Blip’ both Tony and May had tried to talk Peter into seeing one of the therapists the Avengers had on retainer. His identity would remain secure and he could vent and develop healthy coping mechanisms. Work through some of the issues he knew that he was repressing. Figure out how to deal with the PTSD WebMD told him he had. He had refused them a couple times over the months he had been back but now…

“I‘ve thought about it,” he admitted.

“And?” Tony asked, voice patient but with a hopeful undercurrent he couldn’t quite hide.

“I’ll try it,” Peter agreed, grunting in surprise when Tony pulled him into a firm hug that Peter leaned into, returning it with equal force and closing his eyes to rest his forehead on Tony’s flesh shoulder, tension he didn’t know he was carrying releasing from his muscles.

“I’m so proud of you kiddo,” the man whispered into his ear and Peter felt a watery smile pull up his cheekbones.

“Thanks,” he said as he pulled back to meet Tony’s eyes only for his mentor to be looking at Peter’s shoulder instead of his face. Peter knit his brows in confusion. “Tony?”

“Hold still Pete,” he said, gesturing to Peter’s shoulder. “Got a little wolf spider on you. I’ll get it.”

“A WHAT!” Peter screeched, jumping backwards and yanking his tank top off, ripping it to shreds and tossing it before running his hands over his arms, hair standing on end and skin crawling like he was covered in bugs.

“Uh,” Tony said, looking caught between laughter and confusion. “You okay bud?”

“I HATE spiders,” Peter said, shuddering and climbing halfway up the tree behind him to get away from his shirt on the ground and the arachnid that may still be in it. He was taking no chances. “Aren’t you going to kill it?”

“Kill it?” Tony asked faintly before letting out a snort. “Hate to break it to you Pete, but we’re in his territory not the other way around.”

“He lost the chance to live when he climbed on me,” Peter spat out venomously, eyes still locked on the shirt. He wasn’t letting the little bastard escape. “Can you please just kill it?”

“Pretty sure you flung him halfway to the city already,” Tony choked out around his laughter, picking up Peter’s discarded shirt and shaking it out to check it. “Think your shirt is toast.”

“You’re sure its gone?” Peter asked suspiciously, still perched on the trunk of the tree and feeling over his arms to make sure it wasn’t still on him.

“Yes Peter, Christ. Can you get down from there?” Peter narrowed his eyes but dropped back to the ground, scanning the area nervously. His Spidey sense was tingling uncomfortably from the adrenaline that was working its way through his system. Tony looked him over for a second to make sure he was okay before letting out a snort and then bursting into laughter. “Spider-Man afraid of spiders. Oh this is good!”

“Yeah yeah,” Peter grumbled, crossing his arms over his bare chest and feeling his cheeks heat up. “Laugh it up.”

“Aw its okay buddy!” Tony said, draping his arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulling him back down the path toward the cabin. “We all have at least one irrational fear. Say,” he said, voice teasing, “does May kill them all for you at home?”

“Hell no!” Peter said, shaking his head. “She’s worse than me – Ben always had to handle the various vermin that would come in the apartment uninvited.”

“So what do you two do? Go ask a neighbor?” Tony teased, lightly elbowing Peter in the ribs and causing him to scowl. “Scream until someone comes running? Call Happy?”

“We just… leave. You know, let it do it’s thing. Then we come home and are just really uncomfortable for a few days,” he said squirming a little in discomfort at the thought.

Tony let out a bark of bright laughter, pulling Peter into a side hug. “We can work on something to help you with that later in the lab I think.”

“Please,” Peter agreed in pure relief, following along back towards the house and keeping a weary eye on his surroundings… just in case.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump9 #Prompt: Bugs #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump

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pinkjeanist · 4 years ago

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“rollercoaster” || denki kaminari

desc.: You worked at the hot dog stand. He worked at the Cosmic Arcade. What else is there to say? [2k words - f!reader]

a/n: this song goes so hard. it’s one of those songs that just feels like summer!! [navigation]

Summer break meant new opportunities, new experiences, and apparently for you, it meant hot dogs, too. You’d considered applying for a job at your local supermarket or fast food restaurant, but you heard about the three-free-rides-a-week discount at the nearby space-themed amusement park, so of course you were gonna apply for the job that paid significantly less (but gave you so, so much more). You never had much energy left in you to go on the rides after your shift, but just having the discount was enough.

