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v-iroine · 2 days ago

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₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ SEEKING FREEDOM

Chap: The red siren pt.1/2 [4k words]

✿ kid!Caleb + kid!fem!MC (use of she/her pronouns but mc's appearance is not mentioned)

ꕀ I will collect the scattered fragments of my soul, and I will diligently focus on myself alone.

✿ This is all a figment of my imagination and may contradict canon[!] Caleb's POV in the past, child torture mentioned, loneliness, psychological and physical torture, isolation, both mc and caleb are guinea pigs, experiments, Caleb is losing his mind, he's bald (MC too), indirect mention of the granny [she is a grey character most of the time].

✿ Little author's note: Please consider to leave a comment and share your thoughts, it REALLY helps me for the producting of those OS. I decided to make a small mention of Petrarca since Caleb's memories are currently fragmented and in each fragment he can only see the figure of MC while trying to rearrange them himself. 《Mi dedicherò a me stesso quanto più potrò, e raccoglierò i frammenti sparsi della mia anima》. After this one I'll probably just take a break and write some random short nsfw (I can't take that much angst)

A high-pitched sound struck the room, red lights bouncing from one shiny metal wall to another until they reached and filtered through the transparency of the solid prison walls that had once defined my room. I tried to squeeze my eyes shut.

I squeezed them until my joints ached, but that painful sound, the one that still haunted my sleep, was impossible to relieve, not even for a second.

The very idea of blocking it was unreasonable. My hands tightened around the pillow over my head, and when that wasn't enough, I pressed it down with my arms, curling into a small ball between the hard mattress and the feeble embrace of the thin blanket, my only source of relief, the only thing that had ever saved me from this kind of loneliness. I pushed my head against it, trying to silence everything. This pain had haunted me for days. Every. Single. Night.

These days felt like months, or maybe they were.

Calendars were prohibited for subjects under "visit", the passing of the time was visible only thanks to the sunlight fading behind the opaque walls or stealing glances at the clock in the "attending doctor" room, a phase that everyone was forced to go through.

Every detail of our presence was closely monitored by superiors, as well as those designated for inspections, even though they often failed to carry out their checks properly. Many slacked off during working hours; pale, shaking fingers exchanging white paper bags, it was a sight so common to me but at the same time unrecognized by others.

A bit ironic, they couldn’t wait to get their hands on this stuff, while their victims were forced to have it inserted into their bodies against their will.

Usually, the incessant sound lasted only a few minutes. In my countless attempts to fall asleep, I found myself counting how long the light and noise persisted. The chaos typically faded quickly, just before the rhythmic march of armed men echoed through the halls, their guns resting on their shoulders like an embrace. The situation was always resolved swiftly, returning to absolute stoic quiet.

But this time, the rescue had arrived, yet the sound had not stopped. That flashing light was more present than ever and the noise was no less.

At some point, I resigned myself to it; that light and that damned siren could break anyone. And after all this time, I was no exception.

The growing clamor in the distance, from the few like me who had survived (more or less) in that place until now, was soon joined by the shouting. The more it increased, the more I felt myself sinking, my ears ringing and everything becoming more opaque.

My eyelids grew heavy, my ears got used to the endless wail, it took me a long time before I realized that this would become my personal lullaby, the song I would hear every time I went to sleep, no longer a condemnation but a part of me.

Sleep was the only solution to all my misfortunes... and my only salvation, a place that no one had the possibility of taking away or controlling, every day I demanded freedom and when that was denied I found refuge in this, a place where only I had control.

When everything had finally died down, the light, not red but white, hit my face again, a warm voice struck me, the coldness of its gloved recognizable hands.

Countless times, I had tried to escape its grip, but every time, I failed miserably.

"The subject's vital parameters are stable. "

That soothing sound was always accompanied by machinery and other dull metallic voices. The warm voice, like sunlight, always repeated those words as it brushed my hair from my forehead while blood samples were taken as proof of my existence. Blood, like heartbeat, was one of the things recorded throughout the day: every moment had to be logged, from when I woke up to when I went to sleep.

The tingling sensation made me struggle, but at least it reminded me that I was still here, still on this earth, even if it was only through the prick of a needle.

I have no idea if all the victims in that facility had been treated the same way I was, but one thing was for sure: this was not living. The only thing that calmed my state of mind was that voice. The only human who had bothered to treat me like a living being, yet never as an equal.

"Ma'am, what time is it?"

"It's time for you to wake up."

"Another math test?"

"Yes, exactly."

This is how the day began. I lied to myself by calling it just math, it was anything but mathematics.

Around my neck, the collar they forced on me during the removals. I couldn’t stand it, the cold metal against my skin, the weight of it, the false hope that I might escape. Too tight to slip off, yet loose enough for the needles to dig in, unmoving. A precaution, they called it, in case I did anything unpleasant to them.

The spikes had left red marks on my skin just from touching them. I tried several times to loosen the grip on my neck, but all my efforts were in vain. In fact, I risked it more than once, even though I knew it might make them lose their patience. But you can understand what the result was... I was still there, alive, but with more guards keeping an eye on me.

This how my day began: physical and mental tests... they wanted to see how I adapted to stress, discomfort, and anger. How I responded to environmental stimuli. It began with typical school tests: an empty room, just a tablet screen in front of me. Suction cups clung to my chest and my nearly bald head, the cold gel seeping into the white fabric I wore every day. The questions grew harder, the timer ticking down, pressing against my mind like a second restraint.

The more I solved within the time limit, the fewer tests I would have to endure, or at least, that’s what they told me. The questions were varied, they did not focus on a single topic.

They were unpredictable, shifting from started physics problems and ended with the horrors of war. Psychological assessments, how would I react... how would I behave when the timer suddenly sped up and grew faster and louder in my ears. My survival or the others, that was the core of the test. They tried to convince me to 《prioritize the survival of the majority over yourself》, and for a time, I've started to believe those words. But, at the end of the day, if you are trained to go down with the aircraft, they'll still call it service. Not suicide.

In reality, they valued what I lacked. And how cooperative I would be with them, especially they wanted to understand how I would behave in an empty room, with no one who could observe me, even if those eyes of theirs did not move from me. When the cameras were malfunctioning or the power started to stutter due to inconveniences with other subjects, I would enjoy humming songs, not out of nostalgia, but just to see if anyone was still listening.

If the silence would shift...

But it never did.

That was the worst part.

Tortured and monitored daily, yet still discarded when a little inconvenience occurred. As if my suffering wasn't worth their time.

And with that the day flew by like this, inside those white walls, one day slower and more melancholic, more pointless, more useless than the other. That wasn't living, just something to get through to understand what living means, but what would a kid know about that?

The end of testing always meant meals-if you could call them that. A kind of mush. Nutritional sludge, mixed from God knows what, designed to keep me alive.

Not fed. Not satisfied. Just functioning.

They weren't going to let me starve, obviously. That'd be a waste of time and space.

Meals were taken alone, always. In my room.

Cutlery? Not allowed. No plastic, no wood, no metal... nothing I could use to hurt myself. Or them. So the almost-liquid food came in a flimsy paper cup. The kind that started to dissolve if you didn't choke everything down fast enough.

Sometimes I asked them to bring me something different, and edible, but as expected, my protests were just wasted oxygen for them. I asked, I tried, but I already knew the answer. That was something that could be silenced if not listened to, something that I didn't have the luxury of think it could change.

But, like everything else, there were exceptions.

Sometimes, my voice actually reached the guards, the ones who couldn't stand my complaints, the ones who, in their frustration, would try to get a superior involved. And not so coincidentally, in the end it always appeared before me, the same voice that woke me up in the morning.

But it didn't matter. It did nothing but listen. Whether the voice actually cared... well, I have serious doubts. But at least I had someone to talk to. Empty words came out of its mouth, but at least they gave me hope that the next day things would change, but at the end of the day the disappointment of the brutal truth: nothing can change even if you want it to.

And the day went on like this: more test after test.

When I couldn't concentrate anymore the room was my only refuge.

I slept for hours to escape the boredom, and woken up only to swallow more mush while they analyzed my parameters again.

The night swallowed the white palace, deleting all the colors around me. The sleeplessness had taken over my tired mind.

The deathly silence was accompanying me in my failed attempt to fall asleep when I heard the slap of bare feet trampling on the floor.

A new sound for me, I didn't believe it, I was worried that it was just my brain playing tricks on me.

An ugly cry, fleeting, pierced the thick air trapped within those walls, time seemed to stand still. My muscles stiffened, my hair stood on end, as a high-pitched voice, too high to belong to any of the prisoners nearby... it filled my ears.

I wasn’t afraid of the voice itself. I didn’t believe in ghosts. It felt pointless to fear monsters that couldn’t touch me, when I lived among them every day.

What unsettled me were the implications: Had they started practicing physical experiments at night? Too?

The crying grew closer, more penetrating with every second, and the nearer it came, the more I noticed the little details.

The panting that came in bursts, the sloppy shuffle of feet trading places, one after the other, over and over. The whimpering, swallowed only to fuel that futile race… because even if that voice somehow escaped the structure, freedom was never guaranteed, and I was the confirmation.

A curious voice tried to speak, indeed female, but her words got stuck into her throat, only letting out ununderstandable sounds. In the end she seemed more frightened than I was. I was sure that was a female voice, the sound was too high-pitched to be older than me and the speed of her walking didn't suggest otherwise.

I never thought I’d meet a girl my age there. I was sure I was the youngest in that damn place. At first, I assumed she was a relative visiting from the upper floors. But considering how they treat me… I doubt they’ve ever had children, at least I hope not, just for their sake.

My back shielding me from the source of the noise, I curled up even though the terror had begun to fade from my limbs and I had lowered my guard. The voice made me feel tender, it reminded me of my first day, when I believed that everything was just a bad dream and I would wake up soon, but the days passed and so did my hope.

One of the few still intact traits that scientists had failed to eliminate from my youth was curiosity; and when the voice reached up the proximity of my cell I couldn't help but leave my warm and safe position. I turned around clinging to the sheets and stealing a glance in the cold corridor outside said "room".

My eyesight had been adjusted to the darkness for a few hours, but as soon as my gaze, full of curiosity and confusion, was blinded by a sudden red light, the usual red light. The person was nowhere to be found, not even the faintest shadow, no sounds, just me, the red and the siren, all over again.

The following morning came like any other. She was gone and the red siren with her. And another day brings another morning check up, and so another test.

"Ma'am, what time is it?"

"It's time for you to wake up."

"Another math test?"

"No, today is Thursday."

I immediately understood the meaning behind those words. Since I started my stay here, I learned to hate Thursday with all my heart.

My face immediately lost its color, I could feel my blood freezing in my veins, my muscles tensed and the blood was struggling to be extracted. I tried to hold on to the hand that was analyzing me. With wide eyes I tried to find compassion in the mask that was placed before me, but I couldn't find anything else but my own reflection on the plastic covering her face.

Resignation settled over my face like dust.

This time, it was the room with the gravity machine.

Last time, I got away with a few scrapes and a torn nerve, nothing impressive. It wasn’t even my first broken bone.

The good side of a broken bone? A fracture meant a temporary stop. A couple of months, maybe. But even then, they never let you rest. There were always other tests. Slightly different, still painful.

My grip loosened up. I let myself sink into the bed, drowning in my despair, but she interrupted me. Her wrists clenched she seemed to struggle to speak, she opened her mouth once rearranging her words, and only then formulated a sentence with hesitation.

"Would you like to take a walk... instead of taking the test?"

It seemed that night had suddenly returned, its ghostly silence enveloping everything. Not even the continuous beeping of the machinery next to me reached my ears. My confusion was evident.

What did all this mean? Was it all just a joke, or another test? Were they trying to see how I would react? Were they giving me false hope, only to follow it with an exercise far worse than the previous ones? Was it all just going to be another torture?

But it was, indeed, a very bizarre question for an equally bizarre situation. Who wouldn’t want to skip those tests, after all?

Then the memory of the previous night struck me: the little girl. I didn’t know why, but I was sure it had something to do with her, I couldn't even imagine the reason, but no other differences came to mind compared to the previous days, at least from what I had the opportunity to witness myself, and that I was aware of.

I knew that was a question with only one answer, even if I refused the result would be positive regardless so I had no choice but to agree. A slight nod of the head, my throat suddenly became dry and from which it was difficult to come out words longer than a monosyllable.

I let out a sigh, waiting for my tests to be completed, but at the same time the fear of what was about to happen to me was piercing my mind like a nail driven into wood. Much faster than expected I found myself with my feet on the soft floor, my knees not allowing me to walk in a straight line because of my fear. I was barely holding on to the woman's white coat, hoping that if anything happened to me I could extract some compassion from her. When I was about to step out of the room, I was waiting for that damned thorny collar that strangely never reached my neck, at least not today. The day was getting more and more bizarre with every second. I looked around with my head, searching for the soldiers, but nothing from them either, they seemed to have vanished into thin air.

I noticed, strangely, that the number of scientists in the room had decreased drastically, there were only three of us left, and the third after the blood sampling, had left almost immediately, muttering something to themself. I searched for answers in the expression of the woman next to me, but all that came out was a sigh.

"Luckily for you, someone had made a mess in the laboratory and so we will have to postpone your exercise until next week, aren't you happy?"

I was astonished looking at the woman's blank expression, she simply stared straight ahead at the reflective wall. It wasn't long before the slow-paced old lady began to walk away, my grip loosening her fabric, I was almost left behind by her, as I was flooded by the confusion of the situation.

Everything happenned so quickly, my thoughts spun as everything started blurring around me. I was on the verge of collapsing to the ground. I didn't know how to feel, whether relieved or scared.

Was I no longer needed? Had I become useless? Had someone taken my place? It didn't matter if it meant giving up my old routine. I felt my eyes watering, I was on the verge of crying from happiness, after countless days where everything was getting worse finally there was some good news.

A thin cough woke me from my trance

"If you want you can always return back to your room."

Her gentle voice suddenly became dry of emotion, but this made me quickly walk towards her without saying a word while my sick hand reached for my eye and wiped a falling tear.

I approached the older figure, positioning myself next to her. I didn't know how to feel, but for once I felt good, even if temporarily. I hoped this moment of freedom would last forever.

"If you behave now, you may be able to play on the playground outside in the future."

Of what happened next there were only vague fragments, memories started and never concluded, only a walk through deserted corridors, the white light running through all the surfaces creating an optical effect that made it infinite, a walless labyrinth.

Not even a sigh from the other prisoners or from those who worked there. Only the walking of the woman next to me who preceded mine.

And so the days went by, the physical tests from almost twice a week now decreased to once a month. And consequently I was given more freedom, if I avoided rebelling they gave me more time to walk within those walls. I still had to take the tests but I felt more motivated to complete them. If the intent was to make me behave, well, they had succeeded.

Every week the woman gave me the freedom to stretch my legs a bit, even if her absent expression suggested to me that she wanted to find herself elsewhere, she never failed to remind me that she was doing me a favor, while I watched her in silence.

I also began to hear numerous, most likely unfounded, rumors about about recent events. Some claimed that one of the workers was killed during a training exercise involving one of the study subjects and then tried to escape. I didn't believe it nor I wanted to. To believe it would mean accepting that all the unfortunates could be potential murderers, and it wasn't the case, was it? They were the bad guys, weren't they?

The more time passed, the more my ideals changed, the more I grew and the more freedom I was granted, everything was perfect. At least I thought so? I wasn't sure anymore.

Another morning contrasted with night, a tube once again attached to my arm, blood being pumped along the clear plastic tube. Apparently the blood results had improved along with my mood, and the physical tests that had become once every two months had also yielded better results, I hadn't dislocated any bones, nor had any long-term damage, and I felt more alive than I have ever had. That Thursday morning the woman woke me up once again. By that time, not even the only scientist who took my blood was present, I was left alone with her. I started calling her grandma, but she looked at me askance, as if she wanted to tell me to stop, but didn't have the strength to do so. The memory of that little girl running outside my cell had faded with my problems.

"Grandma, can we go out into the playground today?"

Silence filled the room again as I stretched my arms while still sitting on the bed. On her mask the reflection of the sunlight that filtered into the room darkening her expression and everything it hid.

"Yes, why not? You behaved well."

Her voice neutral, faint, trying to hide from the ears of others and from herself, but loud enough for me to hear. For the first time her hand reached my head, caressing the few remaining hair that covered my skull. Her gloved hand was cold, a dry cold that penetrates my skin, that left me with chills down my spine, but even in the frost there was something pleasant, a friendly intention, or at least I thought.

Deep down, she felt pity for me too, at least I hope so.

And so it was, with my hand gripping her plastic fabric, I held it tightly, no longer having fear or dread in my head, but to seek affection in her almost always unchanging expression: pity and probably remorse.

I walked down the corridor, silence still reigning supreme, as I tried to remember when was my last time in a playground, and what I had played that day.

The answers were burning to come, and in truth they didn't come at all, I didn't remember... I didn't remember anything outside of that place. I didn't.. remember? For all I knew I could have been born in that place, and for all I cared, it had always been that way.

I no longer had any kind of nostalgia for a past that I struggled to grasp; and yet I kept searching for the solution to my question. I kept feeling like a deja vu... and yet it was the first time that... never mind. I'm just confusing myself.

In a second I heard a creak, a red handle above my head, within my reach. That door represented my freedom, a future outside of that place. Gloved hands pushed the door open. I immediately felt the cool air clouding my nostrils, the warm breeze and pollen brushing my face.

A light brighter than the red siren appeared before me, hiding behind the whiteness of the door. It screamed my name, it pulled me closer.

The aforementioned freedom was just a step away from me, yet my legs were paralyzed... I held the woman tighter. I still didn't know what I would find ahead.

"You can go out, just stay close to me and don't hide."

A hand on my shoulder and a push to continue my journey, I didn't know what to do, I couldn't believe her words, yet I wanted to trust everything this woman said. I looked up and stared at his sunlit mask, searching for her eyes, ending up again finding nothingness, only the reflection of what awaited me.

I simply nodded. I had no objections, but there was always something strange, I felt it. A sound was heard in the light, it penetrated my ears. Something that did not try to hide as I did, a sound that reminded me of being alive.

Something I known in the past and that I had almost forgotten: the laughter of a child.

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace caleb #writing #ao3 writer #lads caleb

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just-b-wilde · 2 days ago

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A happy ending for Nick and June

Today I caught a wave of positivity, and I want to share with you how Nick and June’s story could have a happy ending…

(I just let myself daydream a little, okay?)

Come along with me...

• During the revolution in Gilead, June, Nick, and probably Luke would all be involved. Although, honestly, I’m not sure if Luke would be more of a burden than a help—but I need him for one particular scene, so in my vision, he’s there.

• Nick would get into trouble, and someone might try to kill him. My bet would be on his father-in-law, Wharton—maybe because he finds out Nick doesn’t love his daughter the way he thinks she deserves… but probably also because he learns that Nick’s been playing both sides.

• June would be caught up in this situation. While the obvious route would be for Wharton to try to kill Nick’s beloved as revenge and Nick would heroically save her like he has so many times before… I’d much prefer if this time, it was June who risked everything to save Nick—even if she was the one to take the bullet.

• That would lead to a dramatic moment where June might not survive… but today we’re being positive, so yes—she survives.

• Luke might witness all of this too, maybe just from a distance—seeing his wife throw herself into danger for another man. And at that moment, he’d truly realize that his June is no longer his. And when he sees how much Nick is suffering because of what happened to June (just like Luke and everyone else who loves her), maybe that would finally spark an honest conversation between them about how their situation can no longer be ignored.

• What happens with the uprising and how Gilead is resolved? No idea! I’m leaving that alone… the creators didn’t get anywhere with that throughout the entire show, so I’m not about to dive into it either.

• In any case… Nick would have a baby—maybe another daughter? But Rose would die in childbirth. …Although, wait—I am feeling positive today, right? Okay, then let’s say Rose dumps Nick voluntarily because she wants her husband to actually love her. And she knows that won't happen with Nick. But honestly, I’d be more inclined to believe she wouldn’t survive the birth (which is also a huge theme in this series). Sorry, Rose.

• And Hannah? Honestly, I’m one of those people who believes it’s been way too long for her, and it’s completely understandable that she would be a different person now. So if they find her and plan to rescue her… maybe… it would be nice if someone actually asked her what she wants. She’s not the little girl she was the day June lost her…

• And after that? I picture a small time skip—just a few months ahead. It doesn’t have to be Hawaii, but maybe a beautiful and safe beach somewhere, far away from all the problems. June and Nick would finally be there together with their daughter, just like they dreamed of so many times… and maybe their other kids would be there too, with a brighter future ahead of them.

And you know what? It's gonna be Hawaii!

So, what do you think? Would you like an ending like that? Honestly, I know it probably won’t happen… but it would be nice, wouldn’t it?

And even if the creators won’t give me this kind of ending—I’ll definitely write it as a fanfic on AO3!

#the handmaid's tale #season 6 #osblaine #nick x june #june x nick #predictions #I'll come back later to see if I was right about at least one thing #tht #tht predictions #nick blaine #june osborne #luke bankole #season finale #happy ending #ao3 #future fanfic

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stevebabey · 2 months ago

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the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

summary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.

How hard could it be?

[ 12k + best friends to lovers + fake dating + fem!reader]

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

The glass held between your fingers slips and makes a loud bang as it hits the sink. The water from the tap pours over it, unaware of the incredibly unusual change in the universe that just occurred.

You tilt your head up, ignoring the lost glass, and raise your eyebrows high. "Come again?"

Steve huffs a little, as though you're the one being rather dramatic, and leans further forward across the island. His hands are planted firmly, his hazel eyes wide as he all but pouts at you. You're still grappling with where the hell that came from.

"Be my girlfriend. Please." He says. "For just one dinner, I promise. I swear I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't actually desperate."

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

Frowning, you finally shut off the tap and rescue your abandoned glass from the bottom of the sink. You pick up and give it a quick once over for any chips. Scot-free, luckily.

"Okay, back up." You say, giving a small shake to clear your head. You make a face. "First of all, Harrington, ouch."

Steve sags a bit. "C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."

Not even a hint of a smile at your dig — which tells you he's probably pretty serious then.

"Secondly, what dinner is this? What could be so important that you have to show up with a faux-girlfriend on your arm?"

Steve properly slumps this time, a loud groan accompanying the languished movement. His forehead presses against the counter-top and you bite your tongue to avoid making an unhelpful, teasing comment about it. Instead, you refill the glass in your hand and wait patiently.

"I…" Steve begins, his voice muffled against the counter-top.

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

"Steveeee," You interrupt as you give in to the urge, leaning over and poking him in the head. "If you want my help, please stop mumbling into the counter and tell me the problem."

He doesn't move for a moment, still face down, but you can see the rise and fall of his back as he sighs deeply. He shifts, twisting so his face is no longer hidden. It's noticeably pinker than it was a minute ago.

"My brother is in town next week." He explains. "With his fiancée. And my parents really love to kick up a fuss whenever he gets brought up, whether it's, yanno, like, about jobs and shit or whatever."

Steve waves a careless hand out. He rises from his slumped position, tucking his chin into the palm of his hand.

"And, like, this time it was about relationships. It was all," Steve's voice pitches up, whiny and nasally. "When are you going to get a serious relationship like Brandon, Steve? When are you going to settle down, Steve? When are you going to stop being a disappointment, Steve?"

He huffs another sigh, this one tinged with more defeat. You feel your face twitch in sympathy.

"So, just to get them shut up I…" Steve averts his gaze to study the counter-top suddenly. He draws an idle circle with his free hand. "I said that I was actually dating someone."

You take in his words. "But you're not."

"Thank you, genius. I had no idea." Steve straightens up with a scoff, throwing his hands out. Dragging them down his face, another groan warbles out of him.

"But now they're expecting me to show up to this dinner with someone — someone I'm dating — and I cannot admit I lied. So, please, be my girlfriend for one night."

You snort. His distress, a disaster of his own making, is just a tad bit funny. Just a little. A smidge. "Dude, chill. Just say your girlfriend is sick and she can't come."

Steve laughs mirthlessly. "That's like the adult equivalent of saying oh you don't know her, she goes to another school. No, I can't do that! C'mon, please."

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

"Think of it as one hugely, massive favour."

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

"This weekend, Saturday, 5 o'clock."

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

"Uh, my mom, my dad, my brother, his fiancée. Maybe my uncle? Four or five."

Saturday was only a couple days away. He'd left it awfully late to ask—and you're not exactly sure who else would step up for the job if you said no. For the first time since he threw out the insane suggestion, you properly consider it — and feel your face screw up instinctively.

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

Sure, to some girls that probably sounded like a dream come true, but it hadn't ever been like that between you and Steve.

You weren't even sure if you could picture it, being tucked under his arm, receiving delicate kisses on the head instead of noogies. Your nose wrinkles again at the oddity.

It wasn't like people didn't like to speculate — men and women can't just be friends, after all — but getting on Steve Harrington's kiss list had never really been a priority to you. Would you even be able to pull it off?

Your mind casts out to the girls that Steve tends to date, nit-picking as you try to think of what separated you from them. While Steve would certainly vehemently deny it, you're pretty sure you can pick a pattern out from the array of girls. A type that you certainly wouldn't see yourself fitting into.

Steve just… doesn't go for girls like you.

Steve, watching you closely, sees the hesitation sink in. He leans forward again, bargaining face on.

"You can veto every movie we watch for the next month."

You squint at him. Raise your chin an inch, forcing yourself not to smile too obviously. It's not often you get to see Steve looking ready to actually grovel for something.

He narrows his eyes, catching onto your deviousness. "Fine. I'll pay for your shakes for the next month, too."

You take another moment to think it over, exaggerating the hmmm sound you make. You tap your finger against your chin, indicating you're not quite convinced yet.

Steve leans further forward, his expression inching toward a bitchy disbelief. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

He looks as though he might start another slew of scoffing, his tongue pressed into his cheek, before he seems to re-evaluate what's at stake here.

He says, "I will drive you up to Indianapolis on—" He holds up one finger. "—one occasion when you ask."

Grinning, you stick out your hand for him to shake.

"You've got a deal, mister."

Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging in relief as he drops his hand to rest in yours. You give it a firm shake and just when you can see the thank-you forming on his lips, you tug his hand forward. You grin wider, almost taunting.

"I would've done it just for the shakes, just so you know."

Steve does scoff this time, ripping his hand back from yours. "You're an awful friend."

You bite down your smile, already dreaming of the free shake you'll be sipping all the way out to Indianapolis. You take a sip of your water and raise your brows at Steve over the lip of your cup.

"Hey. Don't you mean awful girlfriend." You wiggle your brows, not failing to see the hint of pink that colours Steve's cheeks.

Despite the colour in his face, Steve manages to deliver a long, unimpressed stare at you.

His eyes flick down your figure, clearly turning your words over in his head, then back up. As though he's actually realising what he's asked you to do.

He huffs another sigh, running his hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. This is an awful idea."

"Hey, it's your idea, not mine."

—

A stray blouse flies from the closet, landing in an unceremonious lump at the foot of your bed.

You toe at it gently, narrowed gaze travelling from the murky colour up toward the closet, to the perpetrator currently tearing your wardrobe apart. He doesn't even pause, hands still digging, almost resembling a dog burying a bone.

Sighing, you drop your head back, hair splaying against your pillow. The water-stain on your bedroom ceiling greets your sigh with silence.

You had thought that, while sure, yeah, the Harrington's are a fancy bunch, it ultimately wouldn't be that much of a hassle to step in as Steve's date.

You'd have to dig through your closet for the nicest thing you owned (and seldom wore) and you and Steve would concoct a ludicrous story that could be the next John Hughes film.

It would take an hour, tops.

