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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 9 months ago

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MICKEYYYYYYYYYYYYYY MY LOVE MY LIGHT MY SILLY LITTLE SWEET PEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i cried reading this btw . giggled and kicked my feet. first of all thank you sooooo much for reading this silly little sappy fic and taking the time to let me know your thoughts 🥹🥹🥹 i’d probably kill a couple guys for you. i mean what.

NO BUT WAHHH YOU’RE SO VERY SWEET AND I NEED YOU TO KNOW HOW MUCH I ADORE YOU :(((((( ik we literally Just talked abt it but. your tags and comments have always been such a huge motivator for me and i reread them all the time!!!!! they’re like little packets of love :3333 anyway i’m just gonna pick out some comments here and respond to them because i love you and that is the arimickey way, i’m putting satoru (… and pupsagi 😒 i guess) in your lap so he can keep you company while you read this <3333333

wahh already the idea of getting to just laze around with him in your shared home together is making me wanna cry:((((((( like of fucking course HE'S the one that's getting the iced tea for youuu😭😭😭 hE LOVES YOUUU😭😭😭😭😭😭

SATORU GOJO OUR ACTS OF SERVICE KING ‼️‼️‼️‼️ i usually think of physical touch and gift giving first when it comes to him but… he is so acts of service . he loves making your life easier. in any way he can 🥹🥹🥹 he will be ur personal iced tea carrier for the rest of your lives!!!!

THE HAND SQUEEEEZEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE i really wanna hold hands with him:((((((( this is kind of irrelevant but i really do i think he'd always try to swing your locked hands with the prettiest smile on his lips and he'd raise them to his lips every two minutes just to press a kiss to the back of your hand.

:(((((((((((((((((( HAND KISSER SATORU. DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE…… no bc this is so real and i do absolutely think satoru is . a hand holder. above all else. it’s something he abuses a lot in the beginning of your relationship when he’s still a little hesitant with intimacy…. AND HE LOVESSSS SWINGING YOUR ARMS AROUND :((((((((((((((( baby.

DIMPLESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

>:333 IF SATORU’S DIMPLES HAVE NO FANS IT MEANS ARIMICKEY ARE NO LONGER ON THIS EARTH!!!!!!!!!

AND IT JUST KEEEPS GOINGGGG WDYMM "SWEETHEART" WDYM HE'S CALLING YOU SWEETHEARTTT ARIIII PLEAAASEEEE MY HEART CANNOT TAKE IT I AM WEAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

SWEETHEART IS SUCH A GOOD PETNAME FOR HIM TO USE MICKEYYYYY HE’S SUCH. A LITTLE SAP. calls you sweetie too…. like a grandma……. he loves u . thinks you’re sweeter than candy and will die on that hill actually

(this is another side not i guess but wasted summers by juju just started playing and idk if you remember but a while back we talked abt what songs remind us of satoru and i said that that very song reminds me of him and now i wanna cry even more)

😭😭😭 MICKEYYYYYY OFC I REMEMBER. i was thinking abt that really recently actually like can u believe this friendship kinda started with just us talking about satoru coded songs….. BUT WAHHHHHH I STILL THINK ABT STSG EVERY TIME I LISTEN TO IT 🥹🥹🥹 you’re the leech, i’m the man // i guess you don’t understand. you will ALWAYS be famous!!!!!!!!!!

and i loove love LOOOOOOOOOVEEEEE THE WORD ADORE!!!!!!!!!!!! i think it's very... intimate. honestly in a way it's above the word love sometimes to me,, the word "adore" just feels like this overwhelming sense of fondness?????????????????????? does that make sense?????? okok i really might be getting a bit delirious i am sorry about that but ari i just need you to know that i do adore you okay?! always.