You’d nearly worked in the Play Area 51 before it dawned on you just how much little kids tend to vomit, especially directly into the ballpit, so you instead decided to work at one of the many hot dog stands- one that was frequented by less-vomiting-more-screaming children, middle-aged women complaining about how they “asked for extra ketchup,” and surprisingly, really cute boys. Especially the cute boy that worked in the Cosmic Arcade.

He looked exactly like someone who’d spend his time playing laser tag or driving bumper cars, but didn’t at all seem put down by having to operate them, instead. You couldn’t remember a time you’d seen him without a smile on his face. You also couldn’t remember a single day he hadn’t bought a hot dog on his break since the day you started working at the stand.

You’d never really talked beyond taking his order and him insisting that you “put more ketchup on the hot dog please, I’m going for a world record,” and you insisting that “we don’t have enough ketchup to satiate your strange desire to consume an ungodly amount of an already-unholy condiment,” and to be honest, you were tired of simping from afar. But alas, you were but a simple hot dog merchant, and he worked ten minutes away at the distant Cosmic Arcade.

However, it was him that eventually spoke first to you nearly three weeks after getting hired: “You know, the most expensive hot dog ever sold was one hundred and sixty nine US dollars.”

You stopped as you were about to give him his food. “Is this you telling me that you wanna try to break another world record?”

“Perhaps. What are you sellin’ for?” He smirked, crossing his arms on the counter and leaning in closer. You put your hands on your hips and looked around.

“I mean, the most expensive thing I can give you is, like, five bucks in US dollars, so you might be in the wrong place to break your record, buddy.”

“I thought this was supposed to be the best hot dog stand in the world.”

Your brows raised. “Who said that?”

“Me.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Well, it’s got some pretty good hot dogs, but it’s also got this smokin’ hot chick working there, so it’s really at the top of my list.”

You flushed, and he winked at you. You couldn’t help but smile. “Well, if it’s really so good, you should probably get a hot dog. There’s a line.”

He turned to the line behind him and spun back around even faster. “Oh fuck. Can I get a hot dog please?”

“Of course,” You laughed, taking his money after he dug in his pockets for it. “How much ketchup?”

“Too much. Just pile that shit on there!”

“I’ll see what I can do.” You actually giggled as you said it. You couldn’t stop your heart from pounding in your chest as you fixed his hot dog. He was really cute, and really funny, and also acted a little stupid, which you admired in a man. You could do without all the ketchup, though.

You handed him his hot dog with a smile, genuine only for him. “Have a nice day!”

“My day’s already perfect for getting to talk to you!” He beamed, speeding off before you could respond. He ran to one of his far-away friends waiting in line at the funnel cake stand and started bouncing up and down as he talked. You hoped he was talking about you.

When he came back the next day, you asked: “Don’t you ever get tired of hot dogs? You come here every day.”

“I’m not just here for the hot dogs, honey. Speaking of which, can I have a hot dog?” He rested his elbows on the counter and put his cheeks in his hands as he smiled at you. He’d already set his money on the space in front of him.

As you were making his hot dog, he asked you: “What time do you get off of work?”

“I’m getting off at eight today. Why?” You lathered his hot dog with as much ketchup you could give him without getting in trouble.

“Can you meet me at that rollercoaster after you’re done?” He pointed to probably the largest and most terrifying ride in the entire park in the distance, and for a moment, you couldn’t respond. You’d never even thought to try it out, but now, you had to reconsider.

“I mean...I can’t guarantee I won’t vomit all over you when the ride’s over, but sure.” You handed him his hot dog, and he gave you the biggest smile you’d seen from him yet. Just the sight of it made your stomach leap and blossom into a thousand little butterflies. Or maybe that was just the burrito you had for breakfast. Either way, you already knew that you would die for this boy.