A severe underestimation. Maybe the promise of one hugely, massive favour should've tipped you off.

"Are you being serious right now?" You moan from your place on the bed. You shift your head forward again, eyeing your best friend across the room.

Steve, still buried in your closet, makes a loud harumph in answer. His voice comes out muffled against the clothes, too swamped amongst the fabric. "—Y'know, this wouldn't be so hard if you actually had anything wearable in here—"

You make a noise of indignation, tipping your head further forward. Your necklace shifts, the pendant sliding down the chain and hitting the comforter beneath you.

"And just what are you trying to say?"

Steve pauses for a moment, his hands halted on a pair of coat-hangers. He leans out from the clothing and lets his head loll back, his hazel eyes forming a flat stare.

"Har har." Steve says sarcastically. He turns back to the closet, the coat-hanger in his hand scraping as he pushes it along, assessing each piece with quick, attuned eyes. "I'm just saying you have a lack of clothing that my mother deems acceptable."

He turns back for a second. "Which is a good thing, by the way."

You hum in agreement, letting your head flop back onto your pillow. You've seen the pantsuits Cynthia Harrington wears.

Steve continues his barrage through your wardrobe, making a noise of disapproval every couple of seconds.

You also can't say you had expected to get started so soon; as in immediately post fake-girlfriend proposal. It occurs to you that perhaps you've said yes to something bigger than you expected.

"You're taking this really seriously." You comment.

"Yeah, well," Steve reaches in and tosses another blouse, this one pale-blue, on the bed by your feet. "I know you've met my parents before but they're, like, different when Brandon comes around."

"Different?"

"Like worse. Way, way worse." He draws a line with a flat hand. "Brandon makes them just so—"

His hand curls up, forming a fist. He sighs, dropping it to rest on his hip. For a long moment, he stares into your wardrobe.

You push up on one elbow, brows knitting together. "Steve?"

Steve jolts lightly at your voice, torn out of his thoughts. He reaches out and plucks another blouse from your wardrobe, a maroon pleated one that you'd sworn you had thrown away. It's horrendous and definitely picked out by your mother. He turns and chucks it on the bed, crumpling atop the others and looks up at you, hands perched on his hips.

"Just, like, the smoother this dinner goes, the better, okay?"

You sit up completely, catching the seriousness leaking into Steve's voice. Damn. He actually sounds pretty worked up about the whole thing.

You smile, aiming for comfort. Even if you hadn't quite grasped what you had said yes to, Steve was still your best friend.

His parents were… difficult on the best of days. It was clear he was going for the least eventful, head-down approach as he could for this.

You could do that.

"Okay." You nod, more serious this time, eyeing the blouses on the end of the bed. You miss the relief that shutters across Steve's face. "We got three days til Saturday. What do you need me to do?"

"You can start," Steve says, spinning back to face your chest of drawers this time. His eyes flash over, with a hint of mirth. "By telling me if you even own a skirt that goes below your knees, you scandalous woman."

You laugh and get to your feet, wandering towards your drawers to pull open the bottom most one. Fishing around, you try to recall if you have anything church-worthy, tongue poking out your lips.

A hideous woollen skirt gifted to you for Christmas a couple years ago springs to mind. You shiver.

"Below the knee, huh?" You say. "You better start telling me about the role I'll be playing if I can't even turn up as myself."

You're only half joking. Your fingers curl around the scratchy fabric and you wrinkle your nose in recognition. Tugging it forward, it escapes the confines of your drawers and splays out with a sudden poof. You get the joy of remembering just how ugly it really is.

Twisting, you hold it up to Steve who has taken your place on your bed, laid back.

"Think this'll do?"

Steve's head perks up and he locks onto the skirt in your grasp. "Ugh, it's awful. Perfect."

You drop the skirt, abandoning it to take your place next to Steve on the bed. The springs creak slightly as your weight joins Steve's, the bed dipping and forcing you closer together. A smile sneaks onto his face.

"Okay, but for real," You jab a finger into the softness of Steve's side and he makes a little noise of complaint. "You've gotta tell me what I'm expecting for this, dude. It would be, like, catastrophically mean of you to send me in there blind."

Steve sighs — something he's really doing that a lot recently — and rolls toward you, propping his head up with one arm. The edges of his polo stretch as his bicep bulges. He frowns down at your comforter as he thinks.

"I don't know if I actually can prepare you for it." He admits, raising his gaze to look at you through his lashes. "Like, I think we're gonna have to just come up with a story and fend off the questions as best we can."

Another thought occurs to you. You frown. "Wait, don't your parents, like, know about me already?"

Steve's gaze darts away, this time staring at your comforter with a greater intensity. He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's why it'll work. They basically already ask me when we'll be getting together."

Your brows jump. A teasing grin taunts your mouth but you forsake it for a more helpful approach.

"Alright, then," You say. "Then let's do better than fending off the wolves. If I'm gonna be your fake girlfriend, I'm not gonna half-ass it. Let's knock the socks off your parents."

Steve's eyes jump up, meeting your stare and it takes another moment before he realises you're being genuine. You grin, poking him in the side again.

"And Brandon."

"Yeah?" Steve smiles. He sounds a tad awed at your dedication, his eyes roaming over your face gently. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Okay. Uh, we have to come up with a backstory first."

"And it has to be one that your parents will believe too."

Steve nods, then pauses, a frown knitting together his eyebrows. "Wait, when did we get together? We can't have just started dating that's— like, almost as bad as showing up without a girlfriend."

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

"Oh, hey mom and dad." Steve says, his tone sardonic and flat. "Oh yeah, this is my girlfriend who I somehow started dating just one week ago, coincidentally just in time for this family dinner."

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

"Fine." You say. A little worry burrows into your brain — the longer you make your 'relationship', the more details you have to construct, to remember, and recall correctly.

You worry your bottom lip. "How long is long enough though? If it's too long, we have to remember more things."

Steve's mouth twists in thought. He gives a hmm.

"I think the last time you saw my parents was… sometime around New Year's Eve, right? They had that party, d'ya remember?"

You wrack your brain and find a memory with glittering fireworks and greasy hot-dogs. Steve had too much champagne and emptied his stomach into a bush. Faintly, the memory of passing by Mr and Mrs. Harrington fits in there— only for a moment.

"Yeah," You say.

Combing over the last years' events, you try to think if there's anything else you would've seen them at.

Graduation? You try to smooth out the wrinkles of that memory too; sunny day, sweltering gown. You hadn't remembered seeing Steve's parents there. "'Cos they didn't come to graduation, did they?"

"Nope." Steve says, popping the p. He rolls back to lie flat on your bed, folding his hands to rest on his chest. "What about after one of my basketball games? The final one of the season." He proposes, eyes tracking back to you.

You laugh without meaning to, spurred on by Steve's surprise.

"Really? At your basketball game? That's when the sparks went flying and we got together?"

Steve's mouth drops open an inch in offense. He throws his hands up. "What? That's, like, totally romantic." He defends. "Besides, it's a good reason for our friendship to have changed."

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

"Fine." You appease, laughing lightly. "We got together after you lost the last basketball game of the season."

Steve wrinkles his nose again. "Well, don't put it like that."

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

You nod, carefully trying to commit the detail to memory. Your head spins as you try to think up the variety of different questions you might get asked at the dinner.

What sort of questions might his parents ask? Or his brother? They'll probably want to know the basics — how you got together, how it's going. You might get a shake-down to see if you're worthy of dating a Harrington.

Then, of course, there is the matter of ensuring you're a convincing couple. In love enough to be brought along to an exclusive family event.

That means… getting touchy. The thought sends a jolt through your stomach— will you have to kiss?

You bury the thought. You'll cross that bridge and have it's subsequently unavoidable, awkward conversation when you get to it.

You're not sure who'll you will have more trouble convincing; Brandon or Steve's parents. But from what you know of Steve's family, you'd bet none of them know him that well.

For all you know, this could well be a walk in the park. Maybe the easiest free trip to Indianapolis ever earned.

"What's Brandon like?" You ask, trying to get a better sense of who you'll be fooling. "Do you think he'll ask many questions?"

"He's…" Steve's eyes shift from you to the ceiling, his mouth forming a flat line. "An asshole, like my dad. He's got this amazing talent for getting under my skin. Which usually includes undermining just about anything I have going for me in my life. Or—" He gestures to you with a sigh. "—what I actually don't have going."

He rolls his head in your direction, his mouth twisted into a bitchy frown.

"He used to always rat on me to our parents when I was kid. He once got me in trouble for going to see Tommy just because he didn't want to walk me over. Said I disobeyed authority." Steve makes quotations with his fingers.

Your brows raise in disbelief. "Isn't he, like, fifteen years older than you?"

Steve huffs a mirthless laugh. "Yep. Told you, asshole. So, yes, he'll probably ask questions but I don't think he'll expect I'd do something as desperately pathetic as faking a girlfriend so hopefully we'll fly under his radar."

Reaching out, you whack Steve on the arm, relishing in his annoyed ow!

Eyes narrowed, you wait til he's looking at you with his what gives? face before you say, "What you're doing is not pathetic, nor is it desperate. It is an act of survival against your shitty family, okay?"

Steve stares at you for a moment before his shoulders seem to melt, the tension leaking from them. He flops his head back.

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

"Alright," You say. "Now, let's get this story straight. We got together at the final game of the season, which would mean we've been together for nearly…"

STEP TWO: THE ACT

Your legs itch and you fight the urge to readjust your tights for the umpteenth time.

Steve, in the driver's seat beside you, drums his hands against the steering wheel too rapidly to be casual. He keeps darting one hand to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumbnail.

You'd reach out and smack him to get him to stop but you're beginning to feel the lurch of nerves yourself. The drive from your house to Steve's has never seemed so, so entirely too short.

"Okay, uh," Steve's throat clicks, clammed up from his silence for too long.

He hadn't spoken much when he had picked you up, other than to laugh at your joke at the mismatch of yourself and your prim outfit.

You'd ended up finding a double-breasted blazer in your mom's closet and you look almost ready to run as the local mayor. You're even wearing tights.

"We got together the 20th—"

"—of June, last year." You finish for him.

Steve nods, his face still facing forward. His eyes look a tad unfocused, even as he reaches out to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "Right. So we've been together for, uh, about ten months."

You nod encouragingly, checking the details in your head. "You asked me out. Our first date was—"

"—at The Hawk." Steve cuts in, parroting off your memorised answers. "We saw Labyrinth and, uh, then I drove you home."

That part isn't technically untrue. You and Steve had gone to see Labyrinth together back in June of last year, but it certainly hadn't been a date. You find the details lend themselves quite easily regardless.

"That's when we had our first kiss." You remind him, even if it makes your face heat minisculy. "What did you get me for Christmas?" You quiz.

"Uh," Steve's hand rabbits against the steering wheel, nerves evident. He finally breaks his stare from the road to glance at you, his brows furrowed together, eyes worried. "Fuck, I can't remember."

"It's fine," You stress, waving a hand. "You got me tickets to Billy Joel and we drove out to Indianapolis for the concert in April."

Steve nods a bit too manically, his perfectly coiffed hair coming a bit loose. The houses flashing by the window gradually get bigger, fancier. He bites his thumbnail again and this time you do reach out and tug his wrist away.

"Thanks." He murmurs.

He turns the wheel, the engine droning as the car takes the corner to enter his street. Your nerves hike a mile higher and you tug at your tights fruitlessly again. The street is lined with nice cars — not unexpected for Steve's neighbourhood.

What is unexpected is the sheer volume. You and Steve peer out the car windows, eyes wide, as you take in the full street. When you swallow, your throat feels particularly dry.

You turn to Steve. "I thought they said it was a family dinner?"

Steve, his eyes darting from car to car, either trying to find a park amongst the packed sidewalk or maybe just panicking like you are, takes a moment to meet your eyes. He looks a lovely shade of chalky white.

"They definitely did."

There's a free space down the end of Steve's street, the driveway already full with two cars, neither you can recognise.

Steve's foot hits against the brake too abruptly and the car jerks to a stop, rocking forward. You grip the edges of your seat tightly as Steve kills the engine. For a moment, neither of you make a sound.

"What if there's more than just family in there?" Steve croaks, turning slowly to face you.

The paleness in his face has pitched toward something greener. He swallows heavily, twisting back to stare out the windshield and his hands on the wheel tighten. "Oh my god, this is— this isn't gonna to work."

"Steve."

"Valentines, we did Lover's Lake," Steve mutters to himself, eyes still out the window. "Fuck, this is so stupid."

"Steve," You try again. His own panic is worsening your own and if he continues to spiral, you fear you might never make it out of the car and you did not wear itchy tights for that to happen.

"You got me the Michael Jackson record for my birthday," He rattles off again, almost absentmindedly, as though his mind can't pick between panicking about trying to remember all the details or the apparent extra guests.

"This is— oh my god, we're never gonna convince them."

"Steve." You say firmly. His head snaps around, broken from his mutterings. He blinks at you.

You take a deep, exaggerated breath in. Steve follows instinctively, his shoulders rising as he inhales.

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

Offering out your upturned hand, you wait for Steve to shift to place his bigger hand in yours. When he does, your fingers curl around it, cradling it.

You can feel the rabbit of his pulse at your fingertips and you meet his eye as you say, "We know each other—really well. We're best friends. We've practised, we look the part, okay? Now, all we have to do is… be a couple for an evening. It's going to be fine."

Steve swallows and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. Then his breath bursts out in a release of tension, his hand finally squeezing yours back. "God, what would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn, probably." You tease, thankful when unease hanging on his frame is replaced by something more familiar.

Steve makes an appalled noise, tightening his grip on your hand so you can't pull it back. His other hand moves, his fingers dancing across the ticklish skin on the inside of your arm til you shriek out in laughter, yanking your hand back.

Your laughter seems to have dimmed the nervousness a bit. You glance over your shoulder, down the street, and track an older couple dressed primly entering the Harrington home. As you turn back to Steve, you swallow to gather your nerves.

"Ready?"

Steve doesn't look like he is, his shifting, unsure eyes and stressing hands. He pushes his palms against his slacks and takes a sharp inhale, before meeting your eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

You count the steps up to the doorway without even meaning to, arriving at the Harrington doorstep in approximately 47 steps. The maroon double doors before you seem taller than usual. Steve raises his hand to knock and then halts, his attention shifting to his upraised hand.

He quickly tucks it back against his side, except this time with his elbow held out for you.

A faint pang of surprise in your chest, coloured with something softer, nicer. You’ve seen somewhat what Steve’s like on his dates and you’ve certainly heard plenty of the aftermath. But you’ve never been on one, of course.

As you loop your arm to nook in his, you find yourself unexpectedly eager to find out exactly what it’s like to be Steve Harrington’s date.

Steve knocks on the door, then twists the knob and lets himself in.

Despite seeing the earlier guests, there’s little to prepare you for the room full of people that stand on the other side of the door. Moving on instinct, clinging to Steve’s arm, you step through the threshold and into the lion's den.

Your nerves fry. Never mind lion's den; you feel more like a fly caught in a web. Frog boiling in a pot? No, that doesn't work because you know exactly what you were signed up to when you said yes to Steve.

Well, not precisely. You survey the crowd, counting at least three times as many people as you were expecting with nervous eyes.

Your little white lie with Steve just graduated to having an entire audience. No pressure, right?

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

You feel Steve stiffen up beside you, his shoulders rolling back, his entire body straightening up. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.

“Mom,” Steve says. His voice is a bit dry and he swallows again. “You didn’t say there were going to be this many people here.”

He’s polite enough to not word it as an accusation. His niceties don’t work, bouncing off the painstakingly sculpted smile of a businesswoman.

“Please, it’s a networking event, I’m not sure what you expected.” She adjusts her diamond earring, swaying and heavy, as she speaks dismissively. “I told you this, Steven.”

You never hear anyone call Steve Steven other than his parents.

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

That catches Cynthia’s attention. She stops her roaming gaze to focus on her son, not even glancing at you. After a moment, she gives an exasperated huff.

“Well, why else would we be back, Steven? Your father is trying to close business with Mr. Collings.”

The sting isn’t even for you — in fact, you don’t even think she realises she’s dealt it — but you feel it all the same. Steve’s arm looped with yours tightens, a minuscule motion.

Though you know he thinks they’re all assholes, it doesn’t stop Steve from hoping they’ll come back for him.

“Right.” Steve says, voice tight. “Sure. Of course.”

You’re just thinking about dragging him away from this barbed conversation, clearly pricking all his sensitive spots, when Cynthia’s sharp gaze slides over to you.

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

“Oh, is this the girlfriend you’ve spoken of?”

This time you’re the one who stiffens up. It’s momentary. You know that Steve’s likely freaking out too and at least one of you has to pull yourself together.

The most winning smile you can manage glides onto your face.

“That’s me.” You squeeze Steve’s arm with your hand. It's half in genuine comfort, half in show.

Cynthia regards you for another long moment before she manages to straighten up further, as though pinched.

“Oh! Yes, I recognise you. Remind me of your name, dear?”

It’s a struggle not to grit your teeth. Steve and you have been friends for nearing ten years now.

Still, you relay it politely for her. Your smile feels a bit wooden now.

“Oh, Steven. How nice.” Cynthia says, a touch of patronisation in her tone. Her beady eyes slice back to yours. “He had such a crush on you for the longest time, it’s—”

“Mom.” Steve hisses, cutting her off. Another unexpected jolt of something warm in your chest. Wait, really?

You chance a glance up at Steve. His ears are tinted pink.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of how that makes you feel, so you shelve it for later. Maybe when you’re not being thrown to the sharks by Steve’s awful parents.

Okay, too many animal metaphors. Falling asleep to the Discovery Channel last night is definitely taking its toll.

“We’re gonna mingle, find Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. He moves forward, past his mother, and tugs you with him. Your legs itch with the reminder of your scratchy tights.

“Alright, Steven. Make sure you say hello to your brother!”

Steve huffs, loud enough that you hear it, and you let him lead you through the throngs of middle-aged people. He stops when he reaches the kitchen, finally unwinding his arm with yours.

He does it so he can shove his hands in his hair, a stressed motion from Steve if you’ve ever seen one.

“God, okay, that went well.” He says sarcastically.

“Stop. You’re ruining your hair.” You reach up and rescue his lochs from his harsh grip, fingers around his wrists to tug his hands away. You’re far too aware of how long it had taken him to do.

Steve lets you. When you focus on his face, you notice the pink from his ears is also on his cheeks.

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

“Was she telling the truth? About… the crush? Or was she just trying to tease you?”

The pink dips closer to scarlet. Steve sighs, his eyes closing for a moment.

“I— she- yes,” He admits. Your heart shudders at the revelation. Steve’s eyes open and he twists his hands so he can hold yours in them. “But, like, not now. In the past. Years ago, I promise.”

For his sake, you do your best not to take it too seriously. Even if you wanted to pry, now is not the time nor the place to do so.

However, you can’t resist a small, teasing grin. Steve catches it and his embarrassment gives way to exasperation instantly.

“You likeeed me,” You say in a sing-song voice.

Teasing is not unfamiliar in your friendship with Steve and getting to joke around, even at this strange party, feels nicer. Steve groans dramatically, his eyes closing and his hands pushing against your hands to shove you away.

A new voice interrupts.

“Liked? I sure hope he likes you now, being his girlfriend and all.”

You and Steve both snap out of your easy joking, remembering that you’re supposed to be presenting as a couple. Head turning to who had spoken, it only takes a couple of seconds for you to place who it is.

He looks a little bit like Steve, but not really.

The eyes are different, not as slanted and he hasn’t got any of Steve’s beautiful moles. But the nose, the mouth, put together with matching brown hair and tan skin, you know who this is without having to ask.

“Brandon.” Steve says. The name is stilted in his mouth.

Brandon smirks, his same hazel coloured eyes dragging a long, scathing once-over of his younger brother. He doesn’t look impressed, if his disinterested expression is anything to go by.

Then he does the same to you.

It’s almost tangible, the prickly feeling of his gaze raked over your body. Searching, hunting, nearly making you want to perk up to gain his approval.

God, Steve was right on the money. This guy is like his father but worse.

“The eye-candy of the month, huh?” He says to you, chuckling as if he’s made a joke.

You consider, then make the decision to throw all pleasantries out the window. You don’t smile back.

“Actually, Steve and I will be coming up on one year soon.”

Tangling your hands back together as you say it, you lean into Steve’s side. It’s warm, smells of his cologne. Only when you gaze up at him, do you let a smile grace your lips. It’s soft and genuine.

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

“I’m surprised anyone could settle him down,” Brandon continues and you turn back to him, fighting the urge to narrow your eyes. It doesn’t escape you how he’s jumped from one slight dig to the next.

He’s clever with it. Polite enough that Steve can’t exactly bring it up as an issue.

Brandon continues, swirling his crystal tumbler of whiskey idly. “Surprised he wanted to. Little bro always seemed like such a womanizer. Didn’t think he’d want just one chick.”

He leans in and socks Steve on the shoulder, hard, when he says the word womanizer. He’s grinning.

You have to admit, Brandon’s far too good at this — good at getting under your skin. If you hadn’t been forewarned of his behaviour, if you actually were Steve’s girlfriend, it would certainly rub you the wrong way. He’s certainly doing his best to sprinkle grit and strife between you two.

And you know it hurts Steve to hear — Sure, maybe when he was a thick-headed freshman, with no clue about the world, he had acted that way.

Nowadays... Anyone who knows Steve, even a little bit, knows he wants the real deal, more than anything.

“Not anymore,” Steve says, though it’s not nearly as confident as he usually is. He clears his throat and casts his gaze around. “Where’s Ariel?”

“Ah,” Brandon hums, looking around himself. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Not sure. I think I left her in conversation with the Erickson’s from across the street. She’s been pleading with her eyes to be saved but hey, she’s gotta learn sometime, right?”

Your lip curls up in distaste before you remember yourself. Fingers intertwined with Steve’s, you clutch them tighter for some semblance of strength.

You’ve got to get the two of you out of here before you start outright sneering at this man — which is very much not the heads-down approach Steve had asked for.

“Babe,” you say, effectively dismissing Brandon’s comment as you look up at Steve. He looks down at you and squeezes your hand. “Can we grab a drink, please? I’m feeling thirsty.”

Steve murmurs his affirmation and you both turn back to Brandon to bid a polite goodbye. His left eye twitches just once, the only indication that he’s put off by your subtle rejection.

“Well,” Brandon fixes his features, his smirk sliding back into place. “Don’t let me keep you. What was your name again, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t say.” You say, forcing the politest, more nonchalant expression on your face. You let him stew in the awkwardness, waiting for him to break and ask.

He doesn't. Brandon just smiles, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand and despite how you don’t want to, you place your own in it to shake it.

“Well, it’s been real nice getting to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you later tonight.” He smiles like a promise. His grip tightens in the handshake.

You grip his hand tighter, matching his strength, and for the first time in the whole conversation, you match his perfectly fake smile.

“Not if I see you first,” You say, spoken pleasantly enough that the meaning of your words doesn’t sink in until you’ve pulled back. You urge Steve somewhere, anywhere that’s not here.

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

There’s a punch-bowl out in the living room, thankfully. Displayed next to it is a large jell-o mould, arsenic green, and jiggling gently whenever someone bumps the table. Rich people stuff, you assume.

You eye it curiously as Steve quietly ladles a cup for you, then himself.

The punch is pineapple flavoured but peachy in colour. You sniff the cup Steve gives you hesitantly before you take a small sip. It’s nice. Mostly juice.

You peer up at Steve over the next sip and the cup hides your near hiccup of surprise when his hand slides along your waist. His hand, warm and large, settles on the small on your back and urges you closer.

“That was— wait, this is okay, right?” He pulls his hand back an inch, hovering over your waist. You nod without having to think about it.

“Okay,” He sighs in relief, resting it back down. His thumb moves, soothing along the fabric almost absentmindedly.

He grins at you, “That was, like, amazing to watch. The whole —not if I see you first— just, god, his face. Amazing.” His hand on your waist squeezes lightly. “You’re amazing. I didn’t know you could be so snobby.”

He says the last word slightly too loud and you laugh, worriedly stealing a glance around the room. No one’s paying you much mind. You do notice, however, that Brandon’s meandered into the living room now.

You sidle closer, tucking up under Steve’s arm.

Surprise touches Steve's features; his brows raising a bit, lips parting, and cheeks colouring that ruby colour once more.

It’s as if, despite all your previous agreements, he’s forgotten that you’re supposed to be acting like a couple.

As if he’s forgotten that couples act like this. In love, that is.

“Are you finding this weird?” He murmurs, volume control on this time. It’s said just to you, muffled into your hairline.

From afar, you think it might look like he’s kissing your forehead.

You take another sip of the punch, peering at his dress shirt, and consider his question. It’s not weird, per se. You tell him as much.

“I think it’s just new,” You look up at him — closer than you usually ever see him. His lashes are long and spidery. His hazel eyes are lighter under the lights. “Just different to what we’re used to. It’s… nice, I think.”

“You think?”

You expect Steve to tease you for your own unexpected soft answer but instead, his response comes out with a strange reverence.

If you had to pick a word, something traitorous would maybe call it hopeful. Wait, traitorous? Wait, hopeful?

"Yeah," You shrug a little, no big deal. "I mean it's not that much different from how we already are, right? Just a little more..."

Steve's thumb swatches along your back, more intentionally this time.

"Touchy?" He provides.

You nod and pretend the strange acknowledgement isn't making you feel a tad more flustered.

The touchiness is really quite nice. It’s sweet to have an anchor in this freaky social situation, very much unlike the aforementioned and abandoned Ariel. Steve’s hand on you is a grounding touch, a constant soft reminder of the person who has your back—literally.

And the person is Steve — which, again, isn’t really that different from what you’re used to. He sorta always has your back anyway.

You suppose it hasn't really crossed your mind before, not in depth at least, the small changes that would occur if you and Steve really did date.

How different would it really be?

Chin tilting up, you slyly steal a look at him as Steve scans the party. He's probably planning escape routes, jaw clenched subtly. He's clean-shaven, not a whisper of that stubble that you think suits him rather well.

Would you still be friends, if the two of you dated?

The question feels silly the moment you think it, even if it's only spoken in your mind. You wrinkle your nose lightly and hide it behind another sip of punch. There's an easy answer to that.

Of course you would. It's like you just said: not that different from how you are now. Same teasing dynamic, same loyal history, same sharing embarrassing secrets and same driving around doing nothing, loving it.

Just more. More of this.

Steve squeezes your side warmly, his head twisted to look back down at you. He's asked you a question you realise.

"Hm?"

"I was asking how long do you think it's acceptable to wait to fake a heart-attack to get us out of here?”

Amusement draws your eyebrows up. You grin up at Steve. "A heart-attack? At your youthful, healthy age? C'mon, Steve, they'll never believe it."

Steve's expression twitches closer to bitchy as he considers your rebuttal. You take another sip of punch. He relents.

"Fine. What else? I’m not above faking haemorrhoids.”

The punch in your mouth comes back out in a surprised splutter, thankfully landing mostly back in your cup. A drop of it streaks down your chin.

Your surprise quickly morphs into a glare, eyes shifting up to deliver it to your best friend.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face tells you that his timing was not accidental.

“You’re unbelievable,” You hiss because what happened to the polite, head down, and not eventful approach that Steve had all but pleaded from you?

He reaches for a napkin for you without asking — and then tugs you in closer with the hand around your waist, brings the napkin up to your face. He hovers, giving you a moment to realise what he’s doing, before he dotingly swipes away the streak of juice.

“Careful now, honey,” He says, giving the petname a teasing intonation.