AAAAAAA ME TOOOO ME TOO 🥺🥺🥺 I AGREE WHOLEHEARTEDLY ADORE IS SO . this is just my own thought but i do think adore is like…. a very very selfless? type of love. for SURE overwhelming too. love can be sooo many things but when i hear adore i think about bright bright smiles and the bright bright sun and wanting to hug someone and never ever let them go AND . i think that kind of love is satoru’s. he can’t help it. if he loves you he sees you as the Sun.

but enough abt satoru I ADORE YOU AS WELL <3333333 you’re my sweetest little sunflower and i will never let you forget it!!!!!!!

i think the whole entire country of estonia just heard me sigh. but it was the super ultra longing yearning type of a sigh though. it's rarely anything else with you and honestly it kinda does make me mad. i really do get the reader bc like i think i love you too much too damn (armin also just came to say hi btw he loves you too much too i know bc he just sat so close to me so close that if i crane my neck i can give him a lil forehead kiss and i'll have you know that he doesn't usually sit this close he tends to go to the feet instead but... here he is now confessing his love to you with me)(he's trying to steal my spotlight😠)

😭😭😭 THE ARMIN CAMEO HAD ME CRYING MCIKEY i hope you gave him lots and lots of pats!!!!! i love you both so dearly!!!!!!!!!! my favorite little kitty cats in the world!!!!!!!!!!!! AND PLEASEEE THE LONGING SIGJ ECHOING ACROSS ESTONIA…….. u silly little guy. (affectionate)

you really do write so so beautifully you know? like you aaaaaaalways make me feel so warm inside (yes even when i'm crying i can multitask alright) you're always just so fucking loving and lovely and you shine so brightly through your words and you kind of remind me of honey like you're sweet and sticky and you go so well with tea and i love tea but most importantly i love tea with honey which means i am back to my point of me being in love with you damn funny how the world works huh??? thank you so much thank you thank you thank you

MICKEYYYYYYYYYYYYY STOP IT STOP IT YOU’RE ALWAYS SO SWEET AND I NEVER KNOW HOW TO RESPOND :(((((((((((( i love you. in every sense of the word. WDYMMMM I’M SWEET LIKE HONEY YOU LITTLE POET here’s a warm cup of tea just for that…… 🍵 drink it up okay!!! i made it with love!!!! i will make you warm sweet tea for the rest of your life actually i am nothing if not devoted <333

you have done so much for me and i mean that dAMN I FINISH EVERY ONE OF THESE WITH A SAP STORY I CAN'T STOPPP I CAN'T CONTAIN IT OKAY I'M SORRYY I NEED TO TELL YOU THAT ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hope you are doing well and that you are taking care of yourself. i also hope that you are not rushing. anything; i hope you are taking your time. with everything. please eat well and please drink well. WATER. please sleep and please please please have fun. and smile. and look at the sun and look at the stars and look at the moon. they all love you. as do i. thank you so fucking much<3333333

I LOVE THE SAP STORIES MICKEY I AM ALSO A NATURAL SAP!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭 but wahhhh. wah. i am looking at the sun i am looking at the stars i am looking at the moon and most importantly i am looking at you <33333 i’m doing my best to take my time and relax and sleep and eat, so pls do the same!!!! i love you and i want you to be happy and healthy always always always. you know i’ll be sending your legion of smelly guys if i hear abt you losing sleep so tread carefully >:33 i love you and satoru loves you and the sun herself loves you. MWAHHHHHH tysm for reading ml i’m overjoyed that you liked it <333333333

i think your love would be too much ; satoru gojo

summary; satoru knows that you’re worried about something. he just doesn’t know what.

word count; 4.1k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, sickening amounts of fluff, (that’s literally all. that’s it. thank you for your time), you’re both down horrendous, the ”something” reader is worried about is very very silly <333, mostly satoru’s pov!!

a/n; i love this man so fucking much my chest hurts so i dug up the sappiest wip i could find in my drafts <333 you can tell i completely lost the plot halfway through but just pretend that i didn’t ok. i dedicate this to gojo nation :3

satoru feels your stare prickle at the back of his neck.

he’s rummaging through the fridge, one hand on his hip, grabbing two cans of iced tea from the bottom compartment. peach for him, lime for you. his infinity is down, the pads of his fingers meeting chilled aluminum, condensation licking at his skin.

but the goosebumps that sensation causes is nothing compared to the ones he gets from this — your stare digging into the back of his head, your attention aimed directly at him. when he turns around, closing the fridge with a bump of his hipbone, you freeze. like a deer caught in headlights.

satoru grins.