“Hell yeah! We can be vomit buddies!” He stuck his hand out for a high-five, and you accepted it with a laugh.

“That’s definitely not the cutest term to use, but okay!” He gave a quick goodbye and ran off again.

The thought of meeting him sped through your mind until you were finally off work, and you made sure to grab your three-free-rides coupon along with your things before making your way to the rollercoaster. The sight of it was daunting, but your need to see that boy again overcame your dread.

When you got there, he was already waiting for you by the ticket booth, and waved to you as your eyes met. You hurried to his side.

“Hey! I was really hoping you’d come!” His hand came to rest on your arm, but you didn’t feel the need to move it in the slightest.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” He took your coupon and gave it to the woman in the booth.

“Kinda. It’s not every day I get to go on rides with pretty girls!” You flushed again and laughed. He turned to the woman in the booth. “Do you think you can get us to the front of the line, Mina?”

“You ask that every time you come here. The answer’s still no, dingus.”

“Dang. Always worth a try.” She gave you your tickets and handed you back your coupon, which you were sure you would lose on the rollercoaster, but you tucked it into your backpocket anyhow. He led you over to the line.

“I thought you’ve never been on this ride before?” You asked. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, no, I come here all the time with the boys.”

“Are they busy right now or something?” You asked, your self-doubt slowly gnawing at the butterflies in your stomach.

“Huh? No, I just wanted to go on it with you! Silly goose.” He bumped his hip softly into yours, and you smiled at the ground. He chatted with you for the few minutes it took to get to the front of the line, and you felt your stomach drop as you were ushered into the spot next to him on the rollercoaster. He seemed to sense your doubt and slipped his hand into yours after the heavy restraint was secured over your torsos. It only helped to calm your nerves until the ride started moving.

You took a deep breath. You had your cute boy next to you, how bad could it be?

You pulled your head up from vomiting in the trash can. “I am never doing that again.”

“But it was fun, right?!” He beamed, holding your hair as your head dipped again. You finished spilling your guts before he handed you a napkin to wipe your mouth. “Come on, I’ll buy you something to get that taste out of your mouth.”

He bought you a soda, and for a moment you walked with him pondering if you were supposed to say goodnight, but he put his hand on the small of your back and asked, “How about one more ride?”

“I’m not going on another rollercoaster ever again, dude.”

“Nah, I was talking about the ferris wheel!” He pointed to it where it loomed behind the sunset in the distance, and you felt your heart speed up in your chest. “It’s a really nice night. I think you could use something to calm you down, yeah?”

You smiled and nodded up at him. Your body was begging to go home and go to bed, but that could wait.

You finished your drink and got in line, trying not to scream like your heart wanted to when you slid into the cart seat next to him instead of the one across. He didn’t seem to mind the closeness, though, as he draped his arm over your shoulders. It occurred to you then that you’d only talked to him for two days. Oh well.

For a moment, you both fell silent as you began to ascend, staring out the window to the orange and pink-stained sky and letting yourself melt in his presence. He turned his head to look at you, and when you turned to him, you realized just how close your face was to his, but neither of you moved to distance yourselves.

After a long moment, he said, “I really wanna kiss you.”

You swallowed. “I mean. We’ve only known each other for like, two days, but...I really wanna kiss you too.”

“I’m gonna kiss you,” He whispered, his other hand moving to rest on your leg.

“You’re gonna kiss me…” And then he did, which you didn’t know why you were so surprised, but you felt your entire body sigh under his touch. It felt like happiness, and sunshine, and your first time breathing. It was like you’d been pining after him for centuries and finally got your first taste. With the way he gripped your side to pull you closer, you could feel that same desperation.

When he finally pulled away, you both took a long moment to breathe and bask in the light of it all before he said: “You wanna know something crazy?”

“Is this another fact about hot dogs?” You smiled, arms moving to wrap around his middle.

“Nah. I just realized that I don’t know your name.”

You blinked. You didn’t know his name, either.

“I mean...what’s your name, then?” You asked after the fact.

“Kami. What about you, sweetcheeks?”

“Y/n is fine,” You laughed, and he smiled with flushed cheeks. “Will you still come see me at work tomorrow?”