How he managed to pick the petname that does actually make your heart perk up in your chest is beyond you. Maybe he knows you better than you think.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You ask, brows raised, pretending to be annoyed. Your bitten-back grin gives you away. “Making me spit my punch and then just sprinkling in a petname—”

“—like you didn’t do that first, with Brandon in the kitchen.” Steve interjects. He crumples the napkin and drops it back on the table.

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

"We forgot to discuss that, actually," Steve says. He sounds casual but he looks away, studying the punchbowl rather intently. "What... like, do you like to be called? In a relationship?"

It is an oversight both of you managed to miss, which makes you feel a little foolish now. You focus on the question.

"I like honey," You admit gingerly. A tepid smile threatens at your lips and when you look up at Steve, he's already turned back to watch you closely. "It's a bit old-fashioned. Sounds more like something you say if you're married but...I think it's nice."

"Yeah," Steve says softly. "Me too."

Something hums brightly in your chest at his gentle expression, his fondness zeroed in only on you. You break his gaze to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

There’s a beat and you think if you’ve ever had this conversation before. Sweetened preferences didn’t usually make it into your gossip sessions. This is new territory.

“I like sweetheart too,” Steve says, somewhat offbeat. As if he’d thought for too long if he’d say it or not.

He peers down at you, a scrunch in his nose. “Not like Brandon says it though. He might’ve ruined that one for me.”

“He can ruin this dinner, but not that.” You decide for him. “C’mon, sweetheart. We look like we’re stealing all the punch.”

Using your hand in his, you lead him away from the punch table and weave through the people milling about the living room. A touch of resistance makes you glance back. You can see a pink glow painted on Steve’s cheeks.

Your feet come to a halt, twisting back to properly face him. You can’t resist the urge to tease. “Oho, you weren’t kidding- you do like that one.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve murmurs, his tongue pressed into his cheek and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t believe I raised you so poorly as to address a lady like that, Steven.”

You jump at the intrusion, realising you’d unluckily managed to stop right beside Mr. Harrington. Fuck, why are all of Steve’s family so good at sneaking up on you? You chalk it up to their snakeish tendencies.

“Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. Then, with a quick swallow, he corrects himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Harrington is not what you’d call an impressive man. Sure, his suit is tailored to fit and you have no doubt his overwhelming cologne costs more than three paychecks combined — but in substance? He lacks. Severely.

You’ve met him thrice.

Every time, you wonder how someone as wonderful as Steve, can come from someone like him.

Though, it certainly explains the god-awful ‘King Steve’ phase Steve had gone through in his freshman and sophomore year. You shiver at the memory.

“It was warranted, Mr. Harrington, believe me,” You jump in to move the attention of Steve’s father back to you, easily shouldering the blame. A smile, cool and collected, graces your face. “I was teasing him, after all.”

Mr. Harrington grunts in disagreement. “Hardly an excuse to speak so crudely, especially in front of guests.”

Opening your mouth to defend him again, Steve speaks first. “You’re right, sir. I apologise, it won’t happen again.”

Steve still shoots you a thankful glance. You clamp down your half-formed response and squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes back.

Maybe the two of you should’ve learned morse-code with all the squeezing you’re both doing. You hadn’t anticipated holding his hand for this long.

You could let go. You don’t really want to — and you’re pretty sure, neither does Steve.

You can’t remember the last time you held his hand.

“Your new girlfriend, I presume?” Mr. Harrington nods to you.

Steve barely gets a moment to respond when his father is waving him forward, stepping back to open a circle of middle-aged men behind him.

“Come, there’s a few associates I’d like you to meet, Steven.”

There’s no question, only a demand. Despite how it feels like stepping into a pit of vipers — damn you, Discovery Channel — you and Steve join the circle.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harrington addresses the four men before you, a wry smile on his face. “My son, Steven.”

Then, as an afterthought, with a glance your way. “And his girlfriend.”

“Oh? Not fianceé?” One of the men speaks up. He’s balding, his hair combed over in an attempt to cover his ruddy coloured scalp.

“I’m afraid you’re thinking of my other son, Brandon.” Mr. Harrington says, words suddenly imbued with a proud tone. Steve’s hand grows rigid in yours, though you don’t think he’s even noticed. You send a squeeze back.

A different man speaks up. This man has all his hair, but also has a pot-belly that threatens to send buttons on his dress shirt flying.

“Ah, well, fianceé to be, I bet.” He says, speaking directly to Steve and ignoring you. “Soon it’ll be the ol’ ball and chain. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, son.”

Then the fucker winks at you—as if you’re in on some big joke. A deep, miserable pity dawns in you for their wives.

“Actually,” Steve begins. There’s an edge in his voice.

You glance up at him concernedly — sure, these guys are douchebags, but you know that. Throwing in the polite and heads-down approach in front of his father might be the worst timing ever.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Steve says. The bite in his voice has receded and instead, he sounds calm. Polite. “My girlfriend is one of the best things in my life. She’s smart, talented, beautiful— and why she chooses to waste her time with me is a mystery to me.”

He speaks as though he believes every word he’s saying, a hundred percent. You realise you’re holding your breath when Steve turns to look down at you. His hazel eyes are soft, genuine.

“She makes me a better person. She’s… She’s my best friend.”

The line between your genuine friendship and this fake concocted act blurs entirely — and suddenly, you can’t tell what is real and what is not.

Worse, you’re not sure which you'd prefer more.

Does he really think all those things about you?

Steve, who should probably, definitely take up an acting gig after this, plants a quick, nimble kiss on your forehead to sell his loving words.

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

“Believe me, if I ever get so lucky as to marry her, I’d be the ball and chain.” He chuckles. “Not the other way around.”

You’re still holding your breath, heart stuck somewhere halfway up your throat. The businessmen before you show varying amounts of surprise and annoyance—none more of the latter than Mr. Harrington himself.

It doesn’t matter. Steve’s said it all in that perfectly polite way that’s so often been used against him. Something within you glows hotly with pride.

“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve says politely. He drops your hand to re-link your arms once more, then nods to them. “I need to reapply my haemorrhoid cream.”

You’re pretty sure Steve turns you both away from the conversation as fast as he does, knowing that you’re gonna laugh. You do, his last sentence so unexpected it turns your laugh into this foul half hacking, half coughing noise.

Steve pats your back, expecting it, raising his voice as he walks you forward, “There, there.”

There’s a little smugness in his tone. You wait until you pass back into the front hall — now Cynthia Harrington free — to unlink your arms and smack him on the chest.

“Asshole!” You exclaim, but you’re already laughing. Steve’s laughing too, the sound bright and honeyed amongst the dull murmur of the event. God, the looks on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would actually do that.”

“Hey, it got us out of the conversation, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but,” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze falling from his for a moment. “I mean, won’t your dad…?”

Steve sighs and then shrugs. “I think I’m done trying to impress people like that. If you’re not up to standard to them, why the hell would I care about their opinion of me?”

Your heart feels a little wobbly at that. Steve has always been devastatingly earnest; it’s just less often directed at you. The two of you are used to teasing.

You fall back on it. “Awww,” You coo, gripping his forearms and leaning forward with a coy grin. “You got haemorrhoids for me, honey? That’s so romantic.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying and failing to suppress his own smile.

“Hey. Fake haemorrhoids, thank you very much.”

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

“One is my bleeding heart, the other is my bleeding ass, is the big difference.”

He can barely get through the sentence before his laugh takes over. You dissolve into laughter too, cheeks beginning to ache with the force of your grin.

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

The sweet bubble of laughter around you and Steve pops at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’s in the doorway that leads to the kitchen and at your attention, he steps toward you, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve says. His eyes track Brandon with every calculated step his brother makes til he stops, a few metres from you both.

“Y’know, I heard that hasty exit in front of dad. Did you know that was in front of Mr. Collings? Y’know, the one guy dad’s trying to close a deal with?”

Shit. You swallow heavily. You didn’t know that. You know neither did Steve.

Beside you, Steve grows tense. When he swallows, you hear his throat click from dryness.

Brandon watches and revels in the tiny reactions, his smirk growing. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets casually.

“I talked with mom, too. Learned some interesting stuff, especially about your pretty lady here.”

He nods to you, hazel eyes slicing across to meet yours. Your nerves start to stand on end, something threatening in his calm demeanour setting you off. You grip Steve’s forearms tighter.

“That she is the best friend you’ve been mooning over all these years. And I just thought—” Brandon clicks his tongue. “Man, what are the chances that we don’t hear a thing about you two getting together until this conference? Crazy timing, if you ask me.”

He tilts his head to the side, examining the two of you closely. His smug nature is far, far too much like that of a predator toying with its prey.

“It’s like- wait, no—”

Brandon cuts himself out, fishing a hand out his pocket to gesture to you, grinning smugly like something is funny.

“Is he paying you?”

You recoil back, so baffled and taken aback by the cruel mockery Brandon jumps to make of his younger brother. To make of your best friend.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.

Brandon blinks, surprised, and a bit of his smugness dries up. He draws his hand back, holding it up defensively.

“C'mon, like it's not just the kind of pathetic move he’d pull. I haven’t even seen the two of you kiss.”

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

You act without thinking — turning back to Steve, your hands reach up to tightly grasp the collar of his dress shirt.

You see Steve’s hazel eyes widen ever-slightly, then you’re pulling him down, pressing up on your toes, and kissing him.

And… oh.

He’s not half bad at that, you think. It takes Steve a moment, but then his arms circle your waist and after a tentative moment, he kisses back gently, deepening the kiss. Not bad at this at all.

For one brief, precious second, you’re kissing your best friend.

And it's entirely incomparable to any kiss you've experienced before—immeasurable in passion and utterly undoing in a thousand ways.

Steve breathes a little heavier, his cheeks flushed, when you break away. You sink back down off your tiptoes, hands dragging off Steve’s rumpled collar to rest on his chest. You turn to face Brandon.

He doesn’t look so smug anymore. He looks ticked off. Good.

“Brandon, you’re an asshole.” You state plainly. “I hope one day, soon, your fiancée realises what a cruel and shallow bully you really are. And I hope she leaves you for it. Truly.”

The ticked off expression on Brandon's face veers closer to aghast and offended—as if he can’t believe you have the gall to speak to him that way.

“I hope you realise what a stain you are on other people’s life and I sincerely hope that I never have the displeasure of meeting you again.”

Moving to grip Steve’s hand in yours, you move towards the door without a goodbye.

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

It’s bright outside. Stepping out feels a bit like waking from a stress dream, where in reality, the sun is shining and things that were driving you nuts aren't really problems you actually have.

You stall on the front doorstep, where you were just an hour or so ago.

Well, that didn’t go… awfully, you think. In fact, you’re feeling quite happy with serving Brandon a perfect brand of his own medicine.

You’re about to open your mouth and say as much when Steve drops your hand, brushing past you to head down the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Your stomach drops at the tone of his voice, a prickly disappointment draped over his words. You’d think you’re reading into it — if Steve wasn’t currently heading for the car, not even waiting for you to catch up. A dead giveaway.

Tights itching from the hasty movement, you quickly follow him and puzzle for a moment. He’s mad. But at what? It takes only a moment to hazard a pretty good guess.

Before the dinner, the awkward conversation of how touchy you two would be had been breached. You and Steve both agreed; no kissing. Even with how close the two of you were, it felt like strange territory to cross into. An unspoken line not to cross.

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

Guilt wells up within you. Your moment of telling Brandon to suck it suddenly feels tainted by the sliminess of kissing Steve without permission. You pull at your tights uncomfortably, trailing behind Steve on the sidewalk.

As you reach his car, you swallow the lump in your throat, and speak up.

“I'm sorry, okay?"

Steve, who's reached the driver's side door, looks up and over the top of the car. Then furrows his brow.

"What?"

"For..." The word gets stuck in your throat like wet paper. "Kissing you when we said we wouldn't do that. That was-" You inhale sharply and study the trim along the edge of the car window.

"I just really couldn't stand how he was talking to you. And I thought that would shut him up."

You glimpse back up at Steve. He's softened a little at your words, the crease between his brows gone now. His eyes dart away, a muscle in his jaw working tightly.

"Yeah, well, you were right. It worked."

Steve seems to hear how short his words sound right after he says them, especially as you rear back an inch. He gives a sigh, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "Look, I'm not mad about the kiss, okay?"

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

You step closer to the car, desperate to understand. He is mad but he's not mad about the kiss? Does that mean he is or isn't mad at you?

"You sound mad."

Steve makes a sputtering noise, like he's torn between denying it or not. You catch it, pressing your hands against the car window to lean in even closer.

"So, you are mad. At me? Are you sure it's not because of the kiss?"

“Yes. No." He's furrowing his brow again, confused between how to answer your question correctly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with another sigh. "It’s- no, I'm not mad at you.”

Still not an exact answer. You eye him warily, your guilt still lingering at the front of your chest, aching painfully. It forces out your next words, reminiscent of a rambling apology. You take a step back from the car and begin to pace.

"It's okay if it is the kiss, Steve. I- I mean, we said we wouldn't and I broke that- and I don't want you to ever feel like—"

“I just— I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that!”

That halts your pacing, feet quite suddenly rooted to the spot. You turn rapidly back to Steve, your eyes wider than they were a moment ago, heart jammed back up your throat. Did he just say...?

Steve realises what's escaped him a moment after you do. His hand leaps to cover his mouth as if he can smother the secret he's just let slip.

His eyes crush closed. He smushes his hand against his face more forcefully as though he's trying to push the words back into his mouth.

"What does that mean?" You ask softly. "Steve?"

He clears his throat, dragging the hand down and off his face sluggishly. "That, ah, no- nothing!" He deflects, hands making a crossing motion. "It means—zilch. I just, ah, you know- it's—"

He's thought about it before—about how he'd want a first kiss between the two of you to go.

A glow in you dissolves, the saturated sweetness of it riding through your veins like a sugar rush. You have a sudden wish you weren't wearing such a ghastly outfit for this conversation.

"Steve," You interrupt him. You round the front of the car slowly, stopping with still some distance between you. Let him meet you in the middle. If you're right about all this, that is.

"If there's even a small part of you that wants to do that again," Your breath shudders at your inhale. "You need to tell me."

"A small part?" Steve echoes your words, his tone incredulous. He rounds the car to meet you, his hands out in front of him, flexing into fists. "Don't— don't say what I think you're going to say, if you don't mean it."

He pauses in front of you, eyes blazing with a fierce emotion as he stares down at you. He studies your face and then groans, tipping his head back and burying his hands in his hair.

"It's a big part, y/n. A huge fucking part of me wants to kiss you again and has wanted to for awhile." Steve stresses. His hands sag down from his mussed hair to hang off his neck before he gestures back to the Harrington house.

"What I said in there? About my crush on you being ages ago? I lied. I've had a crush on you for years and I don't think I ever stopped and so if you don’t mean what I think you mean, please don’t… Don’t give me hope.”

There's desperation in his final plea.

A thousand emotions course through you, all competing for your attention. You squint incredulously at Steve, half tempted to sock him for the feeling of a kept-secret. You're best friends for gods sake. Years. Years, he said.

A tremble takes your heart. You open your mouth and try to find the right words.

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

Steve stares at you, flabbergasted. "You never seemed interested!"

"I didn't think I was your type!"

Though it seems impossible, Steve's eyes widen further, his hands shifting to hold out before him, fingers spread wide.

"Are you saying you've thought about it before!?"

"No!" You exclaim, suddenly stressed. You run your hands across your face agitatedly. "I mean, yes. Of course, I've thought about it before!”

Your fingers splay against your cheeks, pulling an expression not unlike the painting The Scream. You're not sure you've ever been this stressed, this undone before.

“Every day through fuckin' high school someone asked me if we were a thing. I just... hadn't, like, considered it til today. Properly."

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

He brings his hands together, clasping them, and he rests them against his forehead. For a second, he stares at the ground before he meets your gaze, dropping his hands.

"And... now?"

Fuck. Right. Cards on the table, you guess.

"Like," You don't know where to put your hands now. They drop off your face and hang loosely at your side. "I told you, I hadn't really, like, thought about it — but we were in there and it just wasn't that different!"

It's a heavy effort to keep yourself looking at Steve. There's no decoding the expression on his face, not when you're already frantically trying to unscramble your own feelings.

"If we did actually, yanno—" You stumble over the words, a fierce and bumbling heat flaming your face. "—date and be—I don't know—boyfriend and girlfriend, like, I guess what would actually change? And now I think we've just been one step removed from dating this whole time!"

Steve takes an almost quivering breath in and takes a step forward, bringing you both closer. He asks the million-dollar question.

"Would you... want that?"

"I," You flex your hands anxiously. "I don't think we can go back to the way things were." You say truthfully.

Something crestfallen ripples across Steve's face. It's hidden away in the next second. You gulp involuntarily. You feel so nervous you can feel it's fizzing inside you, bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink.

But more than that, it feels like you're balancing on the precipice of something good. Like waiting for news on whether you get something you desperately want.

And there it is; the true revelation.

"And I don't think I want to."

The admittance hangs between you, strung out and tinged with your apprehension and Steve's disbelief. He stares at you, brown hair tousled and messy, pink lips parted in his surprise.

He's your best friend and he's been waiting all this time. Holding the torch quietly, the flame flickering low sometimes, but always burning, always for you.

How the hell did you miss it?

"You..." He croaks. He reaches up and tugs at his tie as if it's suddenly too tight around his neck. "You mean that? You'd want to, like, date me?"

What you really want is to kiss him again. To chase away the tender look of disbelief in his eyes with a passionate press of your mouth against his. But you won't kiss him without asking twice in one day.

"I would like to try," You say. It takes a lot of courage to not lose your nerve. You rock up onto the balls of your feet to let out some of the rampant nervous energy.

Steve clocks it, some part of his brain that knows you, and all your tells well, finally coming back online. You're as nervous as he is, and maybe just as unsure.

But you want to try.

That's about all Steve's ever wanted. A chance for more between you.

He closes the distance between you, his hands shifting up and sliding along your neck to cup your jaw. It's ticklish enough to make you shiver and Steve smiles at the motion. He draws your faces closer and you push up on your toes to reach properly, magnetically drawn in.

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

Your eyes scan his face and he does the same to yours, both of you drinking in the intimate closeness. This close, you can see the tiny quiver hidden in his lips.

Fondness percolates between you, sweeter than sunlight and softer than a daydream. You can't resist the smile that toys at your mouth. Steve smiles too.

You're excited.

His pupils are blown wider than usual, only a ring of hazel around them. It might be your new favourite colour.

"I imagined," Steve murmurs lowly, his eyes now trained on your lips. "Our first kiss would be more like this."

The kiss is different from the one in the hallway. There's no surprise in it, no hesitance — Steve cradles your face between his hands preciously and kisses you so fiercely you ache.

He kisses with painstaking reverence. With an unfaltering adoration. Steve kisses you as though he envies anything that's ever touched your lips.

You grapple to find purchase on his suit jacket, your fingers curling around the material and pulling him closer without breaking the kiss. Steve hums into your mouth, his nose pressing against yours. You're both trying to pull each other closer.

"That was-" You breath heavily against his mouth as the kiss breaks. Your eyes open. Steve's gazing at you through his lashes, honey-eyes doting.

"You-" You try again, realising you haven't finished your sentence. You can barely get a word out, a relentless grin overtaking your lips. "I mean—you thought it- like that?"

"I hoped." Steve whispers. He's grinning too, not yielding any of the nearness between you. His thumbs on your jaw swatch softly across your skin.

God, he'll undo you entirely. This newness, this intimacy, it's ruining you. You capture your bottom lip with your teeth and bite it meanly to try to contain your grin.

"So, like, you wanna try? For real?" You say, matching his whisper. Speaking too loud feels like it breaks the moment—and you want to savour it as long as you can.

You can't even imagine how Steve must be feeling, waiting all those years. You take your feelings and multiple them tenfold. It's dizzying. It only endears you even more.

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

Steve's eyes crinkle in happiness as he scrunches them closed for a moment. His nose scrunches a little too at the motion. He takes a deep inhale and opens his eyes.

"Dating, boyfriend girlfriend, sweethearts, I don't care what you call it." He breathes. "Yes. Yes, to all of it."

Then he kisses you again, stealing the affection off your lips with an ardour that threatens to make your knees weak.

You kiss and kiss until you and Steve are both smiling too much to properly continue.

Only a couple days ago he'd asked the same question you had asked him, except as a begged request to help his ruse. He's the only one you'd have said yes to, you know now, the only exception.

One can only wonder how the two of you would have carried on if you had said no — never gone along with his frankly ridiculous plan, never showed up on his arm to fool an event full of people, never kissed him just to piss off his brother.

Never known the true depths of affection Steve held for you.

As you crowd in closer — your lips skimming across his gently, hearing the hitch in Steve's breath before you kiss him once more— you're thankful you'll never really know.

taggin some peeps below! @illyrianbitch @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @spideystevie @djotime

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

just ppl that either expressed interest in the preview or i thought would enjoy! <3 i don't know what possessed me to pick this draft up and straight up like double the word count and finish it in one day but whew,,, i enjoyed that sm

#if u think this has nick & jess energy from new girl you would be correct; i took insp from their first kiss hehe #heavy inspo tehe #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #best friends to lovers #fake dating #getting together #ruby writes steve #I HAD SO MUCH FUN I HOPE IT DOESNT FLOP #also yessss i did reuse a line from a different fic in this one no one point it out pleek

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gdinthehouseee · 3 months ago

Text

Neon Secrets - Part 1: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: ji-yong catches you getting in your own head so he decides to shake things up and bring you along for a much needed late-night drive

word count: 5180

tags: fluff, denial, idiots in love - everyone can see it but them type stuff

ao3 link -- part 2

All was silent in the rooftop practice room, save for the soft scratching of a charcoal pencil against paper. You sat curled up on the couch near the window, your notebook balanced on your knee, fingers gripping the pencil tightly. But the page in front of you remained mostly blank—just a few scratched-out lines and half-finished rhymes that didn’t feel right.

Sleep couldn’t seem to get a hold of you tonight—your mind raced with the same thoughts, replaying them over and over until they became a blur of frustration. You stared at the clock, wishing for a few hours of peace, but the ticking echoed in your ears, only adding to your agitation.

The quiet hum of the building surrounded you, but inside your mind, chaos churned. The notebook’s blank pages mocking your every attempt to find the right words. Your thoughts were too scattered—too many ideas, too many emotions—but none of them seemed to come together. The pressure to create something meaningful weighed heavily on you, and the longer you sat there, the more frustrated you became. Naturally. You hated this feeling of being stuck, of not being able to tap into the creative flow that usually came so naturally. You had written countless lyrics before, but tonight, nothing felt right. Every word you jotted down felt forced, out of place, as if the inspiration you once had was slipping away. The longer you tried, the more you doubted yourself. What if you were losing your touch? What if your career was over before it truly had time to blossom?

"You look miserable."

You jumped slightly at the voice, snapping your head toward the doorway. Ji-yong leaned against the frame, his arms crossed and his dark eyes almost staring into your soul.

Your heart pounded, and not just because he’d startled you. "Keep your voice down," you hissed and motioned for him to come in, glancing toward the hallway. "People are sleeping."

He scoffed but lowered his voice as he stepped inside. "Relax, it’s just us up here. Unless you think someone’s hiding in the storage closet, waiting to snitch on you."

As much as you rolled your eyes, there was nothing you could do to hide the subtle smile forming on your lips. Hoping he didn’t see, you elected to return your gaze to the notebook. "What do you want?"

Ji-yong flopped onto the couch behind you. "To rescue you from whatever creative hell you’re stuck in." He glanced at the page over your shoulder, tilting his head. "Writer’s block?"

A long sigh escaped your throat. "More like ‘everything I write sounds terrible.’ I should just go to bed and try again tomorrow, but I can’t even do that for whatever reason, so I’m just kinda… stuck here, I guess.”

He was quiet for a second before drumming his fingers against the couch. "Or…"

"Or?"

"We sneak out."

You stiffened for a second, before turning around to face him. Only to realise he had leaned closer towards you.

"You’re insane. You know everyone is asleep in the next room, right? And most of the staff? One wrong move and—"

Ji-yong held up his hands in mock surrender. "I get it, I get it. But that’s what makes it fun." A playful smile tugged on his lips. "Come on. You’re stuck, I’m bored, and the walls in this place are suffocating right now. Let’s get some air."

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. This was stupid. Reckless. If anyone saw you, rumours would spread like wildfire. But at the same time… the idea of slipping away, of leaving all the pressure behind, if only for a little while—

"Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you." You quickly stood up, moving towards the door. You didn’t even bother closing the notebook or tucking the chair back under the desk. A dangerous move.

Ji-yong grinned even wider than before, already on his feet. "Deal."

He reached the door before you could, grabbed the handle and opened it for you to walk through, his typical mischievous grin never leaving his face. “Ladies first.”

“Such a gentleman.” You quipped and walked through, not after checking the hallway first of course.

And just like that, the two of you were sneaking through the hallways, hearts racing with every quiet step.

The tension in the air was palpable as the two of you stood in the hallway, the soft sounds of your footsteps echoing against the polished floor. Ji-yong’s eyes were gleaming with excitement.

"You sure you're up for this?" He whispered, glancing around as if expecting someone to appear out of nowhere.

You hesitated, your gaze flicking nervously to the security cameras overhead. The building was still buzzing with activity, but most of the staff would be asleep by now. Still, the thought of getting caught was enough to make your heart race. "This is risky," you muttered, trying to stay calm. "If we get caught, we're in trouble."

He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing against hers as he took a step closer. "That's what makes it fun," he said with a wink. You’d be lying if you didn’t find it attractive. Unfortunately for you, he was incredibly charming.

"Come on, I know the way."

The two of you moved quickly but quietly, sticking close to the walls to avoid being seen. The dim lighting in the hallways made it harder to spot you both, and every sound seemed amplified as you tiptoed past the security desk. The guard was hunched over, lost in the glow of his phone screen, completely unaware of the two figures sneaking past. Your pulse quickened as you tried to cover up your breathing as much as you could, but Ji-yong kept a steady pace, signalling you to stay low as you made your way toward the exit.

As you neared the door, Ji-yong reached for the handle, his hand steady despite the adrenaline coursing through them. He glanced at you one last time, a playful smile tugging at his lips once more. "Ready?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, biting back a grin. "Just don’t get us caught."

“You know I won’t.”

With one final look around, he pushed the door open, and you slipped into the cool night air, your hearts still racing but filled with the thrill of your daring escape. The moment you had stepped through the exit and carefully closed the door behind you, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a sprint toward the car parked just down the street. The night air was crisp against the mostly bare skin of your arms and legs, the sound of your hurried footsteps filled the silence. Neither of you spoke—just the occasional glance over your shoulders to truly make sure no one had followed, accidentally making eye contact here and there.

Ji-yong reached the car first, fumbling with his keys as he yanked the door open. “Hurry,” he hissed, motioning for you to get in. You certainly didn’t need to be told twice. You practically dove into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind you just as he did the same on his side. For a moment, you both sat there, frozen, chests rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. The street outside was quiet, undisturbed. You made it.

And then, as if on cue, you turned to each other, eyes wide with the weight of what you had just pulled off.

Silence.

Then—laughter.

It started as a breathless chuckle from Ji-yong, but the absurdity of the situation caught up with both of you, and soon enough, you were doubled over, shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter. You pressed an ice-cold hand to your burning face, gasping for air between giggles. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

He leaned back against the headrest, grinning as he ran a hand through his hair. “I know, right? That was way too close.” He turned to look at you again, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You looked so scared back there.”

“Excuse me?” You began, “I was being cautious. Someone has to be the responsible one here.”

“And yet, here you are, sneaking out in the middle of the night with me.”