”you checkin’ me out?”

”no,” you blurt, and his smile only grows.

”aw…” he waltzes across the room, from the kitchen island to the living room, fuzzy socks against the floorboards. ”what’s up, then? something on your mind?”

with a clink, he puts the cans of tea down on the coffee table. you murmur out a breath of thanks, but make no move to reach for either of them.

now that he’s close enough to see you properly — he thinks to himself that you do look a little ill at ease. something in the crease between your brows, shying away from the eye contact he wants. something in the way your voice comes out somewhat strained.

”it’s nothing… i just —”

you stop. gaze fleeing from his own, slipping down to your lap. he thinks you look particularly small like this. curled up on his expensive couch, curling in on yourself; gnawing at your bottom lip.

”… i’m being dumb.”

he hums. tilting his head, taking you in — wasting no more than a mere moment before taking action.

you feel him plop down next to you, a shift in the weight bearing down on his couch. comforting. when you glance up, he’s smiling, patient and light. hand sneakily slipping between the cracks of your own, squeezing your palm, running his thumb over the ridges of your knuckle.

”wanna tell me about it?”

from behind the black layer of glass obscuring your frame, satoru watches you intently. watches your expression shift, drinking in the twitch of your brows, how the colour of your eyes flickers in the light. the way your soul sulks and sputters under the weight of his all-seeing gaze.

you part your lips. slowly, searching for the right words — only to close them again.

you try once more. hesitant.

all you can manage is a frustrated huff.

”it’s nothing, honestly,” you’re quick to backtrack, wincing inwardly. ”i've just… been thinking. i guess.”

a hum. his smile doesn’t waver. ”about what?”

you avert your gaze. biting your lip, again, turning away from him; resting your chin on the heel of your palm. avoiding his stare like it could turn you to stone. he barely picks up on the words you murmur, flowing out beneath your breath.

”i... can't tell you.”

satoru raises a brow.

a moment passes. two, three — the silence is telling. you can hear the discontentment in his voice, despite his attempts to mask it.

”why not?”

”i… haah.” you scoot away, just a little more, turning away so he can’t dissect your expression the way he’d like to. ”i just can’t, okay?”

silently, silently, he observes you. the little of you he can see, at the very least; fixating on the side of your face, your cheek, those fluttering eyelashes. as if it could tell him something. you can’t see the way his eyes narrow, behind his shades, black glass shielding you from the weight of his scrutiny.

satoru bites back a huff.

curiosity and impatience aside, he feels offended. thoroughly so. he doesn't like it when you shut him out, like this, when you don’t allow him to soothe you.

your relationship has been a slow one — steady, a kind of settling in that he never thought he’d experience. calm waves lapping along the edges of smooth sand, washing away tiny pebbles and handfuls of sea glass; delicately coming closer. getting him used to the sensation before gently urging him to take a dip.

that’s the kind of love you share.

so it stings, a little, when you won’t let him return the favour. it stings in the same way his phantom scars itch on cold nights.

he knows opening up isn't easy. for you, for anyone, least of all for him — but he still finds himself feeling a little bit dejected. because he's supposed to be your safe space. the person you can trust with absolutely anything.

(if he can’t be that, for you, then what the hell is he even good for?)

he can’t help but feel the slightest tug of worry, too. seeing the tight line of your closed lips, that hardness of your expression. the unmistakable stress accumulating in the corners of your eyes.

but he doesn’t voice that worry. he simply gives your hand another squeeze, and smiles a little wider. ”try me.”

a sigh flows from your lips.