“You know it! I better get your number first, though…” Kami pulled out his phone and you punched your number in as he did the same on yours. By the time he handed your phone back to you, the ride had already circled back to the bottom. He talked and laughed with you as he walked you back to the parking lot, his hand laced in your own, and kissed you again before saying goodnight.

Summer break was a funny little time. For you, it meant hot dogs, yes, but it also meant meeting cute boys, and selling said cute boys hot dogs before falling in love with them. And maybe there was some sort of deeper meaning to the enigma that is the hot dog. Whatever it was, it was giving you some hella good luck with three free rides a week and a new boyfriend, so you’d stick around for now.

taglist: @keigos-dove @knifeewifee @hanniejji @bvnnyclouds @katsukis-sad-angel @wesparklebitch

- dm or inbox to be added/removed from a taglist.

#denki kaminari #denki kaminari x reader #Kaminari Denki #denki kaminari imagine #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #reader insert #bingo event #bnhabookclub

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lovelyrdjr · 4 years ago

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four times tony answered peter's calls and one time peter answered his

also posted on ao3

The first time Tony answered one of Peter's calls, he was thankful.

The meeting he was in was terribly boring and he was so grateful for the distraction and excuse to leave. Pepper had forced him to go to the meeting in the first place, even though he begged her for days not to make him go. He knew he was being childish, but everyone knows that he hates going to meetings. The board members are such assholes. Tony knew that using the kid as an excuse to leave was probably not the most mature thing to do, and Pepper is definitely going to get in his ass about it later, but he just can't help it.

So when he answered the call, he immediately began thanking the kid. He didn't know how to explain to Peter that he had basically just saved his life, but he was damn well going to try.

The kids laugh when he told him that just made the whole thing even better. Peter didn't laugh near as much as he should, he's been through a lot in his 16 years, so Tony takes pride in being the one to make him laugh.

"You're welcome Mr. Stark. Pepper told me you were in a meeting and I know how much you hate those."

"You're an angel child and I love you."

When Pepper came out of her own meeting half an hour later to find Tony sitting on the hallway floor with his phone to his ear and a big grin on his face, she decided to let it slip this one time.

The second time Tony answered one of Peter's calls, he was scared.

Peter never called him while he was on patrol unless he was seriously hurt, and even then it was Karen that had to force the call through, because for some reason, Peter just did not want others to know when he was hurt. (Not like Tony could complain much, considering he didn't even tell Pepper that he was dying, and Rhodey only found out because he was in the room when he was trying not to die).

So when Tony answered, and didn't immediately hear the rambling that Peter usually bombarded him with, he was worried. He didn't want the kid to end up like him, to feel like he has nobody to rely on when he was hurting. He wanted the kid to know that when he was hurt, Tony really wanted to know because then he could fix it, because he spent his whole life fixing things and that was what he was good at. He was beyond terrified that Peter wasn't the one that called, that Karen had actually pushed the call through because Peter was so badly hurt and could not make the call himself.

So when he heard the kid start talking, he could not describe in words the amount of relief that he felt. (The nerves weren't totally gone because, let's be honest, Peter is prone to trouble and just because he wasn't dead doesn't mean that he isn't hurt).

And when Tony realized that Peter wasn't hurt, that the real reason he was calling was to excitedly tell him that a little kid had given him a bracelet after he helped her find her mother (who probably felt the same way that Tony was feeling just moments before), he couldn't help but feel relieved.

"You're a demon child and you were put on this earth specifically to worry me, weren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Stark!"

The third time Tony answered one of Peter's calls, he was happy.

Peter was coming to the tower after school to help out in the lab. Tony would never admit it to anyone (except maybe Pepper, and probably Rhodey too if he asked nice enough) that it was his favorite part of the week. The lab felt empty without the kid there, which was a little hard to get used to considering there was a time when the only people allowed to enter was Pepper and Rhodey, and even then they only stayed for a couple minutes before rushing out. Peter was only person that actually enjoyed being in the lab with him, and Tony was going to hold on to the enjoyment for as long as he could, because Peter is getting older and he knows that the kid is going to lose interest in him at some point. But right now, he was just going to be happy that the kid ever had interest in him.