You rolled your eyes but, once again, couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips and the blood rushing to your cheeks. The adrenaline still buzzed in your veins, mixing with the warmth of the moment. Ji-yong shifted in his seat, tilting his head slightly as he studied you for a moment. His laughter had faded, but his expression softened, something unreadable flickering across his face before briefly looking away.

The laughter had faded, but the buzz of excitement still lingered in the air. He tapped his fingers absent-mindedly against the steering wheel. “So,” he said, glancing over at you. “Where to? Or was the plan just to run away with nowhere to go?”

You hummed, thinking for a moment, leaning back in your seat as you gazed out the window. “Honestly? I didn’t think we’d make it this far.”

That made him chuckle. “Wow. Such faith in us.”

“I’m just saying, the odds weren’t exactly in our favour. But I guess you do have a way of getting people to do reckless things.”

“People?”

“Me. Specifically me.” You laughed.

His grin never left his face as he started the car, the soft rumble filling the quiet space. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights flickering outside the windows, casting moving shadows across your faces. The world beyond the car felt distant, like a dream you were slipping through unnoticed. It was rare—to have a moment like this, away from expectations, away from the prying eyes of fans, staff, and friends alike.

Ji-yong snuck a glance at you when you weren’t looking. You were tracing patterns on your arm, brows slightly furrowed in thought. He wondered what was on your mind. He wondered if you had any idea how often he caught himself watching you like this—memorizing the way your eyes softened when you were deep in thought, the way you pressed your lips together when you were frustrated.

And if you knew, what would you think about the way Seunghyun, Taeyang, and Daesung teased him for it?

Ji-yong could still hear them now—Taeyang shaking his head with an amused smirk, Daesung’s knowing glances, and Seunghyun’s relentless, dramatic sighs. Just confess already, you’re embarrassing yourself. They never let him live it down, always pointing out the way his attention lingered a little too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way he always found an excuse to be around you. And as much as he brushed them off, he knew they weren’t wrong. The thought made his ears burn.

It had started one evening in the studio. Ji-yong had been half-listening to a new beat, scrolling through his phone when Seunghyun leaned over his shoulder with a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“Hyung,” Ji-yong muttered without looking up, already knowing what was coming.

“What is this?” Seunghyun said dramatically, tapping the screen of Ji-yong’s phone. “You’re literally smiling at your messages right now. Are you in high school?”

Ji-yong scoffed and pulled his phone away, locking it. “Mind your business.”

Daesung, sprawled out on the couch, grinned. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Taeyang let out a knowing chuckle from his spot near the desk, looking up from his own phone. “It’s always her.”

Seunghyun wasn’t letting this go. He leaned in closer, studying Ji-yong’s face. “Look at him. He’s already getting defensive. Next, he’s gonna say she’s just a friend—”

“But she is just a friend,” Ji-yong cut in quickly. Too quickly.

The room went silent for about half a second before all three of them burst out laughing.

“Ohhh, this is bad,” Taeyang teased, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen Ji-yong lie so poorly in my life.”

Daesung grinned, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Bro, you don’t even talk about your crushes, but you think we haven’t noticed how different you act around her?”

“Different how?” Ji-yong challenged, crossing his arms.

“You get all… soft.”

Ji-yong rolled his eyes. “I do not get soft.”

“You do,” Taeyang confirmed. “Like earlier today, when she came by to drop off something for the manager? You barely spoke, but the second she left, you smiled to yourself like some lovesick teenager.”

“I—” Ji-yong stopped, trying to come up with a defence, but all three of them were already grinning at him. Busted.

Seunghyun clapped him on the back with a knowing look. “You’re screwed, bro.”

Ji-yong swallowed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. No. That was the last thing he needed. If you ever heard them talk like that, would you laugh? Would you tease him too? Or worse—would you start noticing the way he looked at you? The way he felt? And, as a result, would you distance yourself from him?

He had never planned for this—to care this much.

At first, it had been simple: late-night studio sessions, teasing exchanges, fleeting moments that he told himself meant nothing. But then he started noticing the way you made the air feel lighter, the way being around you felt like a break from the noise of everything else. And now, sitting here with you, watching the city pass by in the glow of streetlights, he realized he had been in trouble for a while.

Eventually, he spoke, his voice quieter than before. “So… what were you writing earlier?”

“A whole lot of nothing. Or… trying to write something, but nothing came out right.”

He glanced at her. “Typical writer’s block.”

“Feels more like an identity crisis,” you muttered, half-joking. “I don’t know. I just kept overthinking everything. Like… what if I don’t have anything meaningful to say anymore?”

He frowned at that, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel. “That’s not true. You always have something to say.”

You let out a small laugh, though there wasn’t much humour in it. “You sound so sure.”

“Because I am,” he said, glancing at you again before turning back to the road. “You’re one of the most passionate people I know. Even when you don’t say anything, you’re thinking—feeling. That’s what makes you good.” His voice was steady, sure. “You just don’t see yourself the way I do.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words.

He must have realized what he said, because his fingers drummed nervously against the wheel, and he cleared his throat. “I mean—uh, the way people who know you do.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, watching as he kept his eyes firmly on the road, as if avoiding your gaze would erase what had just slipped out. A warmth bloomed in your chest.

“Ji-yong.”

He shook his head quickly, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you just figured something out.”

You tilted her head slightly, as if considering. “Maybe I did.”

He groaned, quickly running a hand through his hair. “This is why I don’t say things.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, but there was no denying the way your heart was now racing for an entirely different reason. Trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, you decided to change the subject when you realised he hadn’t explained why he was awake when he found you.

“Y’know, you never said why you were up so late.”

Ji-yong blinked, as if caught off guard. “Ah… I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why? Is your reason dumber than mine?”

“No, just…” He hesitated before sighing. “Not that interesting.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

He hesitated again, longer this time, before answering. “Because my brain is a pain in the ass.”

That made you pause. “What do you mean?”

He let out a short, quiet laugh, but there was no humour in it. “I think too much. About everything. I’ll be exhausted, lying in bed, and suddenly my brain decides it’s time to overanalyse every stupid thing I’ve ever said, every choice I’ve ever made, every possible way I could screw something up.” He exhaled sharply. “It’s like I can never just… be.”

“You mean like anxiety?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s not like I panic, I just—” He sighed, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “I second-guess myself a lot. Get stuck in my own head. It’s frustrating because I know it’s dumb, but I can’t turn it off.”

Something about the way he said it—the exhaustion behind his words—made your chest tighten.

“Why didn’t you just say this earlier?” you asked softly. The car came to a stop as you reached a red light.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because I didn’t want to make it about me. You already seemed frustrated.”

“That’s stupid,” you said without thinking.

Ji-yong finally turned to you, caught between amusement and exasperation. “Excuse me?”

“You do it all the time,” you said, shaking your head. “You act like you have to be the one keeping everyone else together, but who’s doing that for you?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he hadn’t expected the question. His fingers drummed idly on the wheel, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then, in a voice quieter than before, he said:

“You.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Ji-yong let out a small, almost self-deprecating laugh. “You don’t even realize it, do you?”

You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of the way the air in the car felt different—thicker, heavier. “Realize what?”

He glanced at you again, something unreadable in his gaze. He looked like he wanted to say something else, something more, but instead, he just shook his head with a small smile. The traffic light finally turned green and he continued driving.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

But you wouldn’t forget. Not now. Not when the weight of his words settled deep into your chest, shifting something inside you that you weren’t sure you were ready to face yet. And judging by the way Ji-yong gripped the wheel like his life depended on it, staring straight ahead, neither was he.

At some point, the heavy weight of the conversation had lifted, giving way to laughter and much lighter topics. The city stretched out around you, a blur of neon signs and empty streets as Ji-yong drove aimlessly, neither of you wanting to break the spell of the night just yet.

The two of you talked about ridiculous things—the worst stage outfits you’d ever worn, the most embarrassing moments caught on camera, the weirdest fan gifts he had ever received. He nearly swerved when he burst out laughing at your dramatic re-enactment of a failed dance move during rehearsal, and you doubled over when he confessed to once getting trapped in a bathroom before a concert and having to be rescued by the rest of the guys and a few staff members.

The car was filled with easy conversation, the kind that only came when time didn’t seem to matter. But time did matter. And neither of you realized just how much until Ji-yong absently checked the dashboard clock.

“Shit.”

“What?” You turned to him, still grinning from your last joke.

He gestured toward the clock. 4:32 AM.

Your stomach dropped. “No way.”

He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “We are so screwed.”

It took a second for the panic to fully settle in, but when it did, it was instant. You sat up straight, suddenly wide awake. “We have to get back now.”

He was already turning the car around, the easy-going vibe of the night replaced with frantic energy. “We better pray no one’s up yet.”

Your heart pounded as you mentally mapped out the best way to sneak back in, every possibility of getting caught flashing through your head. Staff members were early risers, and some of your groupmates tended to wake up for morning workouts. If even one person saw you—

“We can’t go through the front,” you said quickly. “There’s a security camera right at the entrance.”

Ji-yong nodded. “Back door. Less cameras, but we have to be fast.”

You could already imagine the absolute chaos if either of your groups or, worse, the company found out about this. You and Ji-yong locked eyes, truly realizing at the same time just how risky this had been.

Then, for some reason—maybe from sheer exhaustion, maybe from the ridiculousness of the situation—you both started laughing. Quiet at first, then full-on, uncontrollable laughter just like at the very beginning of this little side quest.

“This is so bad,” he shook his head.

You wiped the happy tears that were forming in your eyes. “If we survive this, we’re never doing this again.”

That was a lie. You both knew it.

And as the car sped through the empty streets, the first hints of morning light creeping onto the horizon, you knew this night—this feeling—was one neither of you would forget. By the time you had pulled into the parking lot, the sky had started to shift from deep navy to the softest hints of morning blue. Every second that passed made the risk of getting caught even worse.

You both moved quickly, slipping out of the car and sticking to the shadows as you made your way to the back entrance of the building. He pulled open the door as quietly as possible, wincing at the soft creak of the hinges.

“Go, go, go,” you whispered, pushing him inside.

The hallway was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made every tiny sound feel deafening. You pressed your back against the wall, Ji-yong right next to you as you both listened for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

You exchanged a glance, and without a word, started moving.

The first challenge was the stairwell—safer than the elevators, but the risk of running into someone was still high. He went first, taking the steps two at a time, while you followed as quickly and quietly as possible. Every creak of the stairs made your pulse spike.

Halfway up, you heard a noise—a distant door closing somewhere above you. You both froze.

Ji-yong grabbed your wrist and pulled you down into a crouch against the railing, barely breathing. You squeezed your eyes shut, silently praying whoever it was wasn’t coming down the stairs. The footsteps paused, then faded away in the opposite direction.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Ji-yong turned to you, eyes wide. “That was too close,” he mouthed.

You nodded frantically, your heart still hammering.

The two of you moved again, finally reaching your floor. Ji-yong peeked down the hallway before gesturing for you to follow. Your dorms were now just a few doors away, and you could practically feel freedom within reach.

You made it to the door first, pressing a hand against it for stability as you exhaled. Ji-yong stopped next to you, running a hand through his hair, a tired but exhilarated grin tugging at his lips.

“We actually made it,” you whispered.

He smirked. ��You doubted me?”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, Ji-yong opened the door. As you stepped inside, you immediately realized you weren’t alone. The familiar voices of Taeyang and Daesung were already drifting through the room, and the instant you both walked in, the entire space fell silent.

The kitchen lights flickered overhead as you and Ji-yong froze. There, sitting casually in the lounge area, were the familiar faces of your group and his—Seunghyun leaning against the counter, a couple girls from your own group scattered around the couches, and Daesung and Taeyang, clearly wide awake.

You couldn’t even hide. You hadn’t even stepped inside before they all turned toward you.

“Well, well, well…” Taeyang’s voice rang through the silence, a grin tugging at his lips. “Look who decided to join us at five in the morning.”

Ji-yong cleared his throat, taking a step back, trying to play it cool, but his eyes flicked toward you, silently pleading for a way out. “We… just went for a walk.”

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow from where he stood, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A walk?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but you couldn’t find any words. The guilt, the tension, the fact that everyone was wide awake and clearly waiting for you two to walk in made it impossible to lie.

“You two are really bad at hiding,” Daesung chuckled from his seat on the couch. “Did you think no one would notice?”

Ji-yong rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, giving you a small, apologetic smile. “We didn’t exactly plan on getting caught.”

“Oh, but you were planning on sneaking in here, right?” One of the girls from your group smirked from the kitchen counter. “Because it’s not like we’re all waiting in here for you to walk in.”

Taeyang folded his arms, shaking his head with a chuckle. “You really thought you could just walk in and slip by us, huh?”

You let out a long sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that there was no escape now. “I guess we’re busted.”

Ji-yong leaned against the doorframe, shrugging with a small smile. “Guess so.”

Seunghyun leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he studied you both. “So, what exactly were you two talking about?”

You froze, unsure of how to answer. Ji-yong shifted next to you, glancing down at his shoes nervously.

“Oh, you know,” he said with an awkward chuckle, “just random stuff.”

Seunghyun snorted, clearly not buying it. “Random stuff, huh?” He shot you a look that you could read too easily. “I’m sure it was really random.”

“I bet it was super interesting,” Taeyang added with a raised eyebrow. “Just you two, talking the whole night away. So what was the real topic of conversation?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you avoided their gazes. “Nothing important,” you muttered, hoping to avoid the topic.

Seunghyun grinned from his spot, clearly enjoying every second. “Oh, we know it wasn’t nothing important.” He exchanged a knowing glance with Daesung, and the teasing only grew stronger. “In fact, I’d say it was pretty obvious.”

Taeyang tilted his head, glancing at Ji-yong with a knowing smirk. “Yeah, because you two are definitely good at hiding it.”

“Hiding what?” You shot back, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice faltered slightly.

Ji-yong quickly cleared his throat, standing up straighter. “We’re just really good friends,” he insisted, his voice a little sharper than before, as if to convince not just them but himself too. He gave a small, forced smile. “Nothing more than that.”

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Mm-hmm. Just friends? Sure.”

“Not this again,” Daesung laughed mostly to himself. Again? What did he mean by again?

“You guys are ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, trying to downplay the awkward tension growing between you and Ji-yong.

“Well, we’re not the only ones who think it’s pretty clear,” one of the girls from your group said with a knowing grin. “But if you insist…”

Ji-yong rubbed the back of his neck again, his smile faltering. “I mean it. We’re just friends. It’s not that deep.”

Seunghyun looked at you both for a long moment, still not convinced. “Sure, Ji-yong. You’re just friends,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “But I’m telling you, it’s pretty obvious to all of us.”

“You’re really good at pretending,” Taeyang said, eyes twinkling with amusement.

You quickly changed the subject, desperate to get away from this conversation. “Well, we didn’t exactly plan on getting caught by everyone in the kitchen.”

“I mean, it’s not like you tried very hard to hide it,” Daesung said, unable to keep his chuckle to himself. “You two always look like you’re in your own little world.”

Ji-yong sighed, a bit of frustration leaking into his voice. “Can we not make this a thing?” He shot a glance at you, but you weren’t sure what he was thinking—was he upset with the teasing, or was he frustrated about something else?

Seunghyun raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Alright, alright, we’ll drop it for now. But you know we’re not buying the ‘just friends’ act.”

You quickly turned toward your room, eager to escape the conversation. “Guess we’ll work on pretending better next time.”

Ji-yong followed suit, offering a quiet laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll do better,” he said, his voice lacking his usual confidence.

As you slipped into your room, heart still racing from the teasing, you exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling lingering in your chest. It was ridiculous, really. Ji-yong was Ji-yong. One of the most sought-after idols in the industry, effortlessly charismatic, always surrounded by people who adored him. There was no way he’d look at you like that. You were just his friend—one of the few people he could relax around without the weight of expectations. And maybe that was why it stung a little. Because no matter how much your heart stuttered when he looked at you, you were certain he didn’t see you the same way.

Ji-yong barely mumbled, just out of earshot from you, before slipping into his own room, shutting the door behind him a little too quickly. He let out a quiet breath, leaning against it for a moment, rubbing his face with both hands. Why did it bother him so much? The way the others teased, the way they all acted like something between you two was so obvious. Maybe to them, it was. But to Ji-yong, it wasn’t even a possibility. You had never once looked at him like that, not in the way he caught himself looking at you. And why would you?

He sighed, pushing off the door and running a hand through his hair before collapsing onto his bed. You deserve someone better—someone who wasn’t always stuck in his own head, someone who wouldn’t second-guess everything the way he did. Someone who wasn’t him.

And so, just like every other night where his thoughts threatened to betray him, he shut them down before they could get any further. Because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that whatever he felt for you… it wasn’t something you’d ever return. If only he knew this is exactly what you were thinking about him, just on the other side of the wall. So close yet so far.

But that would be the least of both of your problems when you finally found out that a video of you and Ji-yong, with your hands intertwined, running to the car had gone viral.

taglist (lmk if you'd like to be added!!):

@thanosscross

#kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #kwon jiyong #gdragon #choi seunghyun #daesung #taeyang #fluff #kpop #yg entertainment #late night drives #sneaking out #denial of feelings #bigbang #top bigbang #bigbang x reader #writers on tumblr #ao3 writer #artists on tumblr

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caladriusposts · 3 months ago

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people in my dr ! Pt.1

⋆｡°Ochako Uraraka (from someone who’s both her best friend and affiliated with her romantically)

⭑.ᐟ her cheeks and knuckles are naturally blushed giving her such a soft look especially with her brown eyes (they’re hazelnut brown with hazel highlights btw). you can she's blushing when her nose,ears and neck flush too and something I noticed that under her eyes also gets red and it makes it look like she's crying got so worried the first time that happened especially when she started floating away THE WINDOW WAS OPEN AND SHE ALMOST FLOATED OUT OF IT.

⭑.ᐟher hair floats and it looks like she has horns when she’s bashful it’s SO SO ADORABLE she always tries to tame it but ends up ruffling it and its even a bigger mess.when her hair got longer her ends started to curl up and some even started making heart shapes i was WEAK seeing that (and figured i had to stop her from floating out another window)

It mostly happens when she’s confessing something or says something without thinking and she realizes what she said it’s fun to wait until she covers her mouth and hides her face in her hands its soo ♡ she looks like a chipmunk

⭑.ᐟ Has a closed eyed smile and jumps a little when she gets what she wants/wins the argument AND DONT GET ME STARTED AT HOW SWEET SHE IS WHEN SHE GETS HER FAVORITE FOOD literally perks up and her eyes visibly shine .

Sometimes when she gets too happy she grips my shoulders and shakes me and starts jumping. learned the only was to stop is by jumping with her in circles but she has a tendency to step on people's feet HELP

⭑.ᐟ when she drops stuff when her quirk she puffs her cheeks or purses her lips making a fish like sound, or more like a bubble?? i cant explain it well but its so cute and sometimes she goes "bonk" but it sounds more of a "bawn" cause its in one go / a mutter her breath

She also separates her hands slowly when saying it i really hope you guys are getting the vision cause it's such a quirk of hers,she says "boom" if she's teamed up with Kats cause they have this move where she floats stuff,drops them and before they hit the ground he uses his quirk

⭑.ᐟ Her favorite hobby is jumping on me whenever i am doing something and calling me a wuss if i drop us,so far i slammed into a table,my desk,the fridge and broke houndog's mug.all this trouble cause she likes how my wings wrap themselves around her in panic (besides her loving to keep me on my toes) SHE COULD JUST ASK BUT NOOO

She gotta accept that I am old and can't keep up with that my shoulder is screaming from how heavy her boots are (whatever my girl wants she gets)

⭑.ᐟ one time she was staring and playing around with my fangs and poked herself when she pressed her thumb against them then blamed me for it,i tried to bite her finger forreal after that but i got launched off the couch.SHE'S SO MEAN.

she also pushes my cheeks together when i say something dumb or lightly taps my face twice then squeezes while looking so disappointed,I tried to flip her when she did that once but l ended up pinned down again WHEN WILL I GET MY JUSTICE MY FACE ALWAYS HURTS AFTER HER PINCHES

⭑.ᐟ she has naturally dark eyelashes looks like she has mascara on besides her lower lashes have a brownish tint ITS SO CUTE AND HER BEOWN EYELINER FOR WORK MAKES HER LOOK SO AUGHHH IT FITS HER SM

⭑.ᐟ Her chubby cheeks give her such a baby face. her and izuku have such squeezable faces i genuinely get cuteness aggression if i stared at them too long i bit their cheeks far too many times.

As doe faced as both of them are it goes out of the window when they're on the field i swear they age she has such a different vibe when we're on missions and she's so smart and such a quirk thinker we worked together on rescue missions for years i am sad I wont have any with her anymore since I stopped on field work but at least we have shared classes together that's smth fixed.

⭑.ᐟ one time she ran up to me after a mission for a hug and we fell off the stairs from the impact of her jump but she used her quirk last minute and it made me feel funny it felt like i was on a trampoline I was giggling that's one of my favorite stunts of hers

She's not always a hugger but when she is good luck getting out of her grip i feel like my ribs get squeezed .

⏦ﾟ♡︎

- Post graduation crumbs

can pick both me and izuku which kinda freaks me out cause IZUKU IS SO FUCKING HEAVY AND SHE CAN PICK HIM UP ON HER SHOULDER?? WHILE HAVING ME IN HER ARMS SO CASUALLY.its so attractive but oh myy.

⭑.ᐟ

one time I saw her dragging katsuki by the collar with his gear and grenades on (while holding her bag in the other arm btw) when i was walking out of my office, weirdly enough that became normal occurrence really quickly and he gave up resisting LMAO

⭑.ᐟ

Randomly seen carrying around stuff esp if one of her/our shared classes have rescue training,one time she had a brick??i didnt even wanna ask.

another it was the comically large fish net momo made to catch me back in first year training with shoto AND SHE ACTUALLY RAN AFTER ME WITH IT CAUSE APPARENTLY THE STUDENTS SHOULD EXPECT ANYTHING AND THAT COUNTS THEIR TEACHER GETTING CHASED WITH A FISH NET.the whole thing was me and the poor poor kids trying not to get caught in the net and FLOATED AWAY INTO A BOX with another class trying to save us (she caught all 40 students and me (T ^ T).

⭑.ᐟ

talking about how she just walks around with stuff and people one time we saw her carrying a student WITH THEIR DESK to nezu’s office since they didn’t wanna get up thinking she’ll let whatever they did slide😭they looked so dumbfounded and mouthed a help me but not my student not my business,I am sorry I wouldn’t even try to reason with her in this situation.

⭑.ᐟ

Used to make flower crows as a kid and she taught me how cause i forgot and grew up with a certain someone eating flowers (katsuki),whenever i fell asleep in the park i woke up to flowers in my hair and a shit ton of pictures our friends took but one time i woke up to denki helping her and putting one in my mouth I WAS SO MAD CAUSE WHAT IF I SWALLOWED THAT.

fast forward a few years and whenever i fell asleep on my desk at work i wake up with a flower in my hair,a daisy most of times :) and a semi scolding note saying imma look like a shrimp at the end of the year if I don't stop sitting like one shrimp at the end of the year if I don't stop sitting like one.(・・?)

────୨ৎ──── ⊹₊⟡⋆

Style and preferences !

_This is so random but she's really into freckles and beauty marks,she pokes and counts mine regularly (my three beauty marks that look like a triangle and the one on my knuckle specifically) and found it amusing how izuku's ears were also freckled it's one of her favorite features on us,heh

────୨ৎ──── ⊹₊⟡⋆

⭑.ᐟ fruit scents over floral although she has more floral perfumes and body splashes saying it’s more mature/formal for work and events,her favorite scents are mango,strawberry and peach though.

then it turned to her separating the stuff she likes from work and getting fruity perfumes as a way to unwind and use at home (i suggested that after finding 20 plus bottles of stuff she doesn't even like )

⭑.ᐟ takes picking the ones she gets for work so seriously and love narrowing down options but one time she sprayed the tested in my eye.after the third "MY EYE" she told me to hurry up and asked if it smells good or not before it goes out of stock,isn't she just dreamy <3

⭑.ᐟ A turtle neck HATES to see her and the todoroki's coming,ocha and todo have accidentally matched a few times and she looks so good every time.i was happy seeing her wear that in the epilogue.

she also likes wearing boots i thought it was her being used to her hero costume but its more of a fashion statement,she said that her kicks hurt harder with them and that was..! yeah i didn't walk infront of her for a while.she likes gloves and arm/leg warmers too she has a pair of leg warmers that have her agency logo dangling from them (≧∀≦)

⭑.ᐟ loves sweetheart dresses and wearing bows and hair bands to match,especially flower based ones i was reeling when i found out she likes flowers cause i am a floral nerd and kept matching the flower based stuff i got her based on the occasion.we matched in graduation with rea, maru lilly and akemi <3 (two cr scripted friends if you guys are reading this hello i love you and one is an oc but its weird calling her that now)

⭑.ᐟ has a phone bracelet (i forgot its name) that me and katsuki made her cause when she smiles while texting ans taps the phone with her fingers unconsciously with her pinky.it has strawberry and a vanilla ice cream with sprinkles charm

────୨ৎ──── ⊹₊⟡⋆

Bonus ᝰ.ᐟ

I LOVE how her mind works she's my inspo for the world building in my fantasy dr when it comes to some stuff, and scenarios l want to happen.

I remember how she had a whole plot of how everyone would end up getting to know to eachother and we had a path together its super duper cute and i cant wait to go on the silly adventures with her in my fantasy dr that she told me about that one time i couldn't sleep cause my wound hurt, think about that memory a lot it was nice and got my mind off what happened (T ^ T)

────୨ৎ──── ⊹₊⟡⋆

In the vigilante are her speech was a little different from canon cause of conductive events and she was looking straight at me at some part i felt like my heart was gonna burst,she was always nervous about public speaking i was (still am) so proud of her back then i sent seelie to nuzzle her cheek slightly when-she was still holding the microphone and she just smiled at me and I smiled back slightly. It was one on those moments where I got the saving people with a smile thing that I never took the class seriously when it came to, watching her grow and have her own identity of heroism was such a surreal experience and i am so grateful to be close to someone as genuine as ochako be being there when she recognized that she genuinely wants to save people would forever be on my mind cause i didn't really have a deep rooted reason for my heroism and i thought it would stay that way but she made me realize that i just needed time to figure it out,she just cares so much and that day made another part of her journey click to me l don't know she has a way of saying and doing things it's so her and she's so incredible

────୨ৎ──── ⊹₊⟡⋆ thank you so much for reading if you read all of this <3

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thesuperiorrobin · 1 year ago

Text

Damian Al Ghul was livid.

He leaves you on your own, after a month of convincing him that you’re fully capable of taking care of yourself with no help from his men, and now he’s starting to regret leaving you alone as he paces back and forth in his study, green and gold silk crumbling under his hold. Everything in the room is either pushed over or flipped. His hair is a mess from the amount of times he ran his fingers through it. His heart sank when he got a letter—a Ransom little from a long-time enemy of the Al Ghul family. They’ve taken you hostage and want something in return, and if he’s unable to meet the requirements then they’re sure your head will look pretty on their wall. The paper is ripped in shreds on the floor. The doors to his studies are slammed open and out he goes—jaw clenched and everybody fearing the dangerous aura that spills from him.

But you on the other hand hold no worries as you sit on the ground patently as you wait for your dear husband to rescue you. Locked up behind bars, Knees brought up to your chest—humming a soft tune as you feed a small mouse, that had caught your attention by squeaking at the very stale loaf of bread they have given you, you don’t hesitate, breaking it into pieces and give it to the poor starving animal. You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been taken, but you know it’s been more than a day. The silk on your body is torn out the bottom, and bits of dirt cling to it. You bring your hand down—palm up. And the dirty mouse climbs, settling down comfortably with bread in its hand. Legs are not straightened as you place your hand on your lap, holding the dear animal softly. A soft sigh escapes your lips, head falling back and up against the wall. “How much longer?”