"Hey, Mr. Stark! I just wanted to let you know that I'm gonna swing to the tower today. May needs me to pick up some milk for her so I'm gonna do that before heading over!"

"Okay, kid. While you're at the store, get some snacks. We can have a movie night."

"Mr. Stark, I love you. You always have the best ideas."

"Stay safe, kid."

The fourth time Tony answered one of Peter's calls, he was frustrated.

The kid had been ignoring him for a week now. He was dodging all of his calls, he didn't go out patrolling because he knew that Tony was going to force a call through, he even skipped lab day! It was a stupid argument, now that he thinks about it. He never should have gotten so angry at the kid for something that he really had no control over. When he found out that Peter hadn't been eating enough, he was angry. Why would he ignore his own needs like that? He never let Peter explain why he wasn't eating enough, he just yelled at him.

When Peter left, he thought about it, hard. And when May called him, to tell him off because he was being such a dick to Peter when he had no right to be, she was right. Tony wasn't his father, no matter how badly he wished he was. He was just worried and didn't know how to handle it, so he just started yelling. And he told her that. When she explained that while she didn't know that Peter had not been eating enough, that it was her fault. She had lost her second job due to budget cuts and she was not able to afford as much as she used to, and Peter, the angel child, didn't have the heart to tell her that he wasn't getting enough because he thought it would make her feel bad.

And Tony so badly wanted to apologize to Peter.

"Hey, Mr. Stark."

"Hey, Pete. Listen, I'm sorry. I was worried and didn't know how to handle it, so I yelled at you when I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Mr. Stark. I'm sorry ignored you."

"It was justified."

"Can I come over? I'll bring pizza and snacks."

"Yeah, kid. We can watch whatever you want. See you soon."

Tony decided that he loved the stars when he was 15.

There were so many unexplainable things about them. Some nights, when he couldn't sleep, he would sneak up to the roof (his bedroom was on the top floor, and it was easy enough to pull himself up) just to watch the stars. He imagined the billions, maybe trillions, of other hims. Was there a universe where he was a normal kid, where his dad didn't own a company and didn't have all the money he could imagine? Was there a universe where, just maybe, his father was proud of him? Or was there a universe where Tony didn't even exist, where his parents had a different child, or if his parents never even met. There were infinite possibilities, and Tony though of them all.

As he grew older, his interest grew. Sometimes, he even wanted to go to space. Maybe, if he tried just hard enough, he could get to one of those other universes where he was happy. He would take Rhodey with him if he could, because he was his best, and only, friend and he wouldn't want to live in any universe without him there with him. It was hard sometimes, to look up at the night sky and imagine a version of him in a completely different life, a life that he wished so badly that he could have, and then return to the life he did had and pretend to be okay with it.

When the aliens came to New York in 2012, he will admit that he was scared. He spent so many years watching the stars, and never once did he think about the possibility of aliens invading to destroy New York. He always imagined them to he nice. He wanted so badly to be part of a different world that he never thought that those worlds could be as bad as this.

Tony decided he hated the stars that day.

Flying a nuke into space, knowing that there's so very little chance that you're going to make it back home, is decidedly not fun. He imagined him going to space under different circumstances, like maybe as an astronaut, where he could spend months in one ship and just look at the world and everything it had to offer, because then maybe he would be happier that he had the chance to grow up on it. Maybe he wouldn't have hated his life so much, because he grew up on something so ugly yet so beautiful.

When Tony made it home, god he was so happy he made it home, he didn't know what to do. Just hours before, he was about to die, and now that he had a second, maybe third, chance, he didn't know what to do with it. He though about Afghanistan, how Yinsen told him "don't waste your life". When he left that awful cave, he didn't know what Yinsen had meant. How could Tony waste his life when he didn't really have one to begin with? There was one thing that Tony knew he wanted when he left that cave: the stars. And now that the stars didn't seem as great as they once did, that maybe now he even thought of them as terrifying, he didn't know what he wanted.

Nightmares were definitely not on that list.

Waking up at 3 A.M. from a nightmare about something that happened years ago was not what Tony wanted. Tony wanted a sleep all the way through the night, he wanted to feel like he wasn't running on coffee at all times. He didn't want to feel the same way parents do when they bring home a child - up at ungodly hours of the night to comfort something so innocent and small.

So he called Peter.

He knew that he was probably sleeping, god he wishes that he were sleeping, because if he found out that Peter, the angel child that he loved oh so much, had nightmares as well, then he wouldn't know what to do.

When Peter answered, with sleep in his voice, Tony was happy. He was happy that the kid was sleeping through the night, that he didn't have the same terrifying problem that Tony had every night. He was happy that the kid, even though he was asleep, still answered Tony's calls. He was happy that he had Peter in his life, because he doesn't think that he would be able to live if Peter wasn't there. He was so happy that he had the chance to love Peter as if he was his own son.

"Are you okay Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, kid, I am now."

#tony stark #irondad #peter parker #rdj #spiderson #tom holland #incorrect irondad and spiderson #incorrect marvel quotes #incorrect peter parker #incorrect tony stark #spiderman #iron man

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smileyoongle · 5 years ago

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Making of a lover (Yandere CEO! Jeon Jungkook)

It's literally 1AM and I wanted to write this. I mean, sleep? I don't know who that is anymore.....so let's get it?

Pairing: Yandere CEO! Jungkook×Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, mature content, obsessive behaviour. Do not read if you are sensitive to any of these topics.

You held the soft blanket tightly against your chest, covering your bare body while you rested against the headboard of the huge bed you were laying in. Guilt and anger was running through every inch of you, occupying your mind and heart as best as it could.

A mistake is what it had been.

Probably the biggest mistake of your life.

Forcing yourself out of bed, you stood up and hissed as your feet met with the cold floor. With hesitant steps, you finally reached the long mirror that stood against the red wall. It wasn't a normal red though, it was the kind which you would associate with blood.

Your eyes burned as the tears started forming in them, all your emotions threatening to come out. You gazed at your appearance, completely disgusted by what you had done. The various hickeys and bruises littered across your neck and chest were gonna be a reminder to you for some days. Even if they faded away, you weren't sure if you would be able to forget the previous night. You closed your eyes and let the tears fall. Your heart hurt a little too much for you to handle. And it wasn't because you were in pain. It was because you had put someone else in pain. Someone you loved a lot. Someone you were gonna spend your life with.

But you knew you couldn't live with yourself after what you had done. And you also knew that Jimin wouldn't want to do anything with you if he found out about the night you had spent being fucked by your boss, Jeon Jungkook. You could still feel his hot breath on your skin. You could still feel his lips against yours. Your lower body hurt a little, considering the fact that Jungkook hadn't been very gentle with you.

With a shaky breath, you dropped the white sheet onto the floor, revealing the reflection of your naked body. You gasped on seeing more hickeys and bruises covering your body in shades of purple and red. Your knees felt weak and you couldn't stand up anymore, so you fell to the ground. Clutching your hair tightly, you pulled and cried, the tears of frustration falling uncontrollably. With a quiet sob, you brought your left hand down and glanced at the diamond ring that adorned your finger.

It had been three months since Jimin proposed to you. It was a rather beautiful proposal for you seeing as he had set up a dinner at the beach. You remembered squealing when he got down on his knee and pulled out the ring, leaving you awestruck and flustered. That day, you had sworn there was no one else you'd rather be with. But then you got a new job at a company whose CEO was an asshole called Jeon Jungkook. He was cold and scary and very controlling. You absolutely hated being his secretary but you also couldn't deny the fact that he was hot and gorgeous. That handsome face scolded you everyday, made your job very difficult but you stayed because the amount of money you were being paid was huge. Also the rumours in the office made you curious. Everyone kept saying how you were the only secretary who Mr Jeon hadn't fired within a week. That made you feel like maybe you were good at whatever you did. That's probably why you weren't fired.