You don’t know how much passes right after.

But you hear screams and gunshots.

Tried eyes bore onto the door that’s on the overside of the bars. The mouse starts to shake in your hands—you feel it as you try to calm it down by gently rubbing the top of its head with your finger. The gunshots and screams get louder—they’re getting closer and you feel your heartbeat quicken a bit.

The door is kicked open—and you jump. Green and gold catch your eyes and a smile forms on your lips. “Finally,” you say, pushing yourself up with your green hand. Damian holds a frown on his face and a worried expression. His katana is placed back in its hilt.

“I apologize for being so late—“

“Don’t apologize” you cut him off “I’m just glad you’re here”

He says nothing and hums, opening the gate that held you secure in place. His arm is outstretched to you—waiting patiently for you to grab it and you waste no time in doing so. The minute he feels your hand against his, he pulls you closer in a heartbeat. In his arms he left you up your feet in bridal position. A giggle erupts from your throat, oh how he missed that sound, and you shake your head. “I can walk Damian. I’m not hurt, I kicked their asses before they did anything” your hand is brought up to his cheek, cleaning any blood that was left behind on his skin. He leans into your soft touch as he makes his way out of the room.

“That’s my beautiful wife,” he says in a murmur that makes your heart throb.

“Enough sweet talking me, let’s hurry and head on home” You wrap your arm around his should “Me and Perla need a nice bath”

Damian takes a glance at you, eyebrow raised in confusion “Who’s Perla?” He questions.

And just as you were about to answer a soft squeak comes from his shoulder, and a white small mouse stands still. Your other hand is brought up and a finger rubs against the white fur.

“She’s our new pet!”

Adding the mouse was so random! 🎊

#damian al ghul #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian x reader #damian scenarios #damian all ghul scenario #damian wayne one shot

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celeste-clearwater-06 · 2 months ago

Text

The Kitchen Window (pt. 5)

Bayverse! Raphael x Fem! Reader

desc- (vannie's been missing for weeks. when her savior returns her in a broken state, it's your turn to do the rescuing)

warnings - angst, violence, themes of animal abuse, slight nsfw

word count - 3.9k

READ PREVIOUS PARTS HERE - one - two - three - four

It's hard to come to terms with the way you feel about Raphael. When he's not around you physically, he's taking up your every waking thought. It's just so abnormal, the way your paths had crossed and led you to a point where every little thing you do, is in thought of him. To a point where you lay awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking of him, and the nights you get to see him, you come up with almost every excuse to have him stay at your window just a little longer.

Why was this so, so difficult? It was a complicated thing, the situation at hand. It should feel freeing, and light. But with the circumstances of you being a human and Raph being, well… Raph, it's stressing you out. Not even the fear of rejection, but what might happen if he’s reciprocating the same feelings. Where do you even go from there?

Raph’s hard to read. You can see the emotions always conflicting on his face, but what he’s thinking is a whole other deal. Even though he’s friendly, he’s closed off. Talking about things that are bothering him just isn’t something he does.

On top of this dilemma comes another issue that’s been eating at your insides.

Vannie’s missing.

The first day, you think nothing of it.

It’s been a long day at work, and she doesn’t come to greet you at the sound of an opening door or the shake of her food bowl. Maybe she’s hiding somewhere, under the couch or your dresser. But you’re surprised to see she hasn’t curled up in your bed with you when you wake up the next morning. Vannie always does that. Something could’ve spooked her, but was it so bad that she would hide in fear all night? You can’t find the time to look for her rushing out the door to open up shop.

After another day, is when you really get concerned. You practically flip the apartment inside out searching for your cat, opening cabinets, upturning the little furniture you own. All the while calling her name and shaking one of her favorite toys to coax her out. She doesn’t come. This was really, really bad. Had you left the window open? Did she slip out of the door when you were leaving for work one morning?

After you’ve given up on looking through your home, you turn to the few neighbors you have, knocking on their doors. All of them pitifully shake their heads and tell you they haven’t seen her. Most of them didn’t even know you owned an animal.

It’s an empty, hopeless feeling that’s breaking your heart. She was the only thing you had to come to after a tireless day of work. Every day has dragged on meaninglessly. You’re slow to close the cafe each night, knowing Vannie won’t be perched on her cat tree in the corner of your living room while she waits for you to step inside.

When you go to hang a “missing pet” poster, it looks so insignificant in the sea of all the other pictures of lost dogs and cats that are plastered onto the light post. You spend each day tirelessly waiting at the kitchen window for your baby to come home.

One night, Mikey swings by. His usual friendly and excited smile wipes clean off his face when he sees your tired eyes, puffy and red from crying through the glass. You open it, wiping at the snot dripping from your nose.

“Woah, angel.” He’s leaning down and looking toward you with caution, “What’s wrong?”

“V-Vannie,” you have to swallow the frog in your throat to keep from sobbing all over again, “Vannie’s missing. I can’t find her anywhere.”

Empathy is swimming in his eyes.

“Aw dude,” Mikey grabs your hand from the window and gives it a comforting squeeze, “I’m sorry. Didya’ put up posters and stuff?”

You nod, and squeeze back, with a sniffle.

“Hung them up everywhere. She’s been gone for over a week. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll tell the bros if you want. We’ll look for her on patrol.”

You sigh, and give him a watery, weak smile.

“Thank you Mike. You’re the best.”

He winks.

“Anytime sweet cheeks,” he looks down at his phone, “I gotta get going, but don’t worry, We’ll find your kitty!”

Mikey blows you a kiss and scales your fire escape.

That night, it’s just a little bit easier trying to find rest. Bless those boys, always looking out for you. The next morning you receive a text from another unsaved number. You know it’s Raph.

[sorry to hear about van]

[i’ll find her for you]

You smile at your phone.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

A few more days slug along, before you see one of the brothers again.

It’s a night you’re supposed to be sleeping, with work the next morning. Instead, you’re laying on the couch, phone being the only light in the dark living room, and scrolling through the hundreds of pictures of your sweet kitty, through tear clouded eyes. A video of her playing with a hair tie in your empty bathtub pulls a sad little whimper from you. You miss Vannie so badly. It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve seen her, and it worries you what she’s been doing, if she’s hurt, or an unthinkable other outcome that you immediately shove out of your head and lock the door on anytime it crossed your mind. Life’s been full of interruptions lately. This next one shouldn’t be a shocker, but it is anyway.

Tick.

You almost miss the noise. A few seconds later, it comes again.

Tick-ting.

You turn to look at the window. Another small rock clicks against the glass and bounces off onto the fire escape, and it calls you to get up and investigate. By the time you get there, another pebble flies at you, and it makes you flinch. It comes down below from the dark alleyway. You open the window.

“Hello?”

Mrowr.

Your heart drops.

“Vannie?”

You see the huge figure of one of the turtles stepping forward, and in their outstretched hand, is your cat. Her grey fur is soaked with the rain that’s starting to trickle outside, one ear laid back in fear and confusion.

“Oh my god. Raph, you found her!” Like a fumbling idiot, you scramble over the sink and push yourself all the way out of the opening, feet landing lightly on the metal platform. The summer rain immediately hits your hair and skin. Raphael doesn’t move. Something feels off.

The way he holds her out into the light, keeping the rest of his body in the shadows. His labored breaths can barely be heard over water tinking off every surface it can reach.

“Raph? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Raph, come here.”

You watch him. He doesn’t want to, you can tell. The way he pauses and then staggers forward on a limp foot makes your eyes widen with concern. He grunts. Then you see the deep red stains that covers his outstretched arm.

“Holy shit.”

It’s hard to make out his face. Raph’s trying his best to hide it, leveraging the darkness, down where he’s swaying unsteadily.

“Raphael, what happened?”

He just gruff’s out in response, animalistic, and pained.

“Come up here. Please.”

He sighs. The lowering of his arm, with Vannie still clutched safely, indicated his surrender. He slinks forward under the fire escape, and you feel it wobble as he ascends it. It’s slow, interrupted with strained, deep breathing and huffs of discomfort. Your face contorts from that of uncertainty into dread. Suddenly, you’re not so worried about your lost cat anymore. Raphael steps onto the scaffolding with you. He loses his footing against the slick metal, and his bad leg gives out underneath him, falling to one of his knees. He yelps with a snarled lip, all the while, Vannie held safely against his chest.

“What the fuck.”

His arm isn’t the only thing nearly coated with blood. You can see it glinting in the faint light of your kitchen and moon peeking through thin clouds, spattered across the rest of his upper half, running from his nose, and down under his mask, being washed away by the rain. He’s got new, fresh cuts, almost white from how deep they go into his skin, and dark patches of skin that seem to be bruises.

“You-“ His voice is guttural and hoarse. He swallows thickly, “You ain’t gotta look at me like that.” Raphael spits a little blood from his mouth.

“What happened?”

He turns away, instead of answering your question. Vannie claws her way out of his hold and clambers into the window with record speed, desperate to get out of the rain.

“Cat did it.”

Even in this horrendous, battered up state, he has room for jokes. Idiot.

“I’m not kidding, Raph.” You take a step forward to better look at his injuries, gently grabbing his jaw and turning his head to look at you. You can’t tell if it’s the rain or tears collecting in his eyes.

“Come inside.”

Next thing you know, you’re guiding Raphel gently up the staircase to your floor, straining under his body weight while he leans against you for support. He stumbles through the door, tracking rain and dark red into the carpet. It’s the least of your worries right now. Raph trudges to the tile floor of your kitchenette, and slumps down to sit on his butt. It’s still dark in the space, but you can’t bring yourself to flick on the light, worried it’ll hurt his eyes, and even more focused on his countless injuries. You don’t even know where to start.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He continues his streak of silence, just looking down at the floor with an empty, tired glare, while you stand to go get a towel and clean wash-rags. The rain drones outside, getting heavier. You don’t speak to each other while you dry the rain from his skin, and then gently scrub away the blood with warm water. He allows you to clean him up without quarrel, if it means not having to tell you how he sustained such horrific injuries. You’re seated on your knees, between his legs on the floor, close enough to feel Raphael’s breath leaving his nose and cool your warm face, and catch the scent of warm summer rain and iron on his skin. He flinches when the rag dabs over one of the deep scratches above his collarbone.

“Sorry,” you look up to see his eyelids heavy, and brow scrunched in a painful expression, “It’s not gonna feel great.”

He knows, of course, and lets you continue tending to the wound with a hand that’s as gentle as it can be. It’s quiet, once again. The downpour is happy to fill its space.

Your hands softly graze over each bruise and welt that he’s gained. Each rag is soaked with lukewarm water and the rusted tint of blood, then tossed to the side to be replaced with a new one, until all of Raph’s verdian scales are clear and dry. You don’t have a fancy first-aid kit like Donnie’s. It’s a Tupperware container filled with different sized bandaids and a nearly expired tube of neosporin. It would have to do until his brother could get his nifty, medically inclined hands on him.

This is so intimate. Centimeters away from each other’s warm bodies, in the dark, while you reach to stick a bandage over a little slice on the side of his cheek. So close it feels like a dam is about to crumble into pieces. You have to speak to keep yourself from doing something stupid.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say, so quiet, it’s almost a whisper, “But-“

“They had her.”

You pull away to look into his eyes. They’re swimming with some intense emotion between anger and shame, a deep green glinting in the soft light.

“Who did?”

“I don’t know. Some douchebags,” he’s recounting the confrontation in his head, and looks down at his scratched knuckles, “They were tormentin the poor thing.”

Raph remembers ducking between a few alleys on his patrol that night. He’s climbing the side of an old warehouse where he usually sticks out, high above most of the city. The fifth floor is occupied with loud laughter and rap music that blares through the broken window. A bunch of men and women drinking and smoking, resting on old furniture and crates that had been left a long time ago. He thinks nothing of it, already trying to continue up the building, until he hears a yowl.

He doesn’t want to believe it’s Vannie, that they’re gathering around and dunking in a bucket of old mop water, but her missing ear and red collar around her neck confirm his worst fears. She’s trying to claw her water from their grip, but their numbers and strong tattooed arms overpower her, and they shove her under the surface again.

Raphael is filled with a blind rage that calls him to jump down through the window and threaten them with a loud voice. He recalls the overwhelming sinking feeling in his gut when their numbers grow even larger, jumping down from crates and out of dark corners of the huge room.

“They had a bunch a’ crowbars. Pocket knives. Shit like that.” He doesn’t want to look up at your face. He can already feel the despair setting in your features.

He was overpowered so quickly. Metal bats and steel toed shoes hitting his thick skin, blades cutting, while some of them held him down by his arms and sitting on the back of his shell, plastron pressed helplessly to the concrete floor. He cries out for his brothers, while the group of ruthless attackers steal his weapons and use them to barrade down on him. It was the thought of you crying for your cat that finally pulled him from the floor in a white-hot anger, throwing them off and falling backwards.

It was all a blur from there. Ruthless punches thrown and cracking against their faces. Just his bare, bandaged hands landing blows onto anyone and everyone that crossed his path. Raphael had practically blacked out. Nobody was getting away with it. Even the ones that tried to scramble away became a lost cause if he caught them in the corner of his eyes, dragging them by their legs and hauling them into piles of rotting wood and brick walls.

You watch as he shivers through the memory.

By the time Raphael is through with the assemblage of delinquents, he’s still pumping full of adrenaline and unfathomable rage, heaving out deep breaths with a bloody spittle collecting at the edges of his lips. All were lying unconscious or crying out in pain for their absent mothers, and any who got away were lucky enough to slink into the protective shade of the corners. The edges of his vision are still fuzzy. He can feel his racing heart in his head, and the trickle of blood down the sides of his face and arms. He’s not sure if most of it is, or theirs.

“I dunno if I killed any of em’. But I was so fuckin angry.”

Raph scoops up a cowering vannie from the bucket, then turns to her main assailant, trembling on the cold floor and cradling a (surely broken) wrist.

“You think you’re tough, huh?” He sneers down at the man, who has a blackened eye, “Hurtin’ a poor animal who did nothin to ya?”

Raph dumps the dirty contents of the bucket onto him, then kicks his side.

“You’re a worthless piece of shit, is what you are.”

Afterwards, he opts to take the stairs all the way down, limping on his bad leg, and make the trek to your apartment.

He’s pulled from his hateful trance, to look at where you’re staring up at him with watery eyes.

“You saved her.”

Raph seems surprised it’s all you have to say. Nothing about beating her captors to a pulp and leaving them for dead. A tear rolls down the side of your nose. His eyes widen with worry.

“You saved my baby, Raph.”

“I-I just,” he swallows thickly, “I know how important she is to ya,”

It’s amazing. The way the room is so dark and yet all of your senses are in tune with how every muscle moves under his thick skin. How he’s expected you to be overwhelmed with fear and push him away from you, with the worry that he’s this angry monster that he’s been hiding. Instead you’re thanking him. That means more to him than he could express. He hates the silence now, hates the way he’s so awkward and how he doesn’t know the right way to respond to your gratitude. He’s adjusting to lift himself off the ground.

“I gotta get back to-“ Raphael forgets about going back to the lair. He forgets his lame leg. All the cuts and bruises, and saving Vannie. You forget about the fear of rejection and what comes next. The sleepless nights that have been holding you awake at their mercy. Instead you’re both tuned into the way you lift yourself up on your knees and grab his face and pull him down.

It’s a short, unexpected kiss that doesn’t break past your lips, faces smushed together, like puzzle pieces that don’t fit quite right. And then you pull away, both so surprised at it, that at first it doesn’t register. On the outside, your hands are frozen, hovering just above his jawline, in pure idiocy at the idea that you just did that. And in your brain, you’re beating yourself senseless, because what the fuck were you thinking??

How fucking ridiculous.

Raph’s eyes are the widest you’ve ever seen them, flicking between your own. He’s breathing heavy, mouth slack, and the wordless reaction is freaking you out. You swear you can hear his heart thundering under his plastron. Or was that you?

It’s then that he grabs you right back and pulls you in for a much more calculated, breathless kiss. You lean into it, desperate and nervous, and grabbing the tails of his bandanna to bring him as close as possible.

This was happening. It was a thing.

You and Raphael sitting on the kitchen floor, with his shell pressed into one of the lower cabinets, and borderline making out. What would your mother think?

You’ve always been used to Raph’s soft touch, anytime he’d fist bump you through the kitchen window or brush past your arm. That was not him now.

His huge hands are tangled in your hair and at the nape of your neck, and he’s drinking you in like water. You’re pressing him further into the cabinet door intoxicated over the way your teeth and noses slightly graze past each other. His tongue slipping into your mouth makes you shudder and you huff. Raph’s easily pulling you up into his crossed legs.

This gentle giant was no more, firm and intentional with every move he makes. He doesn’t shy away from moving further into your touch and kissing you deeper. You can feel his mouth curl into a smile when you gasp. Your hands are everywhere. traveling up the tough texture of his plastron, to his beyond muscular shoulder, where one roughly grazes over a bigger cut. Raph pulls away with a hiss.

“Sorry!” You squeak out. It’s the first you’ve spoken since kissing him senseless. He winces but the recovery is swift, and he looks up at you with pupils blown wide, black eating away at their beautiful color, fluster evident at the warm tint to his face.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, sunshine.”

The nickname makes your stomach do a summersault. You smile, out of breath.

“You’re hot.”

Stupid! What the hell is wrong with you?!

“You kiddin’ me?” He laughs, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His voice is a low growl, and he pulls you in once again by the back of your head. Back to it, I guess.

If the window hadn’t been open, it would surely be fogged up by now, with your heated breaths floating up from the cool floor. This was great.

Unanticipated, and weird, but just so great. You have to push off of each other to stop from going any further than you already have, both sweaty, breathing heavily and grinning like you just won a Grammy. It takes a while before one of you can catch your breath. Raph nudges your shoulder.

“You’re my first kiss.”

He flashes you a five star grin with flared nostrils. You match it. It shouldn’t surprise you that much, but it does anyway.

“Yeah?” He nods, “Well, you’re my first good kiss.”

You see the pride roll over Raph in a wave.

“That good, huh?”

You shove his face away playfully when he gets close.

“Now that I think about it, it was mediocre.”

The turtle ruffles your already disheveled hair.

“Whateva. You loved that shit.”

Oh you did. The evidence of him enjoying just as much is the prominent arousal just under his naval, and you’re trying to avert your view. He catches it and his eyes blow wide, trying to quickly readjust the way he’s sitting.

“Ah! Heh-uhhh-“ Raph coughs into his fist, and then drags an open palm down his face in immense embarrassment, “Sorry! Sorry. I should probably, uh, get goin’”

It makes you giggle like a teenager. Raph’s bad leg hasn’t crossed either of your minds until he tries to lift himself from the floor and it gives out under his weight again and he shouts.

“There’s no way you’re getting back to the lair on that. Something’s probably broken.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he snorts. You jump to his aid, slipping your arm under his for support and help raise him off the ground.

“You’ll probably need to stay here for the night, until Donnie can check you out.“

The thought of having a sleepover with the guy you just sucked face with for 20 minutes is so exciting.

“Are ya sure?” Raph sounds unsure while you guide him down onto the couch.

“You can sleep here. I’ll text Don to come over in the morning.”

He lays back onto the cushions and lets you grab him a blanket and pillow from your room, tucking him in and placing a light kiss on his red-banded forehead. You slide down onto the carpet to be eye level where Raphael’s head is snuggled into the pillow.

Vannie meows, the first you’ve heard from her since she came in through the window. Her tiny head peeks over the back of the couch. You both watch with soft smiles as she curls up, purring, on Raph’s chest.

He flinches a little when your hand slips into his larger one and gives it a squeeze.

“Thank you for bringing her back to me.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The next morning, Donnie has successfully picked the lock to your front door, heeding to your late night text. He does a double take, and then snorts with an incredulous smile, seeing you passed out on the floor, his older brother on the couch and Vannie still sleeping soundly on top of him while he snores.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

BAM, YOU GET A BIG OL' KISS

HERE'S PART 5 EVERYONE!!! I SINCERELY APPRECIATE ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT AND PATIENCE ON THIS PART, I REALLY STRUGGLED WRITING IT LMAO 🩷💓💕

Also, I came back to this page with 260 followers and I opened it this morning to 410??

I really do not deserve such incredible support from all of you wonderful folks 😭🙏🩷💓

I'm not sure if I'll add another part, which will most likely be a little epilogue, but PLEASE LET ME KNOWWW !!!!

Don't forget to REBLOG and let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist so you don't miss out on any of my TMNT works!!!

LOVE YA BABES 🩷💓💕🫧🧼🌸

taglist - [ @ladyofparchments @well-its-not-human-anymore @raphaelsrightarm @chiliiscereal @milkytheholy1 @moxfirefly @raphsgrl @leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch @rheawritesforfun @imthegreenfairy86 @aurora-the-kunoichi @angelhazeisaweirdo @raisin-shell @fyreball66 @redsrooftopprincess @milykins @ahhhhhhhhhfuck @quitecontrary-to-mary @the-cauldron-witch @brins-rogers @yelocaltrashcan @pheradream-15 @asillysimp @miranexx @cinnamonskiss @le0n-ardo @silveritydreams @goldenflowerdragon @loveshrubs @glitterystarfishfestival @supersleepyslowpoke @floflodoesart ]

#xreader #tmnt 2016 #bayverse raphael x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt x reader #tmnt bayverse x reader #tmnt bayverse #bayverse raph x reader #bayverse tmnt #bayverse raphael #tmnt raphael #tmnt #part 5 #i love y'all

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kabr0ztrousers · 20 days ago

Note

I fucking love when you do Portals, if you’re not bored already with this topic may i ask another? i’ll be waiting in your queue🥰🫦

Kabr0z Writes episode 92: Communion

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Portals; freeuse; CNC; religious mentions and ceremony; public sex; exhibitionism;

A/N: I was actually struggling for inspiration today... Whatever would I do to make sure I'm not retreading old ground. Thankfully the algorithm came to my rescue while scrolling for inspiration. Is it blasphemy? It's certainly not respectful.

########################################

These were rapidly becoming your favourite underwear. After the coffee shop? Then that "issue" with tuning them between connections? Best sex of your life. The only issue is, after all that, however would you top it?

That's the question that plagued you as you walked into town. You were wearing your portal undies, because of course you were, but what can a girl do to transgress some social boundaries on a Sunday morning?

Wait. It's a Sunday. The beauty of rural Wales is the massive proportion of churches to people. You barely had to walk half a mile and you found one. Open doors, organ softly playing as the occasional person slid through the front room to the main church. A quick selfie, posted to just the right website along with a freshly-generated session code. A tap, a swipe, and the app locked. Four hours on the clock, that's long enough for a church... Session? Worship? You wondered what the actual verb for attending church is as you took a pew and the bloke in the robe took the pulpit.

God he was boring. Something Jesus, something heaven, something repentance. You were just about to get up and leave when it started. The metal disc in your underwear buzzed insistently, then the portal opened.

For a moment, nothing happened. Cool air passed over your pussy, before being replaced with hot breath. A finger traced your entrance as you sat there, trying not to show off that something was interfering with you. The soft touch was easy to pass off. Sure, whoever this was felt good, but after what you're used to with these, this wasn't hard to hide.

What was harder was when the finger pushed in. Maybe the setting was getting you more hot and bothered than you thought, or maybe you just needed this. The gasp was hard to swallow, especially as another two fingers joined in. The three fingers filled you, turning and angling themselves in ways no lover would be able to without a magic portal fleshlight on the other end. You pulled your phone out of your skirt pocket to check the app, who's connected?

Who else. It's WolfDaddy again. You put the phone back before anyone spotted you. At least, you hoped you did. The sounds of him stirring your cunt were soft, almost drowned out by the droning cleric as he went on and on. He was saying something about interpretation, how sins change over time so some things that might have been sins once, aren't now.

Those fingers curled inside you. You felt yourself blush as you suppressed a twitch in your legs. This was still probably a sin.

You clenched your cunt against those fingers, gently pulsing it to try and send him a message: "fuck me already"

His fingers kept hard at work, rubbing and stroking as your body fought you, trying to gasp and moan, whine and wriggle at the invading digits. You couldn't. All you could do was sit there and drip, feeling your juices flow from you in rivers. He brought you to the very edge, then stopped. The fingers pulled out just as you threatened to crest the peak, letting you slide back down for a minute or two before pushing again. If you got closer, he'd leave you for longer. If he took a little while, you'd get the next edge a little sooner.

You ached so badly by the time the priest was done lecturing. The rest of the church got up and into the aisle, but they weren't leaving. You half-remembered something about sacraments? Eating the body and drinking the blood of God to get closer to him or something?

Sounds kinky.

You got up and joined near the back of the line. The fingers felt you move and withdrew, letting your pussy squeeze in vain. A blunt tip replaced them, pressing gently into you. The first inch slid in, fully hard and leaking that lupine precum all over you. Then he pulled out. Over and over you'd get just enough to get excited, but not enough to get you off. Your whole lower body hurt now. The constant teasing of your leaking, drooling hole was taking its toll on you.

You reached the front of the church. Kneeling in a line before the altar. Maybe kneeling made your body move a certain way? Maybe he could just tell you weren't upright any more. Either way, it earned you another inch. You clenched again, trying to keep a steady rhythm to encourage him. You got another inch. Then another, then another.

The priest was moving down the line. First a small biscuity thing, then a sip from a jewelled cup. One by one the other churchgoers were seen to. Whoever WolfDaddy is, he had a good handle on how long this took.

Six people to go. He fucked you harder. Cock pushing up to the very edge of your cervix. Five people, a pair of fingers joined in, rubbing your clit as you began to squirm. Four, the cock was faster now, hammering into you as the lupine on the other end of the portal rewarded you. Three, you bit your lip. The feeling of climax building in you, coming towards you hard and fast as you dug your nails into your palm

Two, the cock hilted into you. You could feel the knot starting to inflate. One, cum spurted forth, the cock throbbing and twitching as jet after jet flooded into you.

Just you left now.

The pastor said something, you opened your mouth, feeling your eyes want to roll back in your head as you begged a present from church.

"Take this, my body" A flavourless wafer landed on your tongue

"And this, my blood" a sip of acid-tasting wine

"T-thank you father" you stuttered out, mouth watering and body burning. You felt it coming. You looked in his eyes. He could tell. You could see he could tell. You suppressed a scream as you fell off the cliff.

You clenched every muscle to try and stop yourself shaking, tried to suppress a scream of triumphant release, instead it emerged as a long squeaking wait as your jaw slammed shut around it. Your eyes rolled, defocusing until there were two vicars in front of you, then back to one, then two again.

There's no way he didn't see as cum started to leak from you. No way he didn't notice as the portal cut off how suddenly there was a damp puddle where a worshipper was so recently sat. You could smell the cum on you, dripping from your oozing cunt.

You took a seat on the pews again. Reassuring wood to lend you stability. The church cleared. You saw the vicar step into a booth at the other end of the church. Dark wood and varnished to within an inch of its life.

You walked into the other side. A wickerwork screen and a small slot were between you and the man you'd just came in front of.

"F-forgive me father, for I have sinned"

Who knows, you might get more fun out of this yet

#########################################

Never fear about requesting a portal fic from me. Easily one of my favourite kinks of all time.