The party last night was thrown in celebration of the company being included in 'The Fortune Global 500 Companies'. All the women at the party were drooling over how hot Mr Jeon looked but surprisingly, you were the one who had all his attention. He talked to you the entire night and you doubted if he was the same person who made your life a living hell. All the drinks that you consumed had made you tipsy and the next thing you knew, you were a moaning mess underneath your boss. Your heart screamed at you to stop but you couldn't. His touch made you feel some type of way and you craved more of it. So, you let him do whatever he wanted to do.

Wiping away your tears, you stood up and looked around the room for your clothes but they were nowhere to be seen. You frowned and looked around once again, hoping to find any clothes at all but there was nothing. With a sigh, you grabbed the white sheet and covered yourself once again. It was time to tell your boss that last night was a mistake and you were ready to resign. Why? Because you couldn't lose Jimin. He probably won't find out if you left the company and got a new job instead.

You left the bedroom and walked straight towards the living room. You knew this house too well since you had been called here at ungodly hours just to make tea or arrange Mr Jeon's wardrobe. He was beyond heartless for keeping you up at night and expecting you to not be late for work the next morning. Absolutely heartless.

Reaching the lavish living room, you pursed your lips on seeing him sitting in the balcony, his laptop in front of him as he spoke to someone on it. Perhaps a video conference.

Slowly you walked towards him, your heart beating faster with every step you took. You stopped in front of him, your eyes fixed on the floor as he continued to talk to the person on the laptop.

"Hold on for a minute. She's here."

You heard him say, your eyes shooting up to his face. He was talking about you to someone. Why? He pressed a few keys on his laptop and looked up at you, his eyes widening momentarily.

Jungkook's breath hitched but you didn't notice, his eyes trailing down your body which was covered with his bed sheet, the white fabric preventing him from looking at your body that he had worshipped the night before. The marks on your skin made him smirk. He had made sure he marked every inch of you. Because you were his since the day you stepped into his office.

He could still remember how you had stood out to him from the rest of the candidates who were applying for the job. Your eyes had called out to him, air of innocence surrounding you. Your lips had looked so inviting to him that he wanted nothing more than to lay you down on his table and make sure that the only name you ever said was his. Immediately, he had given you the job, getting excited about the day he would finally have his way with you. But when he heard about your fiancé, his anger knew no bounds. His heart ached and he felt sad. Every other woman in the building wanted him but you didn't even spare him a glance. All because of that stupid Park Jimin. So he started piling you up with more work, stopping you from going home to your fiancé. And finally at the party, he noticed the glances you gave him, looking at him like he was the only one for you. And with that, Jungkook managed to get you exactly where he wanted you to be.

You tasted so sweet, he could have continued tasting you for hours. Your skin looked so beautiful with his marks on it, he wanted to sit back and admire the masterpiece that he had created. Your moans and whimpers were so enrapturing, your voice became his favourite sound in the world. The night was his. You were his. Everything was perfect.

"Mr Jeon? Are you okay?" Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He focused his attention back on you and cleared his throat, standing up and making his way towards where you stood.

"I'm okay. Why are you up so soon, doll? You need to rest." He replied, closing the distance between him and you, his hands wrapping around your waist. You blushed and widened your eyes, trying to decide if you should push him away or hold on to the sheets which covered you. Jungkook took great pride in seeing you so flustered because of him. It made him feel in control and he loved being in control.

"M-Mr Jeon what are you d-doing?" You stuttered, your eyes darted around the balcony in search of something you could do. You gasped when Jungkook buried his head in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing against your skin and leaving a trail of kisses.

"Call me Jungkook, baby. It sounds way better when you say it." He hummed against your neck. Jimin's face flashed across your mind and with all your might, you pushed Jungkook away, watching as his eyes portrayed pure shock.

"Stop it, Jungkook. All I came here to say is that last night shouldn't have happened. It was a mistake which I deeply regret. I am ready to resign but I request you to never speak of last night again." You stated, giving him a glare. If he thought he could play you around, he was wrong.

Jungkook couldn't believe what you had just said. You wanted to resign? Last night was a mistake? You regretted it? He scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head and running his hands through his hair. There was no way you thought that. His angel didn't want him? Impossible.

And then it struck him, his eyes landing on the ring on your finger. He narrowed his eyes and his breathing became heavy. His aura became darker and you felt shivers running down your spine. He was scaring you. Suddenly, loud laughs filled your ears as you stared in astonishment at your boss. What was so funny?

"It's because of him, isn't it? That stupid bastard who found you first. I knew it. Good thing I was prepared." He said in between laughs, moving over to turn his laptop towards you.

A loud gasp escaped your lips as Jimin's beaten up form came into view. He was tied to a chair and a gag prevented him from speaking. Numerous bruises littered his face along with patches of blood here and there. Tears filled your eyes and whimpers left your mouth. It was a video call, you could tell. Jungkook had kidnapped Jimin. It was pretty obvious now. You didn't even flinch when Jungkook came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you, swaying you side to side with him.

"See, I prepared already. Now there's nothing to worry about, my love. All you have to do is forget him and accept me as your one and only. Because you are mine. All of you belongs to me. And I will kill anyone who poses a threat to what I want." He mumbled, his cheek pressed against yours.

"Jimin...." You called out, breaking down into sobs when he responded by opening his eyes and looking at you. "Y/N..." He whispered but you heard it. His eyes fell on jungkook's hands around you, his jaw clenching at the sight.

"Leave her alone." He growled, earning a chuckle from Jungkook. He was enjoying this too much. It felt good to have Jimin be jealous this time. Jungkook kissed your wet cheek and smirked, watching as jimin thrashed to get out of his confines.

"It's funny how you think I'll listen to you when I can have you killed with a snap of my fingers." Jungkook taunted, feeling your body shivering under his touch. He tilted his head and looked at you, frowning on seeing how sad you were.

"Tell me what's it gonna be, angel. We don't have time to waste." He cooed, brushing your hair away from your neck. "Why are you doing this?" You cried as Jimin glared at Jungkook.

"Cause he's a psychopath!" Jimin spat, still struggling with the restraints. It pained you to see him like that, knowing it's because of you. Jungkook clenched his jaw and grabbed your hair, pulling it back so that your head rested on his shoulder. You screamed and placed one hand on his, trying to make him let go of your hair.

"You wanna know why? Because you have been on my mind since the day you walked through the doors of my office. Since that day, I have dreamt of nothing but you. You with me. You underneath me. You beside me. I have been going crazy, thinking about how this pathetic man gets to touch you everyday. How he gets to hold you. How he gets to fuck you. I wasn't gonna just sit and watch, Y/N. You are mine. Will always be."

You cried as he held you tighter, attaching his lips to your neck and sucking harshly. Jimin yelled angrily in the background but Jungkook didn't stop. He had to mark you again and again, so that he could be sure that you were his.

"Say it, baby. Say you're mine and I'll let Jimin live." Jungkook mumbled against your ear, loosening his hold on your hair. You knew Jungkook wasn't lying. If he got Jimin kidnapped then he could kill him too. You couldn't let him die, could you?

"I'm yours."

Jungkook smirked in satisfaction, watching Jimin staring at you in disbelief. "Y/N...."

"I couldn't let you die, Jimin. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.." you apologized, more and more tears staining your cheeks. It made Jungkook furious to see the love in your eyes, all directed towards Jimin. No! It was supposed to be for him.

"Kill him."

Your eyes widened and you looked at Jungkook, shaking your head rapidly. Just then, a gun shot was heard and you saw Jimin's body fall to the side limply. "What did you do?!" You screamed, slapping Jungkook across the face. Jungkook rubbed his cheek and poked the inside of it with his tongue before turning to you. With gritted teeth, he pulled your hand and took you inside the house, throwing you onto the couch. He hovered over you and gripped your wrists, placing them above your head and holding them there.

"He had to die. He had to die! Do you hear me?! He touched what's mine. As long as he lived, you wouldn't have loved me so I killed him!" Jungkook yelled, bringing his face closer to yours. He held your jaw tightly to keep you from looking away.

"I am your creation, baby. You made me what I am right now. So take care of me, won't you?" And with that, he placed his lips on you.

It's absolutely unedited so please forgive me. I could have actually done better.

-XX

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