Especially when I get to couple it with monster cocks

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inseobts · 1 month ago

Note

Helloooooooo!!!!!!!! Idk know if you write for corazon but if you do could we please get a small imagine of a time traveler reader who went back in time to the moment corazon was dying (after law ran away) and takes him to Tsuru where they save his life before he dies? Maybe she came from an alternate timeline where she was a part of doffy crew by force and wanted to get out of there but couldn’t risk it cause he would kill her little sister or someone she cares about so when corazon pleads with her to run with him and law she refuses and he ends up dead in that timeline? So she uses her devil power to go to an alternate timeline to save him so that timeline reader can actually have a happy life with corazon. Anyway new timeline starts where he does live and he comes back 14 yrs later with strawhat and law to rescue reader and take down doffy? Sorry if it’s much you can change whatever you want with in it I just want a Cora lives au (I’m a sucker for those!) much thanks!!!

Timeless Devotion

donquixote rosinante/corazon × reader

you're trapped under doflamingo’s control with your little sister’s life on the line, but you won’t let it stop you from saving corazon and change the future, your future.

a/n: omg I love this idea so much akswk thank you for the request eheh I need more corazon requests please

words count: 3.5k

tags: corazon lives au, doflamingo annoying as always (I hate him sm sorry)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The night air is thick with gunpowder. Rain falls in thin sheets, mixing with the blood soaking Corazon’s coat. He lies on the cold ground, barely breathing.

You’ve seen this before. Lived it before. And this time, you refuse to let him die.

You drop to your knees, pressing a hand against his wound. His chest barely rises.

“Corazon,” you whisper, voice shaking “Stay with me.”

His eyes flutter open, hazy with pain. The second they land on you, they widen.

“…You?” His voice is weak, but the shock is clear “You—shouldn’t be—”

“I know,” you say quickly “But I’m here now. And I’m not letting you die again.”

He tries to push you away, but there’s no strength left in his movements “Law—”

“He got away,” you say, hands shaking as you press harder on the wound “thanks to you. But you don’t have to die for it.”

His breath shudders “That’s… how this ends.”

“Not this time.”

You press your palm against his chest, and the world bends. Time folds in on itself, distorting, twisting.

And then you hit the ground hard, Corazon’s limp body in your arms. The scent of antiseptic floods your senses.

“That was reckless.”

You look up. Vice Admiral Tsuru stands above you, arms crossed.

But you don’t care. You turn back to Corazon, your fingers trembling as you touch his face. His breathing is still wea but at least it’s still there.

He’s alive.

And this time, he’s going to stay that way.

You look at him one last time and then you turn to leave. Admiral Tsuru is kinda surprised by it “Where are you going now”

“I have to go back, I can’t stay here”

“Is this your choice?” she asks you in a very serious tone.

“It is. Just... please save him” you say and take your leave.

The ground shakes. The palace trembles with the force of an explosion. The screams of Doflamingo’s men echo in the distance.

It’s happening.

You stand in Doflamingo’s throne room, hands clenched at your sides. Your heart pounds in your chest. You’ve waited for this day.

And now that it’s here you don’t know what to do.

Doflamingo leans against his seat, watching the chaos outside with a lazy smirk “Took them long enough.”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

Because you can feel them. Him. They’re here.

The door slams open, and Corazon walks in.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s taller than you remember. Older. His hair is longer, golden eyes sharper than they used to be. He’s wearing that same ridiculous feathered coat, but... he’s here. Alive.

His gaze locks onto you, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades.

“You took your time” you say, actually shocking yourself for even speaking.

A slow grin tugs at his lips “You know me.”

Doflamingo laughs from his throne “Oh, this is rich.”

He tilts his head toward you “So? What now, Y/N? Are you going to betray me?”

You stiffen. Corazon extends a hand to you “Come with us.”

You swallow hard.

You want to. But your sister...

“I can’t” you whisper.

Corazon’s face twists.

Law steps forward, eyes burning with fury “Stop being an idiot.”

You glare at him “You don’t understand”

“Then make me understand... please y/n” Corazon says, voice low.

You bite your lip. Your hands shake.

Doflamingo hums “Oh, come on. This is fun. Why don’t we make things even more interesting?” His strings glint in the light “How about I just kill her right now?”

Your breath stops.

And then a fist slams into Doflamingo’s face.

You barely have time to register what’s happening before the ceiling caves in. The entire room collapses as Luffy comes crashing through it, sending Doflamingo flying.

Dust fills the air.

Your mind spins.

And then Corazon grabs your wrist.

“We’re getting your sister,” he says “Then we’re getting out.”

Your breath is shallow. Your mind spins.

“Do you really think she wants to leave?” Doflamingo says while getting up, furious about what just happened.

Corazon looks at you. The golden warmth of his eyes flickers with hope, but you don’t move because for fourteen years, you haven’t left.

For fourteen years, you’ve played your role at Doflamingo’s side, keeping your sister safe at the cost of your own freedom.

And for fourteen years, you have lived with the weight of your own cowardice.

Doflamingo smirks, watching your hesitation. He already knows your answer “That’s what I thought.”

Corazon tenses beside you. His body shifts like he wants to grab you and run.

But before he can move a blur of threads shoots toward you.

No—!

You barely have time to react before Doflamingo’s strings wrap around your throat and arms, yanking you backward. Your body slams to the ground, breath choking out of you.

Corazon lunges for you, but another string shoots out, slicing the air between you. He freezes.

“Ah-ah, Roci,” Doflamingo taunts, tightening his hold “You left her once already. What makes you think you get to take her now?”

The doors to the throne room burst open “Doffy!”

Luffy’s voice echoes through the palace as he crashes into the room, rubble flying in his wake. Law follows right behind, sword drawn, his expression dark with fury.

Doflamingo’s grip on you tightens “Well, well,” he muses “finally”

Luffy glares “Let her go.”

Doflamingo laughs, yanking you to your feet with his threads. His strings cut into your skin, but the real pain comes from the mocking amusement in his voice.

“Why should I? She’s been with me for fourteen years. Do you really think she wants to go with you?”

Law takes a slow step forward “She’s not yours.”

His voice is low, dangerous.

Doflamingo’s smirk widens “Oh? But she’s been mine for so long.”

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear “Haven’t you, darling?”

You flinch.

Corazon snaps.

He moves so fast you barely see him, before a fist slams into Doflamingo’s jaw, sending him staggering backward. The strings around your throat snap loose, and you gasp for air.

Corazon doesn’t let you fall. His hands are on you in an instant, steadying you, his touch warm and grounding.

“Are you okay?” he breathes.

You look up at him, at the raw fury in his golden eyes, fury not just for Doflamingo, but for himself. For not being there for you.

And suddenly, you know you want to leave, you need to leave.

You reach for his hand, but Doflamingo’s laughter stops you cold.

“Hah… Look at you.” He wipes blood from his mouth, still smirking “You really think you can just walk away?”

Corazon stiffens.

Doflamingo spreads his arms, looking past you at the crowd gathering in the destroyed palace, his top officers, his remaining family. He wants them to see this.

“Fourteen years, Y/N.” His voice drips with amusement “Fourteen years, and now you’re running off with your little secret lover? Hah! Maybe I should’ve killed you both back then.”

You feel their eyes on you. Trebol’s slimy grin. Pica’s unnerving gaze. Diamante’s smirk.

They all knew.

Of course they did.

You weren’t as subtle as you thought.

“Oh—You really thought we didn’t know about your secret love affair and the way you treated him too?” He adds pointing at Law.

Your face burns with shame, but them Corazon steps forward and laughs.

Not the clumsy, carefree laugh you remember from years ago.

This one is sharp. Bitter. And when he speaks, his voice is colder than you’ve ever heard it.

“Yeah,” he says “You should have killed me back then.”

He grins, baring his teeth “Because now, I’m taking her from you.”

Doflamingo’s smirk falters.

Luffy cracks his knuckles “Leave him to us,” he says, stepping forward “We’ll take care of this guy.”

Law nods, his sword gleaming “Go. Now.”

You hesitate, but Corazon takes your hand. His grip is warm. Steady. And you run.

Doflamingo tries to stop you again but Luffy doesn’t let him reach you in time.

Doflamingo’s roar of fury echoes behind you.

But for the first time in fourteen years, you’re free.

Your feet pound against the marble floors of the palace. Corazon’s grip on your wrist is tight, like he’s afraid to let go.

The halls shake with every explosion outside. Luffy and Law’s battle against Doflamingo rages, shockwaves tearing through the walls, sending rubble crashing around you.

You don’t stop running.

You can’t, not until you reach her.

“Where is she?” Corazon shouts over the chaos.

You grit your teeth “Underground. If Doflamingo thinks I’m running, he’ll make sure she doesn’t leave this island alive.”

Corazon’s eyes harden. He knows what that means. He already lost his own brother to this place. He won’t let you lose your sister, too.

“We’ll get to her,” he says “We have to move now.”

The underground tunnels are darker than you remember.

Your footsteps echo as you race down the stone corridor, Corazon at your side. The air is damp, thick with the scent of seawater and iron.

Your sister is down here. She has to be.

Corazon squeezes your hand “How much farther?”

“Not far,” you pant “Doflamingo built a bunker beneath the palace... his vault for things he wanted to keep hidden.”

His expression darkens. He already knows what that means.

You were never just a member of the Family. You were a possession. And your sister was control.

You push forward. You won’t let him win. Not again.

Then the air shifts.

Corazon moves instantly, shoving you behind him as a blade slices through the darkness—

CLANG!

You freeze.

The person blocking your path... Baby 5.

She lands gracefully, heels clicking against the stone. Her cigarette dangles from her lips, the ember glowing red in the dim light “You’re really leaving” she says, exhaling smoke.

Your throat tightens.

You and Baby 5 had never been close. Not really.

But you were both raised under Doflamingo’s thumb. Both played the roles he forced upon you. And now, she’s standing in your way.

“I have to” you say, voice steady.

Baby 5 studies you for a moment, then smiles “I figured.”

She moves.

Corazon barely blocks the second strike. You lunge forward, drawing your own weapon, but—

“Wait!”

A third figure lands between you, his arms outstretched.

“Enough!”

Your breath catches.

Sai.

He lands between Baby 5 and Corazon, his massive guandao held firmly in one hand. His expression is torn, like he knows this is a fight none of you want.

“Baby 5,” Sai says firmly “Let them go.”

Baby 5 narrows her eyes “I have my orders.”

Sai steps closer “And who gave them to you? Doflamingo?” He shakes his head “You don’t owe him anything.”

Baby 5’s fingers twitch.

You step forward “You’re free, Baby 5,” you say quietly “You don’t have to do this.”

For a moment, she hesitates, but then she sighs, flicking her cigarette to the ground “Tch. You’re lucky I’m getting married.”

She turns away.

You're confused but Corazon doesn’t wait. He grabs your wrist and runs.

As you disappear down the tunnel, you hear Sai’s voice behind you “Go! We’ll handle things here!”

You don’t look back.

You just run.

And for the first time in fourteen years you see light at the end of the tunnel.

The door to the underground vault creaks open with a faint groan.

Corazon pushes it wide, his gun still drawn, but his eyes flicker nervously. You’re both running on adrenaline, your hearts pounding in sync as you step into the dimly lit room.

There, sitting against the wall, is your sister. Her eyes widen when she sees you, tears welling up in her gaze as she jumps to her feet.

“Y/N!”

You rush toward her, pulling her into your arms, unable to stop the flood of emotion that rises in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, holding her tight “I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head, her voice breaking “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You close your eyes, squeezing her tighter, breathing in her familiar scent. Your heart feels lighter, but the weight of the past still presses heavily on you.

Corazon stands silently by the door, his face unreadable. He’s watching you both, a mixture of worry and confusion in his eyes.

After a long, quiet moment, you pull away from your sister and stand up. You take a deep breath, looking at Corazon “We need to get out of here.”

But as you turn to leave, you hesitate.

You’ve made your decision. It’s the only thing you can do to make up for the sins you’ve committed.

Your eyes meet Corazon’s, and you know what you have to say. You know what he needs to hear.

“You need to take her,” you say quietly, but the words feel like they’re strangling you “You and my sister, you need to leave. Get as far away from here as possible.”

Corazon stares at you, his brow furrowing in confusion “What do you mean?”

“You need to protect her.” You swallow hard, forcing the words out “I know you will. And you... you deserve to be happy. You can take her away from all of this, and you can live the life you deserve.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at you, his eyes full of disbelief.

You turn away, closing your eyes “I’m no good for either of you. I’ve done too many terrible things, Corazon. I… I don’t deserve to live that life. I can’t just leave everything behind after all I’ve done.” You clutch your chest, fighting back tears “I don’t deserve to be happy. Not anymore.”

Your sister looks between the two of you, sensing the tension in the air, but it’s Corazon who speaks next.

“You’re wrong.”

His voice is quiet, firm. It cuts through the air like a blade, and you freeze.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he continues. His gaze locks onto yours, his voice thick with something you can’t quite read “I don’t care what you think you’ve done, Y/N. I don’t care about the past.”

You shake your head “You don’t understand. The things I had to do—”

“I know exactly what you had to do.” He steps closer, his hand reaching out, his touch gentle but insistent “I know what it means to be trapped by Doflamingo. I know what it means to do things you never wanted to do, to make choices you hate just to survive.”

You flinch at his words, the truth of them cutting deeper than you expect.

Corazon moves in closer, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that’s threatening to spill “I’ve been there, Y/N,” he says softly “I’ve been where you are. But you don’t have to carry that burden anymore. Not alone.”

Your chest tightens “But—Corazon, I—”

“No.” His voice is more forceful this time “You don’t get to decide you’re not worthy of a second chance. I know you’ve done terrible things. But so have I. And yet I’m standing here, and I’m still alive. Because of you. You gave me a second chance to live, so why can't you give yourself a second chance too?”

Your breath catches, and you feel the weight of the years you’ve spent apart flooding back. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your gaze dropping to the floor.

“I couldn’t save you before. But I’m not going to let you walk away now.” His voice softens, the edge of pain lingering beneath his words “I love you, Y/N. I always have. I always will. And I’m not leaving you behind. Not again.”

You gasp, your hand trembling as you reach for him. His words hit you like a tidal wave, and you can’t breathe through the emotions crashing over you.

He pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. You close your eyes, burying your face in his chest, letting his warmth and steadiness fill the empty spaces inside you.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” he whispers “We’re in this together. Always.”

You tremble in his arms, the weight of the world lifting slightly with his promise.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re tainted by the years of bloodshed, that you’ll never truly be good enough for him.

"Y/N please..." your sister says between her sobs "don't leave me."

“I keep hurting all of you...” you whisper, your voice muffled against his chest.

Corazon pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes piercing through your insecurities “That’s not true”

His hand gently cups your face, lifting your chin so you meet his eyes “Your sister loves you. You’re not alone. Not anymore. And you will get that happiness. I won’t let you give up on it.”

A choked sob escapes you. His love, his unwavering belief in you, it’s everything you’ve wanted. And yet, the guilt weighs heavily.

Corazon smiles gently, hugging you while your sister runs into the hug too “Let me love you, Y/N. Let me prove to you that we deserve this... deserve a future together.”

Tears spill from your eyes, but this time they’re not tears of sorrow.

You take a shaky breath, nodding slowly, lowering yourself to clean the tears off your sister's face.

“I’ll try,” you whisper “For you both… I’ll try.”

And for the first time in fourteen years, you allow yourself to believe it.

The battle is over.

The streets of Dressrosa are littered with the aftermath of war. The palace has crumbled, Doflamingo is defeated, and the dawn rises over a free kingdom.

You stand, watching the sun slowly rise over the ruined city. The golden light washes over the streets, and for the first time in fourteen years, you breathe.

Footsteps approach behind you. Warm hands wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a familiar chest.

Corazon.

You close your eyes as he buries his face in your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin “It’s over” he murmurs.

You nod “It doesn’t feel real.”

He tightens his hold on you, as if grounding you in this reality “It is.”

A breeze rustles through the air, and for the first time, the wind doesn’t carry the weight of fear.

For the first time, you feel safe.

Anyway, later that night you find out the Straw Hats don’t do quiet celebrations.

Music fills the air, food and drinks are being passed around, and the night sky is alive with laughter.

You sit at the edge of the party, tucked against Corazon’s side, half-hidden in the shadows of the lantern light.

Not that it keeps you from being noticed.

“Oi, oi! Look at them!” Franky smirks, pointing in your direction “They’re all cuddled up like newlyweds.”

You flush, but Corazon only hums in amusement, resting his chin on your head.

Sanji exhales a dramatic puff of smoke “A beauty like Y/N deserves better than an ex-Marine with a death wish.”

Before Corazon can respond, you smirk “And I suppose I should go for a chain-smoking womanizer instead?”

The table erupts into laughter as Sanji chokes on his cigarette.

Across from you, Robin chuckles behind her wine glass “It is rather sweet. After all these years, love still finds a way.”

Nami grins “I do love a good tragic romance turned happy ending.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can retort you catch movement at the edge of the group.

Law is sitting nearby, sipping from his cup, trying very hard to look unbothered.

But you see it... the small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The way his eyes soften just a little as he glances at you and Corazon.

Your heart clenches.

Fourteen years ago, he watched Corazon die.

Tonight, he gets to watch him live, and it means everything.

You catch his gaze and smile knowingly.

Law scowls, looking away “Don’t look at me like that.”

You grin “Like what?”

“Like I’m about to start crying.”

You laugh, shaking your head “I wouldn’t dare.”

Corazon watches the exchange with a small, knowing smile. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the gratitude in his presence.

Tonight is proof of something impossible.

The past doesn’t have to define you.

And love, no matter how broken, can still find its way home.

As party winds down, and you find yourself in a quiet corner of the castle ruins, lying beneath the stars with Corazon.

His coat is draped over you both, his warmth keeping you grounded. His fingers lazily trace patterns along your back.

“Do you regret it?” you ask softly “Coming back for me?”

He exhales a quiet laugh “I regret not getting to you sooner.”

You press your forehead against his chest, letting his heartbeat lull you into comfort “We made it” you whisper.

His arms tighten around you “We did.”

The future is uncertain. But as long as he’s here you’re not afraid anymore.

For the first time in forever, you allow yourself to believe in tomorrow.

And for the first time in forever you allow yourself to be happy.

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911lonestar911imagines · 10 months ago

Text

..Save me- Possessive Evan Buckley x Reader Smut

Summary: After a close run in and getting robbed Possessive! Evan Buckley is here to help

Warnings: Robbery, Heavy Smut, Degradation, rough sex, sir/captain kink, slight mommy kink, daddy kink

A/n: not proofread or edited, it was made at 4am before work :D

You and Evan hadn't been together long, but Evan knew something was different with you, he was more possessive, protective, territorial, and you never complained. You were an only child, and grew up only knowing a story about a deadbeat father who left whenever he found out about your mother's pregnancy, so if someone wanted to protect you and treasure you, who were you to stop them?

The day went smoothly, you both woke up, had great morning sex, and then went to work, your station as a pediatric doctor at the hospital, and his station at the firehouse. You visited him and the team on your break, and now you both just waited until you were both back home. As you locked your car and made your way towards your apartment you got the overwhelming sense of danger, even as you kept glancing around, never seeing anybody or anything, you still couldn't shake the feeling. As you unlocked your phone, you called Evan, before being slammed face first into the wall, feeling something almost like a gun, press against your lower back "E-Evan! Help me!" You screamed loudly, hoping really anybody would hear, it was a little past two thirty in the morning, and your apartment was mainly filled with older couples, and families with young babies, so somebody had to hear right?

Evan was finishing up checking up on a young boy they had rescued from an apartment balcony, whenever he got the call from Y/n. He wasn't sure exactly what she was saying because of the muffled moving like she was moving her phone around against her clothing, before he felt his heart drop and felt like he was going to puke all at once as he heard your scream pierce through the phone speaker. Evan wasn't even thinking at that point, sprinting past Hen, Bobby, and Eddie before he ever knew he was moving.

You screamed out as you finally broke away from whoever was holding you captive, taking off in a sprint down the hallway, you wanted to go to the safety of your home, but you didn't wanna risk the creep getting into your apartment. As you debated your options you noticed your phone was gone, no longer in your hand, no longer having a line to Evan, to safety, to the person who protected you no matter what. You sobbed, trying to pick your pace up as you turned the corner to run down the service stairs, a quick escape, screaming whenever you collided with a body, being held tightly. Your chest hurt from screaming for help and sobbing, you wanted to wake up, next to your boyfriend, ready to start another day. You felt yourself be pulled towards your apartment before seeing someone dash around the corner "Motherfucker!" You heard Evan yell, his voice echoing off of the walls "See if I don't find you myself!" His voice boomed, you fell against the wall, sliding down the wall as you cried, holding your body tightly, only now taking in you didn't have anything in your pockets anymore. No wallet, phone, keys, or your purse, you were robbed.

Evan froze, deciding on chasing after the guy, or staying with you, he quickly made up his mind as he rushed to your side, his shaky hands cupping your face "H-Hey, hey I've got you, y/n I've got you" He whispered holding you close to his chest, basically pulling you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you as he held you in a hug "Nobody can get you, I've got you" he whispered slowly standing up, lifting you up like you were a pebble on the ground "Come on" He whispered, you were too shaken up to actually process where you were going, but Evan was confident as he sat you in the passenger seat. "I know..I know" He whispered as you held onto his shirt tighter, slowly he pulled your hands away "We're going to my place...I've gotta get in though" He whispered before handing you the keys motioning for you to lock it as he walked around the jeep. You both knew you lived in a somewhat safe neighborhood, but you felt safer with them locked. Evan got in, buckling in the both of you in, before heading towards his apartment.

The entire drive he was lost in thought, seeing you so shaken up in his passenger seat reminded him of Maddie, sitting there after Doug, his thoughts were cut short by a gentle, shaky hand resting on the bend of his elbow, as he stopped in the apartment parking lot. As he looked over he was met with your soft delicate gaze, fixed on his lost one "You saved me, Evan.." You whispered, he shook his head resting a hand over yours "I was doing what was right..because I love you" He whispered.

It took a bit, but Evan had a dinner made, you showered, and now both of you sat on his bed watching a random tv show you found playing, You sighed looking at him as he traced his fingertips up and down your stomach "I'm gonna talk to Athena tomorrow about filing a police report.." You whispered, Evan hummed in agreement, you ran your fingers through his hair, smiling softly as his hums continued. You moved your hand lower starting to massage the back of his neck, giggling as his hums turned into groans of relaxation and pleasure. As you dug your fingers deeper, his groans grew louder, before eventually he mistakenly let a moan slip through. You both looked at each other in shock, Your giggles growing louder before Evan rolled to hover over you, immeidetly shutting you up. "Why is it...That it's funny when I moan..but whenever I laugh about making you scream in the mornings before work..I'm in the doghouse?" He teased, playfully giving you a pouty face "Yea yea" You groaned, laying back on the bed, watching Evan slowly stalk down your body until he was mouth level with your panty hemline, you could feel his breaths he was so close.

"Evan.." You whispered lowly, you could see as he held back as groan, instead biting down on your hip bone "Easy baby boy" You whispered, you could see his eyes snap towards yours "Uh uh, you were top this morning, plus, you had a hard night" He said as he grabbed your chin tightly, you looked at him through your eyelashes as he kissed you deeply. "I'm gonna make you feel so good" He whispered grinding against you, you didn't care how many times he fucked you, his size always shocked you, how could someone be so perfectly hung? Just thick enough and long enough to hit every spot. "Please Sir" You begged arching your back, Evan had to hold back his own moan, between your little 'yes sirs' and the way your tits fell perfectly out of his work button up. "Don't worry, I'm gonna take care of you" He whispered "Gotta get me nice and ready though, baby girl" He whispered pulling his sleep pants down lower, his cock springing up halfway hard "f-fuck" You whispered, all of a sudden you were seeing his naked for the first time again, taking his cock in your mouth for the first time "You've got this, baby girl...You've taken it before so well. you're my good girl" He whispered kissing your forehead gently as you slowly crawled to the end of the bed, he could feel himself growing more possessive, how dare someone else touch you? You brought him out of it as your warm mouth wrapped around him, his hand flying to the back of your head, and his legs spreading wider "Fuck" He grunted leaning back taking in the sight.

You were laid in front of him, ass up, legs spread, tits hanging out of his shirt, as your mouth was stretched around his cock, spit slowly pooling from your lips, dripping down to the very point of your hardened nipples. As his mind wondered it went back to being possessive, How dare someone else touch what's his? Try to hurt what's his?

You noticed Evan was lost behind his eyes as you swallowed around him, about to stop before a loud growl errupted from his chest, his hips bucking into your mouth, his cock sliding down the back of your throat. You relaxed it as you focused on his words that were muttered angrily under his breath

"....Touching what's mine"

"She's mine"

"Fuck my good slut"

"Even knows she's mine"

You gulped as he lifted your mouth off of him, you made eye contact with his possessive almost crazy stare "Who are you?" He whispered, the growl vanishing, his tone not matching his eyes, making him seem even more crazy "I'm yours" You responded just as softly, panting softly as you cupped his cheek, he never moved an inch, just letting out a huff "Who. are. you." He growled, you repositioned yourself over his lap, grinding against his cock, desperate to feel anything "I'm yours! I'm Evan Buckley's!" You screamed out as he held your hips against his as he grinded against you, hitting your clit almost perfectly "What else." He snapped, halting his movements almost as fast as he started "Just as loud, slut" He growled loudly "nobody can care for me like you, Evan! Nobody can fuck me, love me, or please me like you do, Evan Buckley! I'm yours" You panted as he squeezed your nipple between his finger tips "And nobody does it like you, baby" he whispered in your ear before flipping you onto your back, holding your hands above your hand "You want fucked? Want me to fuck you so hard with my cock you forget where you are?" He panted in your ear, you whined loudly spreading your legs, Evan just moved his knees to hold them as far open as you possibly could. You never experianced Evan like this, yea he's been a heavy dominant in bed, but never possessive dominant.

You almost screamed as Evan ripped your underwear off, biting his lip as he stared at your pussy, watching it slowly pool more wetness out, already soaking wet from your panties. "What baby? Where do you want my cock?" He panted in your ear, reaching under your pillow to use the silk ties you bought for his house a couple weeks ago, with your hands tied he smirked leaning up to sit on his knees "Please Sir! I want your cock, Please Evan!" You whined before moving your tied hands down to run your fingers through your folds spreading your wetness around to tease him "I want..your big cock..right here..please Captain Buckley" You whispered biting your lip teasingly as you started to push a finger into yourself slowly, you knew Evan always wanted to have the authority of captain, but he'd never take Bobby's place, and he'd never leave the 118, so Captain Buckley was a strong one for him. You could almost see his cock twitch "Don't you dare touch what's fucking mine" he growled before shoving himself fully into your pussy, bottoming out and kissing you deeply as you cried out around his lips as his cock stretched it's way through you.

"Fuck yes!" You squealed, allowing Evan to take his chance to kiss you deeply, shoving his tongue through your lips, exploring every part of your mouth, his cock never slowing it's brutal pace. "Nobody can touch what's mine" Evan growled taking your nipple into his mouth sucking and biting as you arched your back "Yes! Yes!" You started to chant before Evan clasped a hand over your mouth "Change of plans. You're mine tonight, and I don't wanna hear a peep until you're making a mess screaming my name" He growled, his voice was almost enough to have you creaming around him, but you held strong. You could feel the bed moving and the headboard hitting the wall as Evan fucked your pussy mericiless "D-Daddy!" You cried out as you came around his cock for the first time, Evan freezing before looking at you with the most evil smile.

He carried you to the kitchen, laying you over his kitchen island before resuming his brutal pace "Say it again" He grunted as he watched his cock disappear inside of you "I said say it again!" He demanded louder, you cried out as you felt his finger slide inside of you next to his cock "Fuck Daddy! It's too much!" You cried out as he found a steady pace, removing his finger pushing it into your mouth, moaning as your tongue circled his finger, cleaning any of your juices off of it. "Yea. My good fuckin wife. Taking my cock in the kitchen like a whore desperate to please her husband" He growled, you never knew Evan was the roleplay in bed type, but you couldn't lie, imaging you both married, him bending you over the table after a long day at work and having his way with his wife was orgasm inducing. "J-Just wanna make daddy feel good after work!" You moaned grinding against him, he just growled moving you both to the couch, positioning you on the arm rest so his cock was buried deeper inside of you.

"Don't worry, I'll make mommy feel good too" He growled as he sped up his pace, you gasped and moaned loudly feeling his warm cum pool inside of you, he slowly pulled out, using his thumb to push back in any cum that tried to leak out of your swollen pussy. You had no time to rest before Evan's tongue swiped over your clit "E-Evan too much!" You whimpered, already overstimulated by both of your orgasms and from how deep his cock was buried inside of you. He just growled against your clit, causing a vibration across your pussy "Daddy!" You whined trying to close your legs, but Evan lifted his head "You can either Squirt around my cock or my mouth." He said lowly, almost in a cold tone, like you didn't have a choice You knew you did though, you knew your safeword would stop everything but you liked this side of Evan. "Mouth it is" He snapped before sucking your clit into his mouth, you cried out again, chanting nothing but a song of 'Evan's and 'daddy's. Evan's tongue and mouth abused your clit as you squirmed on the couch. Evan never let up on his abuse until you were squirting around his tongue and into his mouth.

You screamed out as you soaked his face, riding his tongue desperately to ride out your high, once you got to the point, you pushed his head away whimpering, your legs shaking in his hands. "Such a bad..bad girl for me..now look at my couch.." He whispered motioning to the wet splatters coating the arm rest "Guess you'll just have to make it up to daddy" He whispered looking back down to his raging hard on, already painfully turned on by how desperate you looked. "Yes sir.." You whispered smirking...

Part two?

#911 abc #911 smut #911 show #evan buckley #buck 911 #bi buck #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x you #evan buckley smut #buck smut

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neesieiumz · 2 years ago

Text

catharsis || ──────── s. aizawa

day five — SOMNOPHILIA / VOICE KINK / DADDY KINK

『 synopsis 』 after a long patrol, your husband comes with an ache only you can sate, only to find you deep in sleep

『 warnings 』 — 18+. sm*t. minors do not interact. husband!aizawa. pro-hero!reader. p*orn with very little plot. that's why it's shorter than my normal fics. established relationship. she is a natural disasters hero. and he has his normal job. somnophilia. voice kink. daddy kink. he is very much in love with you. like borderline obsessed with you. and vice-versa as well. female reader. black-coded reader but anyone can read. he calls you a slut but you enjoy it. sweet aftercare. was this self indulgent? i plead the fifth, how bout that?

『 writers notes 』 honestly feel like i overdid with the daddy kink but here we are! hope you enjoy it and you won't get a new ktober fic until next week tuesday! check the masterlist!

『 word count 』 3.0k

previous fic in ktober | masterlist | next fic in ktober

The night had fallen upon your home before you had known it, the twinkling stars gazing down at you, the full moon’s brightness fully mocking your somnolence. You could no longer stay up for him, no matter how much you tried. You had waited for long before sleep was beginning to overtake your body, and you knew this was another night you’d go without being able to see your husband.

Your husband was Eraserhead to the world, but at home, he was Shouta to you. Your Shouta. The two of you were heroes, after all, that was how the two of you met. You knew the long nights that came with the job, especially with him being a teacher as well.

Dressed in a thin two-piece set, in a pale baby blue, you lay on your bed, covered in your warm sheets, with nothing but the sounds of your automated fan blowing cool air into your room, combatting the heated summer night outside. With school out, and your husband only getting a reduced check from his main source of income, he had no choice but to join up in nightly patrols, his main specialty when it comes to hero work.

The two of you found each other while working patrols late at night, you being a new transfer from a faraway city on the outskirts of Japan, where natural disasters were then likely to occur.

“Eraserhead, what kind of name is that?” Your smile was wide, contagious even.

The two of you stood in an alleyway, with him hanging upside down from it, his eyes obscured by the bulky yellow goggles he constantly wore.

“Trust me, I was definitely not the one to make it.” His voice was deep and grave, it slightly echoed through the alley.

“That means whoever made the name must have been pretty special huh?”

It was silent for a moment, and for a moment, you thought you hit a nerve, anxiety rising within you.

“Yeah, I guess you can say they were.”

You gleaned up at him, seeing some semblance of a smile on his face. This caused your own smile to widen slightly, standing up straight.

Your marriage was a private one, one with family and friends only, a short, quiet, and intimate event. The two of you only had a week off for your honeymoon, during the time of which students were out for school to not mess with his schedule. The two of you are extremely busy, with his job as a hero course teacher and of course your own as a rescue and natural disasters hero. The two of you barely had time for each other, easily taking what you could with each other. You knew what came with dating and eventually marrying another hero, especially with someone like your Shouta.

You lay across the bed, sighing as you relaxed into the comfort of the comforters, onto the softness of the mattress. Closing your eyes, hoping to bring a new day, hopefully with your husband’s arms comfortably snug around your waist.

— — — —

You heard a squeak first.

Your eyes barely cracked open, still heavy with sleep, as the squeaking sound got louder and longer for a moment and then stopped altogether. You didn’t move, your heart racing and beating drums within your chest as the sound of muffled footsteps got closer and closer to your bed. You could hear ruffling, like clothes were being moved before the familiar fresh scent of mahogany and lavender, your body relaxing as you did so. You opened your eyes a little bit further, being able to see the clock on your bedside table, seeing the number 2:34 glowing from the digital clock. This was a first, you never woke up when he came home from patrols, you always found yourself being wrapped up in his arms when you woke up in the morning. You tried to find the confines of sleep, hoping to easily slip into it, knowing you’ll wake up in your husband’s arms once more.

Creaakkk…

His footsteps got closer and closer, his scent slowly gaining intensity as something within went off, like chilling tingles crawling up your spine. You could feel his eyes staring holes into you, possibly scanning your entire form wrapped up in your blankets. A familiar tingling sensation began to erupt and spread through you. It had been months since the last time he touched you, the two of you being completely swamped with work. Suddenly, the bedframe creaked, as you felt the mattress underneath you slightly dip. He was so close to you, his knee grazing up against your back, the blanket being the only thing that kept the two of you lightly touching. Droplets of water, possibly from his shower that he took when you were still deep in sleep, dripped down onto you, feeling the cool, wet spots from your blanket. You kept yourself as still as possible, sleep still dancing in your eyes. And then, all of a sudden, he crouched down, the bed creaking along as he did.

It took all your self-control not to gasp as you felt his erection pressing up against you. Even with the blanket, you could still feel it. You held back the slight gasp out a slight moan as he pushed his hip in between your bottom. He let out a hefty groan, his head falling right beside your own, his lips right next to your ear as he did. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing, feeling yourself beginning to drip down your thighs and stain your thin shorts. All of your self-control was slipping piece by piece, your body aching and wanting for him. Your breathing became shaky, you know he could hear it, and yet he continued his actions. You could feel his lips slowly press up kisses along your cheek and jawline. His nose nestled itself in between your ear and your hairline that peeked from the night-time scarf you wore, before taking a deep breath in, taking your freshly washed scent, your body wash, as well as your nighttime hair products.

“You smell so good,” his voice wasn't strained, as if he was holding back as well.

“I missed you so much,” he spoke again, the bed creaking again as he moved, his hands beginning to move down, thumbing along the hemline of your shorts.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here as much, snowflake,” he mumbled in your ear, his hand now officially slipping down into your shorts.

His fingers slipped in between your legs, two of his fingers easily spreading your lips apart, cool air hitting your clit, causing your body to tremble ever so slightly. Your mouth is slightly agape, drool slowly dripping out of your mouth onto your pillow. His fingers easily spilled into the mess in between your legs, pressing up against your clit. Carefully, he massaged circles into you, every movement slow and deliberate, as if he didn’t want to wake you. He probably didn’t wake you up. You had just gotten home from aiding a beach town devastated by a hurricane, pulling people out from rubble, and creating emergency service tents.

“I know you just got back, but I…” he trailed off on his words as his fingers slipped further down, sliding in between your labia.

“I can’t hold myself back, fuck.”

Your husband sounded so pretty, his voice straining every syllable as his hips ground more and more into you. By now, your shorts were a mess, and your underwear soaked with your juices. No longer able to hold yourself back, you softly pushed your hips back against his fingers, and hard-on. He most definitely felt your movements, letting out a massive groan as his dick twitched underneath his boxers.

“Naughty girl, such a slut even in your sleep…” his chuckle echoed against your bedroom walls, as his fingers dipped in even further, one of them pressing into your hole.

“Everytime I have to stay away from you, whether it be my job, or your own job, I can feel myself descending into madness–” his words suddenly cut off with a guttural groan, his hips suddenly giving off a sharp thrust.

“I am obsessed with you, you know that right?”

Tears dripped down your eyes, staining your pillows as his words enchanted you, sending great shocks of ecstasy through you. You could feel yourself trembling, only aching for him more and more. His own boxers were sticky with pre-cum, you could feel it oozing onto your satin shorts, slowly mixing in with your own soaked juices. His hand slowly pulled themselves away from your cunt, the sudden loss of pleasure causing your emotions to deflate before feeling that very same hand pulling at the hem of your shorts. You kept as still as possible as his large hands pulled your shorts down around your ankles, revealing your wet pussy.

“Agh, fuck,” is all he could say as he suddenly sat up for a moment.

You could hear shuffling in the background, most likely him taking off his boxers, hearing some kind of fabric being thrown in the air and landing on the floor. You felt his hands back on you, before feeling the tip of cock press up against your cunt, slipping and sliding in between your lips, gathering some of your juices. With a final swipe, before you knew it, you felt him press the tip at your pussy, your body trembling as he began to push it.

“Baby, baby fuck–”

He pushed himself deeper into you, your eyes squeezed shut, your cunt throbbing around him.

“Missed you, missed you so fucking much,”

You had never heard him ramble like that, his usually deep gravelly voice seeped in desperation. His hands gripped at the meat of your thigh, holding your place as he rutted his hips into you. Your lips parted, and the entire area underneath them was drenched with sweat. Your hands tightly squeeze the comforter. The heat was overtaking you, a violent intensity grappling at you. Your thoughts that once ran wild soon became filled with one thought, Shouta. Everything about him was different, the way his voice hit your ears, each syllable easily ripping a new reaction out of you. It was only a matter of time before you lost control before he knew you were awake, feeling everything he was doing to you.

“My wife, my pretty wife,” he groaned, his hands moving up and about.

“How could I fucking stay away from you?”

With his strength, he moved you about with ease. You no longer lay at your side, but instead, your knees dug into the mattress, your stomach lying against the bed. He pressed his hand against your back, your back arching up against him. He never pulled his cock out of you, staying snug inside you as he positioned you to where he wanted you to be.

As soon as you were in position, he held no mercy towards you. Pounding away at you, like a man with nothing else to live for at that moment but to ravage you. Tears welled in your eyes as absolute euphoric pleasure took over you, it came as quick as lighting. With the sudden overload on your senses, your control over your actions snapped.

A moan slipped out of your lips, the sound causing him to falter for just a moment. With the wet sound of skin against skin, he leaned down once more, moving his long hair out of his face, finally allowing him to see the tears streaming down your face, your eyes slightly opened, rolled to the back of your head, mouth agape with spit dripping down.

One of Shouta’s hands stayed at your hips while the other suddenly reached down, wrapping around underneath your chin, pulling your body upwards with ease. Your hands propped you up as he pulled your head back, your eyes locking. The position allowed you to see just how frenzied your husband looked. His thick fat cock plunging mg into you, each movement only escalating him more and more.

“How long have you been awake sweetheart? Huh, liked what I was doing to you? Hmm?”

You tried to speak, but the only thing that could slip out of your mouth was pleas if you could even call it that.

“Daddy, Daddy-fuck, it’s too–fuck!” You screeched, gripping at the pillow as your eyes squeezed shut, overcome by the sudden frenzied thrusts your husband was sending your way.

“Dirty little slut, letting me think you were asleep ? How long were you awake for?”

For a moment, you couldn’t answer him, only focused on the effervescent volcano building up within you. All of a sudden, his thrusts slowed down, causing you to whine as you looked back at his teary eyes.

“I asked you, how long have you been awake?”

“Since the moment—ahh– you walked in! Since the moment, you walked in, please don’t stop fucking me, Daddy!”

Shouta suddenly pulled all the way out, your cunt only squeezing around the tip of his fat cock, before slamming it back into you, almost hitting and bruising your cervix. Both you and his own moans and groans echoed into the air, mixing together in a beautiful melody. His hand left your chin, your body flopping forward for a couple seconds before suddenly feeling your arms being jerked back. Your moans became scream-like as he grabbed at both of your wrists, suddenly pulling your arms back.

“Fuck,” he cursed, hissing as he pummeled into you, “so fucking tight–huh, you like the way I fuck you, huh?”

You could barely get any words out, shaking your head vigorously, clenching around him. Every plunge into your cunt devoured you, your husband’s moans and groans had your body trembling. His growls reverberated within your ears, only causing your body to curl in pleasure.

“I said,” he suddenly cut into your thoughts, your body jerking up even further, “you like the way I fuck you, slut”

“Yes, daddy!”

Shouta’s chuckle was deep, and his thrusts only overwhelmed you even further. You relished in the way your skin took the pain, feeling the bloom and sting tingle all over you. If you could blush, you knew the bottom of your thighs would be blooming red. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, your eyes rolling out the back of your head. All of a sudden, Shouta dropped your arms, your body flopping, back arching into the bed as his hands gripped at the flesh at your hips and butt. His thrusts became erratic in nature, his already broken-down composure crumbling even further. You could hear his breathy words, soaking in the neediness laced within them.

“Missed you so fucking much, my wife– my fucking wife.”

“Look so fucking pretty, so fucking senstive f’ me.”

“Missed this pretty fucking pussy, hate how much I have to leave you–fuck!”

Shouta’s body lurched, towering over your own. You could feel his sweat dripping down from his body, falling like light rain into your almost bareback, your thin night-top crumpled up at your bosom. Your hands crumpled up the blankets and sheets underneath you, the feeling of your tongue slightly grazing against the fabric. Your words soon dulled out, the only thing on your tongue was your monas and coherent words putting together the title you called him in bed. You could feel your cunt tightening up around him, like a ticking time bomb going off within you.

“Such a sweet fucking pussy– fuck–” his body suddenly lunched, the bruising grip he had on your hip tightening.

Your body convulsed, shaking in his hold as your mind went blank white, tears streaking out of your eyes as your climax ripped out of you, your juices spilling and ripping all over him.

“Daddy!—” your final words cut, your voice echoing against the white walls of your room.

With a final grunt, you felt your husband slump over, feeling his dick twitching inside of you, painting your walls white. Soon, the only thing you could hear was the sounds of your heavy breathing, both your and Shouta’s as well. You let out a whimper as you felt him pull out his cock out of you, leaving you with withdrawal. Without him letting go of your hips, your legs fully slumped onto the wet bed. With hands still around you, shrieking as he swept you up from the bed. You held onto him as your husband slowly got off the bed, turning your head to see him slip into your bedroom’s bathroom, using one hand to turn the light on. He placed you on the toilet, before walking to your sink. You couldn't help the soft smile that slowly appeared on your face as you heard the faucet turn on.

He walked back over with a rag, slowly opening up your legs as you both felt and saw your cum mixed with his, dripping down your inner thigh. He moved the warm rag against your skin, letting out a short gasp as he grazed the rag against your sensitive cunt, cleaning up the main source of the mess. You heard your husband let out a breath of a chuckle, seeing a ghost of a smirk etched on his face. Your soft smile turned abashed as your hand reached up, smacking him slightly on his shoulder. Your brick house of a husband didn’t even flinch from your smack, continuing to clean you up. Soon you could feel nothing but the touch of water on your legs. Once finished, your husband slowly pulled your soaked shorts down the rest of the way, before tossing them into your laundry hamper. With nothing else, he carried you back to the bed.

The two of you slipped underneath the sheets, his arm easily wrapping your waist as he pulled you close. You had no use of the pillows, using your husband’s naked chest, humming at the warmth that radiated off of his body. Before you knew it, you had laid a soft kiss against the beefy shoulder of your husband, before snuggling back into him. You both heard and felt him move, smiling as you felt a soft pressure against the top of your head, feeling the sensation of lips. With that, you drifted off to sleep, slowly hearing your own husband’s snores echo into her.

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m1ckeyb3rry · 7 months ago

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Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

Chapter Synopsis: Oliver Aiku isn’t sure which entity he’s wronged to earn this kind of treatment, but somehow, in the days before the match against Blue Lock, he’s stuck watching over the team’s newest addition: Sae Itoshi, a rude midfielder who’d rather be in Spain (or in hell) than hanging out with him. Things get a little more complicated, though, when a cup of shitty coffee leads to a crush and Aiku is forced to intervene.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 7.9k

Content Warnings: crack fic, sae my awkward goat, love at first sight, oliver aiku is such a bitch but he’s funny so it’s kind of okay, reader has to work in customer service 😓, this is really dumb please don’t judge my writing off of it, sae is 100% ooc don’t come at me i KNOWWW, split perspectives (it makes sense in the story), sae slander (from aiku), reader is a fan girl but she keeps it 𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙, reader’s dad has cameos but he’s just chilling tbh

A/N: the people wanted sae’s version to be posted first so uhhh here we are!! LMAO it kind of got a bit long (as usual) but it’s very silly and goofy!! anyways so this is the first entry in “oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls” i hope you all stick around for the rest 🤩‼️

Oliver Aiku likes to think he’s a fairly nice guy. He visits his grandmother every weekend, he rescues kittens from gutters (okay, it only happened once, but he still did it, so it counts), and he’s good enough at being captain of the Japanese U-20s that none of his teammates really hate him, so all in all, he can’t be doing that bad of a job. Yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s a great person, a stand-up fellow, an upstanding member of society — so why the fuck is Sae Itoshi glaring at him like that?

“What?” he says, because it was fine for the first, say, twenty minutes or so, but now it’s gone from annoying to just plain concerning. “Something going on with you?”

Sae stares at him for a moment longer, and Aiku wonders if he’s trying to communicate via telepathy. That’s a skill he’s never picked up, though, so he can only wait for Sae to speak up, which, thankfully, he eventually does.

“This coffee is shit,” he says. The way he speaks is dull and blank, his lips pinched together and his brows low over his eyes. It’s kind of a shame, in Aiku’s highly professional opinion. He’d be handsome if he smiled more; or, if not handsome, at least approachable enough to not scare away every single girl that dared to even glance at him.

“It’s not my fault,” Aiku says. “Take it up with the barista or something.”

“You’re the one who brought me here, so it is your fault,” Sae says. Aiku crosses his arms, because isn’t Sae younger than him? This feels like a level of disrespect he shouldn’t tolerate, prodigy or not.

“Nuh-uh,” he says. In hindsight, it’s not the most mature response he could’ve come up with, and Sae seems to agree, snorting derisively before using a napkin to dab at a drip of coffee running down the side of his cup.

“What a captain,” he says with a sigh. “No wonder you guys need me to play for you against those Blue Lock idiots.”

Aiku should be offended, he really should be — and he is! He is, and he’s just about to muster up some scathing retort that’ll definitely leave Sae Itoshi trembling, but then Sae’s standing up with purpose, so now he’s just intrigued instead of insulted. He follows after him as Sae holds the coffee in one hand and marches towards the counter, and when he realizes what’s about to happen, he preemptively cringes.

“Don’t yell at service workers!” Aiku says. It would’ve been heroic if he had said it loud enough for Sae to hear him, but unfortunately, it’s more of a whisper than the brave shout he had intended for it to be, so he just looks kind of stupid, as if he regularly talks to himself or something.

“Hey,” Sae says to the boy at the counter. He’s young, probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, and Aiku prays that he’s not the target of Sae’s ire. “Who made this?”

The boy squints at Sae’s cup, reading the receipt, and then he smiles innocently. “That was Y/N. Did you want to talk to her?”

“Yes,” Sae says bluntly. Aiku is about to thank whichever deity was watching over him and that boy alike, but he pauses when the rest of the kid’s statement registers. Her? Her? Is Sae seriously about to yell at a girl for making bad coffee? If she’s hot, he’ll kill Sae, no doubt about it. “And tell her to make it quick. We don’t have all day, and she’s already wasted enough of our time.”

Yeah, he’s definitely going to kill him.

“Y/N,” a voice whispers. You’re untying your apron — your shift is just about over, and you’re ready to clock out, but for some reason your young coworker is peering into the kitchen nervously and gesturing for you to come with him. Normally, you’d tell him to handle things himself, but he’s new, so you decide to be responsible for once and follow after him, muttering curses to yourself as you retie your apron.

“What’s the matter? Did you spill something?” you say. He shakes his head, raising his hand and pointing at the counter, where two customers are waiting. You frown, because you’re pretty sure you already gave them their drinks, so there’s no reason for them to be standing there, unless maybe they want to reorder. “Wait. Did you call me to take their order? No way! My shift is over in thirty seconds!”

“No, no, I didn’t,” your coworker says. “They want to talk to you.”

“Me? Like me, specifically?” you say. He nods.

“Yeah, they asked for you by name and everything,” he says earnestly. “I think they’re mad, though.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, because the last thing you want to do is deal with a couple of prissy customers, especially not when you’re supposed to be heading home already. However, your coworker seems to be on the verge of tears, and some kind of sisterly affection tugs at your heartstrings, so you pat him on the shoulder and take his spot at the counter.

“Hi, this is Y/N. My coworker told me you needed to see me. How can I help you?” you say. Your voice is chipper and your smile is false, but they don’t need to know that. You’ve been working at the coffee shop for long enough that you’re practiced at pretending, and you know for a fact that your coworker is standing shyly at your side, probably astonished by the quality of your performance.

For a moment, neither man speaks, so you get to stare at them and make your own assumptions about who they are and what their backstories might be. It’s kind of like a hobby, a pastime for when things are slow or you’re generally annoyed about your job. You’ve developed it over the years, and luckily, these two are prime candidates for the game.

The one on the left is tall and broad, with dark hair and mysterious eyes. Curiously, one is a bright green, while the other is a softer violet, and there’s a few-days-old stubble growing on his square face, like a shadow running along his jaw. It gives him a rough appearance, like he owns a motorcycle and frequently wears leather jackets, but you want to believe that he’s gentle at heart. Maybe he has a fondness for baby animals or he likes to bake cookies or something along those lines.

The one on the right is shorter than his counterpart, and his hair is red like a sunset, pushed carelessly out of his haughty face. He’s wearing a sweater that matches his eyes, though the teal of the knitted fabric is much more muted, and you’re about to come up with some kind of fantastical explanation for who he might be when you realize that you know him.

He clears his throat, and you scramble to stand up straighter, internally screaming, because what are the odds that you’ve somehow managed to piss off the star player of your favorite soccer club’s youth team? You wonder what your father will think of you now. You wonder what you think of yourself now. What should you do? Should you tell him you recognize him? Ask for an autograph? Or should you play it cool and pretend like you don’t know him? What if he yells at you?

Actually, you wouldn’t mind it as much as normally do. When everyday customers start screaming at you for some perceived wrong that you’ve supposedly committed, you typically tune them out, and then you make fun of them with your coworkers in the back, but if it’s Sae Itoshi…well. you’ll certainly listen to every word he says, and when you return to the kitchen, you’ll write them down somewhere so you can remember the moment forever.

“He didn’t like his drink,” he says, pointing at the dark haired man.

“What?” the man shrieks. The pitch is higher than you would’ve expected from someone of his size, but it appears he realizes that, too, because then he’s coughing. “I mean, what? What are you talking about?”

“You were just complaining, Aiku,” Sae says. “You even made me come up here and get mad at this girl for you.”

The other man, who you guess is named Aiku, is turning a strange shade between magenta and beet-red, and you’re surprised there isn’t steam coming out of his ears. Given that you don’t really care about him that much, you’re instantly irritated again, because why would it matter if he didn’t like his drink? Still, you have to keep up appearances.

“My apologies, sir. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” you say.

“No!” Aiku says. “No, it’s — hey, Sae, you were the one who was all upset, so why are you putting it on me?”

“Hm?” Sae says, obviously uninterested in the conversation already. “I dunno. Maybe it happened like that, or maybe not.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, more than a little bewildered. “Ah, I’m new here, so I’m still learning.”

Aiku, who has returned to a more normal and human color, smiles at you kindly, and he’s about to respond, ostensibly to reassure you, but then your damned coworker pipes up: “No, she’s not.”

“Ah, sorry?” Aiku says.

“She’s not new,” your coworker says again.

“‘New’ is a subjective term,” you say mechanically, wishing that it was acceptable for you to turn around and hit him in public whenever you wanted.

“I don’t think anyone would consider you to be new when you’ve been working here for three years,” your coworker says. You can imagine the innocent, guileless expression on his face right now. You want to do something violent to it.

“Ha, ha,” you say. You think your eye might twitch, too, but if Aiku or Sae notice, then neither of them point it out. “What a knowledgeable fellow we have back here.”

“It’s alright,” Aiku says. “I didn’t mind the drink. Sae’s the one who threw a fit about it.”

“I liked it,” Sae says stubbornly. “It was fine.”

You step in before Aiku can turn magenta again, because that’s probably unhealthy for him, and you don’t want to be held liable for a customer dying on your watch when you’re not even being paid for it.

“Anyways, is that all? I’m actually done with my shift, so if you guys don’t need anything else…” you trail off, though inside you’re screaming something along the lines of Sae Itoshi, please notice me and give me your autograph and oh, if you could fall in love with me, too, that would be amazing!

Of course, you can’t verbalize anything like that, so you just smile and wave until the door slams shut behind them. Then you’re yanking your apron off and balling it up before chucking it at your coworker’s face. It hits him in the nose and slides to the ground; he gives you an offended look before picking it up.

“You’re lucky it was only an apron,” you say. “You owe me big time, you little shit.”

“Huh?” he says.

“I won’t forget this!” you warn him, stomping towards the small locker room, where your precious phone is waiting for you. “You’re a major-league jerk, okay? Don’t ever ask me to cover another shift for you again!”

“Huh?”

“What the hell was that?” Aiku snaps as soon as they’ve left the cafe, because this is totally not what he was expecting when his coach told him that he had to treat Sae nicely and make him feel welcome.

“What was what?” Sae says. He’s sipping on his coffee sedately now, even though he was complaining about it only minutes earlier.

“Since when was I the one who was upset about my coffee?” Aiku says.

“I have a bad memory,” Sae deadpans. “I guess it could’ve been either of us.”

“That was not believable in the slightest,” Aiku feels the need to inform him. Judging by Sae’s expression, it wasn’t meant to be believable, though, and Aiku sighs. “Seriously, what’s your deal? You were just going crazy and glaring at me because you thought the coffee sucked, and now you think it’s good?”

“I should’ve waited for it to cool,” Sae says. “It’s better now. I was being hasty.”

“Uh-huh,” Aiku says. “Sure. Let’s do something else tomorrow. I don’t ever want to go back there. I don’t think I can face that girl again. She was so hot, too, and now she probably thinks I’m some ungrateful asshole…”

“I want to go back,” Sae says immediately, throwing the now-empty cup into the nearest trash can. Aiku furrows his brow at him, trying to puzzle out this latest contradiction and finding himself utterly unable to. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Aiku repeats dubiously. Tomorrow he has practice, and technically so does Sae. However, they both know that Sae doesn’t need anything as ridiculous as practice in order to win against a team of eleven high-school forwards, and he’s fairly confident that his coach will tell him to accompany the bratty Itoshi instead of showing up, since the JFU is pulling out all of the stops if it means getting Sae to stay in Japan for good.

“Tomorrow,” Sae reaffirms.

I’m a nice guy, Aiku tries to remind himself. This is what nice guys do. I’m boosting team morale. Yeah. That’s all. Captain’s duties.

Still, as he chases after Sae, who apparently doesn’t know what the word ‘stroll’ means and prefers to do everything at a brisk pace more akin to a jog, he thinks that this entire ridiculous assignment feels more like a babysitter’s duties than anything.

“Are you serious?” your father says. In the background, the TV is playing a game between Re Al and Barcha, which is rather fitting.

“Deadly,” you say, untying the laces of your sneakers and putting them with the rest of your shoes. “It was actually him.”

“Sae Itoshi,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s back from Spain?”

“Seems like it,” you say, though now that he mentions it, you’re as confused as he is. Why is Sae Itoshi here instead of Madrid? You glance at the TV — Barcha has just scored, and the cameras are sweeping through the crowds, showing the excited fans cheering — and wonder if maybe he was fired or something. You doubt that that’s what happened; after all, he’s a consistent player, and the last time he was in a match, he even managed to outmaneuver that freaky striker who plays for Bastard München, so it would make zero sense for Re Al to let him go. Besides, even if they did, you’re sure there’s dozens of clubs that would be willing to take him, so there must be another reason for his presence in Japan.

“Huh,” your father says. “Well. Good for him.”

“I guess so,” you say. “If I ever see him again, I’ll ask him what he’s doing in town.”

Your father chuckles, taking a sip of his beer and giving you a thumbs up. “Yeah, you do that. Let me know what he says.”

You laugh, too, sitting down at the counter and eating a plate of reheated leftovers, because you know as well as your father that the idea of you ever seeing Sae Itoshi again is more than a little far-fetched. But it’s a nice thought, and anyways the chances are never zero, so for the moment, you allow yourself to imagine.

Aiku is seriously questioning if Sae Itoshi was sent to this earth — or at least to this country — as some kind of punishment for him. He’s not really sure what’s done that would invite such cosmic retribution, but maybe it’s one of those…what did that girl call them? Karmic debts? She had said something about the sins of his past life and all, though he can’t recall the specifics.

Wait. That’s wrong. He just never learnt them in the first place, so how could he remember them in the first place? He had broken up with her before she could explain her theories to him. This prompts a wince from him, which is further fueled by the way his t-shirt sticks to his back with sweat. It’s a distinctively uncomfortable feeling, and he’s contemplating complaining, even though it probably won’t do much.

“Shut up,” Sae says.

“I didn’t say anything!” Aiku protests, more than a little spooked, since he actually had been about to say something before Sae had cut him off.

“I can see you making faces at me,” Sae says. Considering Sae is walking ahead of him and to the side, Aiku’s not quite sure how he could tell anything about what sorts of faces Aiku is making, but unfortunately, he’s uncannily correct as always, so Aiku schools his expression into a smooth, neutral one that won’t beget reprimand from his companion.

“I can’t believe you insisted on going here straight after practice,” he says.

“This is the same time we went yesterday,” Sae says. He’s kind of an insufferable smart-ass, Aiku thinks to himself, though he’d never say as much to Sae’s face. After all, unlike his counterpart, he’s considerate like that, and he always has been.

“So? We didn’t have practice yesterday,” Aiku says. “You couldn’t even let me shower?”

“You take forever in the showers,” Sae says. This is rich, for Sae is notoriously obsessive with his skincare, and of the entire team, he takes far and away the longest to get ready. But, then again, Aiku supposes that idiocy is one of those illnesses which spreads further and further until all of one’s perspectives are tainted with the virus.

“I could’ve been quick,” he says. “It would’ve been better if I could’ve at least rinsed off so I didn’t look so gross. I want to impress that Y/N girl if she’s there again today.”

“You’re not her type,” Sae says dismissively. “So why bother?”

“How do you know? Are the two of you childhood buddies or something?” Aiku says. Sae glances at him, and of course he’s way too holier-than-thou to properly sneer, but the corners of his lips turn downwards to the same effect.

“Not too hard to figure out,” he says.

“Well, hold on just a moment! I got the vibe that she was totally into me yesterday!” Aiku says. He actually did not get any such vibes from the barista; the only thing she seemed into was clocking out, but he’s Oliver Aiku. If he can’t get a girl, he can’t do anything. Besides, it’s not like Sae would be able to tell one way or another — Aiku and his teammate Sendou have a theory that Sae was created in a lab as some kind of experiment to make the world’s best midfielder, because the guy really doesn’t have any knowledge or concern for anything that’s unrelated to soccer.

True to form, Sae blinks unsurely. “Really?”

“Yeah, one hundred percent,” Aiku boasts, although then he’s narrowing his eyes, because such a question is so out of Sae’s character that for a moment, he wonders if there’s been a mistake and he’s actually taken some other team member of his along for this ridiculous errand.

Messy red hair. Teal eyes. Forehead creased with a frown. No, it’s definitely Sae Itoshi, that’s for sure. Just Sae Itoshi in a mood that he’s never seen before. If they were a little closer, he’d ask him what’s the big deal now, but as it is, the question would probably go unappreciated.

“Hm,” Sae says. “Whatever. We’ll see.”

“Sure,” Aiku says slowly, reaching out to hold open the door of the cafe so he can enter behind Sae, since his lovely, amazing, wonderful, kindhearted teammate so generously left it to slam shut in his face.

What a total dick. He makes a mental note to ask the JFU for a raise, because whatever they’re giving him at the moment is definitely not enough.

“They’re back again!” your coworker says. You’re still mad at him for yesterday, so you’ve been giving him the silent treatment the entire shift. It hasn’t gone unnoticed, but his pitiful attempts at reconciliation never include an apology, so you haven’t budged yet.

He waits for you to respond, but you’re pretty sure he’s making stuff up to get you to pay attention to him, and anyways they could be in reference to anyone, so you continue to pour milk into a cup, acting like it’s an all-consuming task which you cannot possibly complete without the utmost of concentration.

“I’m being serious! Y/N, it’s Sae Itoshi and, uh, that other dude!” he says. Your hand wobbles for the briefest moment, but you conclude that he’s most likely lying, so you steady yourself and continue pouring the milk. “Fine, be that way! I’ll serve them myself!”

You can’t even say something snarky in response, because that’ll still be a win on his part, so you huff particularly loudly to no one in particular and leave it at that.

A few minutes later, he’s back, looking so contrite that if you weren’t upset with him, you’d actually be worried. Unfortunately, you very much are upset with him, so you find it on the whole to be rather hilarious and have to suppress a laugh.

He must take your amusement as a signal to talk, because he speaks eagerly and quickly, stumbling over his words and clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Y/N, Y/N, they’re insisting on seeing you, I told them you’re working right now — I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to do that, right? But I did, and now they really want to see you!” he says.

You’re still not entirely convinced, but if this is an act, then it’s a dedicated one, and you don’t think that he possesses that much dedication in all of his body, so maybe he’s actually telling the truth.

“Fine,” you say. “But if you’re lying, I swear I’m telling our manager to fire you.”

“I’m not!” he squeaks, darting back to the counter, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to catch up to him.

When you reach the front, you’re surprised to see that it is in fact Sae Itoshi and…whoever that other guy is. Aiku? Yes, that sounds right. It’s Sae and Aiku, and one looks supremely inconvenienced — this would be Sae, of course — while his friend is running a hand through his sweaty hair, flashing you a grin.

You smile back at him, because that’s what you’re trained to do, and you don’t want your coworker to tattle to your manager that you’re not abiding by the cafe’s standards of customer service. Then you stare at them until one of them starts speaking, because that’s what your entire job is, and no matter how badly you want to start gushing to Sae Itoshi about how big of a fan you are, you have to remain professional.

“Is there anything I can do for you two?” you finally say. This prompts Aiku to nod, nudging Sae in the side, which earns him a dark glare.

“I want the number two, and he’ll take the number five,” Aiku says when Sae does not speak up. You want to tell him that nobody orders like that, but you’re not supposed to and it’s really not that big of a deal either way, so you just ring up the order.

“Sounds good. Would you like to pay with cash or credit?” you say.

“Credit,” Sae says, pulling out a card that probably has a monthly spending limit higher than what you make in a year. “And we’re splitting the bill, just so you know.”

What you want to say is Wow, Sae, you’re somehow even cooler in real-life! Who’s your favorite soccer player? What’s your favorite food? Do you like Spain better, or here? What you actually say is: “No problem. I’ll have those right out for you.”

“Thanks,” Aiku says. He’s kind of charming, in a sense; you can think of several friends you have that would probably swoon at the way his smile stretches across his face, but you don’t really see the appeal. Or, maybe you would normally, but at the moment, he’s standing next to Sae Itoshi, so it’s a little hard to focus on him at all.

“Yeah,” Sae says. “Thank you. Y/N.”

He’s probably just reading off of your name tag in an effort to seem more friendly and relatable and humble and all. It’s a classic PR move that he was probably taught as soon as he joined Re Al. You know about it, though, so it shouldn’t work on you. It won’t work on you. He’s just doing what he’s trained to, the same as you are.

It works on you. You run to the back and hide your face in your hands and squeal, because Sae fucking Itoshi just said your name.

“Holy fucking shit,” Aiku says.

“Are we just listing curse words now?” Sae says dryly. “Bitch, cunt, hell. There’s three more for you.”

“You like the barista!” Aiku accuses. If Sae was drinking something, he would’ve spit it out just then, but he’s not, so he just chokes on his saliva.

“No way,” he says.

“Yes, you do! How else can you explain this?” Aiku says, pitching his voice up in an imitation of Sae’s. “Yeah. Thank you. Y/N. Since when do you say thank you to people?”

“Since always? I have manners,” Sae says.

“I’ve never heard you say it,” Aiku says.

“Maybe that’s more telling about you than me,” Sae suggests. Aiku scowls at him.

“You definitely like her,” he says. “No judgment here, man. She’s pretty.”

“Whatever,” Sae says. “Even if I did like her — mind you, I don’t — she’s clearly into you.”

“Me?” Aiku says. “I was just messing with you earlier, you know. Anyways, yeah, I think she’s hot, but, like, you’ve never liked a girl before, right? So I wouldn’t get in the way of that. This is a big step.”

“You’re not getting in the way of anything. Do what you want,” Sae says.

Aiku’s already pulling out his phone and texting Sendou: big news. Lab experiment just evolved. Feels attraction and jealousy now.

“Uh-huh,” he responds absentmindedly. Sendou texts back with about fifty mind-blown emojis, and he snickers to himself, liking the message.

“Anyways, who told you I’ve never liked anyone before?” Sae says defensively. Aiku just about drops his phone, leaning forwards in interest. Could it be? Are he and Sae actually bonding? Is Sae about to tell him about his first love — who apparently is not this barista?

“I just guessed. Was I wrong?” Aiku says. He’s already trying to come up with who Sae might’ve liked — a childhood neighbor or friend? A women’s soccer player he admired? A girl he saw once in Spain but never again? Oh, that last one is particularly romantic…he’s just about accepted it as fact when Sae glares at him.

“No,” he says. Aiku’s dreams are shattered in an instant, but he can only shake his head while chuckling, both because Sae has inadvertently admitted that he actually does like that Y/N girl, and because he was an idiot for believing that ‘Sae Itoshi’ and ‘romantic’ could ever belong together in one sentence.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“What do I do?” you say. You and your coworker are back on speaking terms, mostly because you have no one else to talk to and are so desperate that you’re willing to temporarily forgive him.

“Make their drinks?” he says. You give him a dirty look as you begin mixing up their orders.

“Not about that. I’m such a huge fan of Sae’s, and this is the second time I’m making a drink for him. It’s kind of like fate, don’t you think? Should I try to talk to him or something?” you say.

“Do you want to?” your coworker says. It’s a slower time of day, so he has nothing to do but sit and watch you — at least, nothing immediate. There’s certainly things he could be doing, but you’re not about to chide him when you’re the reason he’s slacking off.

“Obviously! But what am I supposed to even say? I’ll sound like a creep if I just start acting like a fan-girl!” you say.

“That’s true,” your coworker says. “You kind of sound like one even now…”

“Ugh, if you’re not going to be helpful, then go organize the storeroom or something!”

“What about her makes you like her?” Aiku presses.

“Are we still on this?” Sae says, as if they’ve been talking about it for hours. “I don’t like her.”

“It’s not like you talked to her for a while…was it really just her looks?” Aiku says. “Damn. Didn’t think you were the shallow type.”

“I am not the shallow type!” Sae says.

“That sounds like something that a shallow person would say,” Aiku teases.

“Shut up,” Sae says. Aiku doesn’t have enough fingers or toes to count how many times Sae’s said that particular phrase to him. Maybe if he counted all of the fingers and all of the toes of every single person in the world, he would get kind of close to what that number might be. “I’m not shallow, I don’t like her, and she’s obviously way more interested in talking to you than me, so get off my back.”

Aiku whistles. “Someone’s jealous.”

“I’m telling the JFU that you were the one who sent me back to Spain,” Sae informs him bluntly. Aiku isn’t sure if that’s a joke or a legitimate threat. It’s hard to tell with Sae sometimes.

“Are you serious?” Aiku says.

“Deadly,” Sae says.

Yep, Aiku decides. He’s serious.

“If only that Aiku dude wasn’t there,” you lament, setting the first drink in the pick-up area and calling out Aiku’s name before returning to finish Sae’s drink. “It’d be way easier to talk to Sae without someone there to judge everything I’m saying.”

“Do you think he’d even care?” your coworker says. You shrug.

“No idea. It’s intimidating to talk to guys around their friends, though. You’re a guy yourself, so you wouldn’t get it,” you say.

“Are they even friends?” your coworker says. “Doesn’t seem like they get along that well.”

In unison, the two of you turn so you can look at the duo, who are sitting at a table right within your line of sight. As your coworker said, they don’t look like they’re friends in the slightest. Aiku is sipping on his drink with a smirk, and Sae looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, than be sitting there with his not-friend.

“The point still stands,” you say.

“Guess so,” your coworker says. Just then, Sae Itoshi happens to glance over, making direct eye contact with you. Your eyebrows raise, and your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught. Aiku turns to follow Sae’s line of sight as you weigh your options. Should you pretend like you weren’t doing anything? Should you wave?

You decide to just smile again before returning to the drink you were supposed to be working on. Your coworker, who saw the entire exchange, cannot stop laughing.

“It’s over for you,” he says. “He definitely thinks you’re a creepy fan-girl now. You can kiss that autograph goodbye.”

“You’re lucky I’m too lazy to remake this drink,” you say. “Because otherwise, I’d spill it on you.”

“That’s against company policy,” he says.

“By accident, of course,” you say with a malicious grin.

“That’s against company policy, too!”

“Look, she just smiled at you. I bet she was looking at you the entire time,” Sae says coolly. “You should ask for her number. You already said you think she’s beautiful.”

“I said she’s hot. I’m not all poetic and shit like that,” Aiku says. “And I wouldn’t do that. It’s against the bro code.”

“We’re not ‘bros’, so you can put that out of your head,” Sae says.

“What if I help you get her number?” Aiku says. Sae tries very hard to maintain his nonchalant look, but Aiku can tell that his curiosity has been piqued. “Will you consider me a bro then? At the minimum, will you tell the JFU that I’ve done a great job at showing you around and making you feel welcome?”

Please please please please please I really need a fucking raise Sae I’m broke please please please —

“Sure,” Sae says.

“Sure?” Aiku says. “Yes! Okay, this will be easy.”

Sae scoffs. “Yeah, okay. If that’s what you think.”

“Believe me,” Aiku says. “You’re in the presence of a master.”

Sae doesn’t even dignify that with a response beyond the most disgusted look Aiku has ever seen on anyone, Sae or not. He’d say something, but he’s pretty sure he deserves it at least a little, and anyways a possible raise is way more important to him than being right, so he keeps his mouth shut, simply giving Sae a double-thumbs-up. He’s going to ace this new assignment, and then maybe he’ll actually be paid what he’s worth instead of pennies on the dime.

You’re about to call out Sae’s name when you realize that for some reason, both Aiku and Sae are standing there and waiting for you. You furrow your brow, because it’s both a menacing and a comical sight — the hulking Aiku, who looks like he’s about to go punch a criminal on television before flipping his hair and telling the ladies that there’s enough of him to go around, and the slender Sae Itoshi, who you can’t imagine doing anything but slamming a winning pass to one of his teammates, invariably leading to a soccer ball in his opponent’s net.

“Uh, hello,” you say.

“Hello,” Aiku says.

“Hi,” Sae says.

“I have your drink,” you say to Sae.

“I know,” he says, taking it from your hand. Of course — why else would they be here? They must’ve seen you finishing up the drink and rightly assumed that it was theirs.

“Right,” you say. Neither of them go to leave, and now you wonder if they just don’t understand social cues or something like that. “Did you guys want to order something else? My coworker would be happy to take you at the counter.”

“No,” Sae says.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Well, I hope you enjoy your drinks.”

“We will,” Sae says with the utmost of confidence. Aiku groans and then thumps him on the back. You have a feeling you probably don’t want to know what the significance of the gesture is, but then you realize that this is probably the only chance you’ll get to have a proper conversation with Sae Itoshi, so you shove your concerns aside.

“Wait! If it doesn’t bother you too much, can I ask you a question?” you say. It’s an incredibly awkward way of going about it, but given how awkward this entire interaction has been, you don’t think it’s a huge deal.

“Go ahead,” Aiku says. You weren’t asking him, but you guess the permission covers them both, so you square your shoulders and face Sae Itoshi, who seems entirely confused that you’re looking at him instead of Aiku. You’re not sure why he would be, since between the two of them he’s the celebrity, but maybe there’s some weird dynamic going on that you’re unaware of.

It doesn’t matter to you, though. You only have one thing to ask. You’ll never cross paths with Sae again, will you? So it’s fine. You can act a little embarrassing, and anyways, you barely make above minimum wage, so if your manager gets too upset and fires you for ‘unprofessional conduct’ or something, it won’t be a huge loss. It’ll be worth it, even, considering this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance and your coworker is busy reorganizing the storeroom like you told him to, so he’s not around to spy on you and report back to your stodgy old manager.

Taking a deep breath, you open your mouth and begin to speak.

Aiku hadn’t dared to even dream of the possibility that the barista might already like Sae, too. Why would she? Sae had just been all weird and rude to her in the couple of times that they had spoken, so all in all she’d have to be somewhat of a masochist, or a Re Al fan (which was essentially the same thing, given the losing streak that Re Al had been on for the last month or so), to be into him. But sometimes miracles did happen and baristas were masochists, because the girl was turning to Sae with shimmering eyes and a hopeful expression and it was all going to go so well—

“What are you even doing in Japan in the first place?”

Did he hear her right? Sae is bewildered as well, but Y/N isn’t acting like she’s just asked the most ridiculous question she could’ve possibly asked. What is Sae doing in Japan? Well, he happens to be a citizen of the nation, so there’s one explanation…Aiku wants to facepalm, because now his plans have been ruined and Sae’s confidence has probably been crushed.

“Pardon?” Sae says. Aiku had told him not to act so cranky and old-man-ish when he approaches the girl, but honestly, at this point, there’s no helping him, so he doesn’t even bother with a correction.

“Why are you in Japan?” she says again, all bright and innocent and cheery. It somehow feels like she’s been faking things so far, and that this is the real her, which she’s been holding back up until this point. Aiku isn’t so sure if that’s a good thing; privately, he believes it would’ve been better if she kept holding back just a little bit longer. Long enough for her to reject Sae — who still claims he’s not into her and is just trying to ‘be friendly’, as if friendliness is something he’s well known for — and then move on with her day.

“My passport expired?” Sae says, phrasing it more like a question. “So I had to come back and get it renewed?”

His voice ticks up at the end of every sentence unsurely. It’s almost cute, like he’s a little baby chick. Aiku’s fond of chicks, so he decides he’ll step in. Just this once.

“He’s visiting from Spain to play for the Japanese U-20 team in an upcoming exhibition match,” he explains.

“Oh, wow,” she says. “But I thought you said you would rather give up on soccer or play with German college kids than ever play soccer for Japan?”

Aiku raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t aware of such sentiments, and though he’s not exactly shocked, he can’t help feeling a bit miffed. When he glances over at Sae, there’s not a trace of remorse on his face, and so he wrinkles his nose.

Forget the raise and the baby-chick-esque mannerisms alike. He’s done helping this ungrateful, no-good, lame-as-hell, girl-repelling loser for free. If Sae wants any further assistance, he’ll have to beg for it.

“How did you know I said that?” Sae says. You clap your hand over your mouth when you realize you’ve exposed yourself.

“I, um, I was just guessing!” you say.

“Guessing?” he repeats. You swear, because that’s actually a worse explanation than the original one, and then you hang your head, because if the cat’s out of the bag, then there’s no way you can put it back in.

“It’s a quote from one of your interviews,” you mumble.

“What?” It’s Aiku, who immediately frowns when he realizes he’s butted in. Sae gives him an odd look out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m a big fan of yours,” you say. “The last game you played in, when you stole the ball from that Bastard München striker, was amazing! To tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re in the area instead of back in Madrid. It’s a little unbelievable, you see.”

“Ah,” Sae says, and for some reason he looks uncomfortable. “Well. Yeah. It was just the issues with my passport and all. I decided to play for the U-20s because I was offered a good deal, but it’s right back to Madrid for me after that.”

“That makes sense,” you say. It’s awkward again, but in a different way. You don’t know what to say. You don’t think he does either. His drink is probably cold now, and you’re surprised that Aiku’s eyes aren’t stuck in the back of his head, given how frequently he’s been rolling them. “Can I have your autograph?”

“No,” Sae says immediately. You’re a little taken aback, and to be honest, he looks kind of horrified himself, but you know better than to nag, so you only nod at him.

“No worries—” you begin before you’re cut off by a grumbling Aiku.

“He’ll give you his number instead. Here,” Aiku says, listing off a series of digits too rapidly for you to remember. “He’ll write it down, for you, right, Sae?”

And then, to your utter disbelief, Sae Itoshi is pulling out a pen and a piece of paper from who knows where, and he’s humming in agreement.

“Right,” he says, and then he’s handing you a note with his phone number written on it in neat print and his signature in flowing cursive. “You can call me later. If you want. Y/N.”

The way he speaks is stilted and low, but you don’t mind it. Tucking the piece of paper into your apron pocket, you beam at him.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll call you. I still have more things to ask you, so it’s good that you gave me this.”

“Yes,” Sae says. “Yes, you can do that if you’d like.”

Then he and Aiku are leaving the coffee shop, their drinks in hand, and you’re standing there in awe, wondering if that actually just happened or if it was nothing but a particularly vivid flight of fancy.

If it’s the latter, then you almost hope it’s one you don’t ever escape from.

“You’re welcome,” Aiku says as they leave the cafe.

“I didn’t say thank you, you lukewarm oaf,” Sae says. Aiku shrugs. He’s hard to ruffle, after all. It’s the reason why he stepped in and rescued Sae from that little mistake of his. He just couldn’t bear the thought of his dear junior losing the girl of his dreams because of a slip of his tongue, even if aforementioned junior is the insufferable smart-ass type.

Well, the thought of the money he’ll make if Sae speaks of him highly to the JFU doesn’t hurt, either, but that’s less altruistic, so he prefers to stick to the first explanation.

“I bet you feel it, though,” Aiku says.

“Shut up,” Sae says.

It’s a good thing babies are born every minute. Otherwise, given how frequently Sae says that particular phrase, Aiku really might run out of things to count on.

You’ve typed the number on the piece of paper into your phone, and now you’re staring at it blankly, wondering if you should press the green call button. What if it was a prank? What if it wasn’t? Because then you’ll have to actually talk to Sae Itoshi, and you’re not so sure you can do that.

In a fit of inspiration, you slam your index finger against your screen and hold your phone up to your ear. It rings a couple of times, each subsequent one worsening the pit in your stomach, but then it stops ringing entirely, which can only mean one thing: Sae, if this really is his number, has answered.

“Hello?” you say.

“Hello?” he responds. “Y/N?”

“Yes!” you say. “It’s me. Y/N. Like you said.”

“Cool,” he says. “It’s Sae. Which I guess you knew, since you called me.”

“The confirmation was nice,” you say, internally sighing in relief. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. It’s mannerly but also a little sarcastic, albeit not in a mean way. You don’t mind it much. “You said you had to ask me some things?”

The two of you spend the next few minutes in a setting kind of like an interview, in that you drill him with questions and he answers them all patiently. He’s kind about it, humoring you even though he doesn’t have to, and he never threatens to hang up, which you do appreciate.

“Would you mind if I ask a question, too?” he says when you’ve taken a break to drink some water.

“Go ahead! Although I’m not as interesting as you are,” you say.

“I think you’re probably way more interesting,” he admits. “Anyways. Are you free next weekend?”

“Uh, I think I have a shift on Saturday, but to be honest, my coworker owes me, so he can cover it. Why?” you say.

“The exhibition game that I’m playing with the U-20s for. You should come watch,” he says.

“Oh! Sure, where should I get tickets? I’d have gotten them already if I knew you were playing,” you say.

“I’m allowed to invite someone,” he says. “Friends or family. So I’m inviting you.”

“Don’t you have actual friends that you can invite?” you say before gasping. “Sorry! Sorry, that was super insensitive and rude of me. Of course I’m honored to come, I’m just confused about why I’m the one you’re inviting. Me. I’ve literally made coffee for you twice, and that’s about it.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he says before pausing. “Um, look, Aiku told me to say this, so if it’s uncomfortable, then blame him…but I think you’re, er, beautiful?”

Your mind short-circuits. “Huh?”

“I don’t know! He’s the one who has experience, I’m just taking his advice!” Sae says, his tone souring immediately afterwards. “Trust me, it’s not like I want to. There’s many things I’d rather do than follow Oliver Aiku’s advice, but at the moment, it’s the best I can do.”

“Beautiful,” you repeat. It’s such an elegant adjective. You’ve been called pretty before, and there’s been a fair share of guys who have considered you to be hot, but beautiful…it’s nice. It’s really nice.

“Yeah,” Sae finally says. “Basically.”

“I’ll be there,” you say. There’s something like a scream bubbling in your throat, but you fight it back, knowing that it’s of the utmost importance that you maintain a relaxed demeanor.

“Great,” Sae says. “See you.”

“See you,” you say, and then you hang up before he can say anything further, because you’re already on the verge of combustion and you don’t think you can handle anything more.

Throwing your phone across the room, you give in and scream. There’s thundering footsteps, and then your father is throwing the door to your bedroom open, whipping his head around wildly.

“Is everything alright? Why are you screaming?” he says, heaving for breath, probably because he just sprinted from his spot on the couch to your bedroom in record time.

“Sae Itoshi!” you say.

“Yes?” he says, the rate of his inhales and exhales lowering as he realizes there’s no active threat to your life or property. “What about him?”

“He told me I’m beautiful and invited me to watch his game next weekend,” you say, knowing that this is going to make your father — a fellow Re Al fan — freak out.

You wait, counting down as he processes the news, unable to contain your exuberant grin, knowing exactly what’s coming. Three, two, one—

“What?”

#sae x reader #sae x y/n #sae x you #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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