”you don't get it, satoru.”

your voice has a bite to it, now, just a little harsh. something akin to a soft hiss — defensiveness, he ultimately settles on. but why?

”it’s —” you muster up a glance his way, the slightest little peek, before turning away again. blurting out the words on the tip of your tongue. ”it’s so fucking embarrassing. you’ll laugh.”

satoru blinks.

”… huh?”

”you’ll laugh, and you'll tease me, and — ” he feels your hand slip from his own, muffling a groan as it covers your face. ”i’ll never live it down.”

you’re hiding, squirming, and satoru’s curiosity increases at an alarming rate. he leans forward, trying to catch a glimpse of your face, but you don’t let him.

now he’s nothing short of intrigued.

”i won't,” he says, simply. voice as clear as glass. you scoff into your hands.

”you will!”

”i promise you i won't laugh.”

”you always say that.” a sigh falls from your lips, deep and heavy, as your hands finally slip down to your lap. ”but you never mean it. you’ll laugh so much. i know you will.”

you bite down on your lip. he wants to cup your jaw and kiss you, mend the bruising with a swipe of his tongue — but he tactfully decides against it.

”it’s — it's so…” you trail off, fidgeting with your hands, nervously linking your fingers together. gazing down with a pout. ”so stupid.”

”baby…” his voice takes on a fond tone, tender and patient. everything he strives to be, when it comes to you; you and you alone. ”c’mon. you can tell me anything.”

with a sense of delicacy, he takes your hands into his bigger ones. tucking them into his palms, bringing them into his own lap — meeting your meek eyes.

”right?”

through the blue of his gaze, he watches you falter. watches your eyes soften, crumbling a little, as you silently weigh your options. you look flustered.

then you slowly part your lips.

”you’re gonna think i’m just joking, or whatever, but — but i mean it. i’m…” your throat bobs with a shallow gulp. ”i’m seriously worried.”

satoru nods. ”i’ll take you seriously.”

you look up. all you’re met with is a reassuring smile, familiar dimples, the slightest hint of a kind blue behind his shades.

and you finally give in.

”i… i think i might —”

shifting and squirming, your gaze flits from spot to spot, hands still intertwined with his own. you’re caged in, forced to face him, and it only adds to your nervosity. his eyes never leave your face.

”i think… i…”

your voice comes out sounding tiny. gaze stuck to the couch beneath you, as your lips form around the right syllables, and you finally blurt out out the words you've been trying to keep at bay —

”i think i love you too much.”

…

silence.

you still refuse to meet his gaze. a red hue crawls up your neck, spreading to the tips of your ears, heartbeat pounding under your ribs. the sentence spills out of your lips like an arrow; so rushed he barely deciphers it in time.

before the silence can swallow you whole, you continue. trying not to stammer, holding back an embarrassed wince. pouting softly, brows furrowed as your clammy hands twitch anxiously against his own. ”like... to the point where… it isn't normal.”

and then you wait. with bated breath, too embarrassed to look up, bottom lip tensing and softening between your teeth. dreading the explosive reaction he’ll undoubtedly give you.

… except it doesn’t come.

he’s not saying a word. nothing. the silence is so deafening you could cut it in half, lingering, festering in the air around you. all you hear is your own stupid, erratic little heartbeat — refusing to settle down.

a couple painful moments pass, before you physically can't take it anymore.

as slowly as you can muster, your gaze travels upwards — from his lap to his chest to his exposed collarbone, until his face finally enters your field of vision. you can’t resist the temptation.

(why is he being so quiet? satoru is never quiet.)

you meet his gaze. or what you think is his gaze, anyhow, because you can’t see the way his eyes are squeezed shut. what you do notice is the twitch of his lips, quivering ever so slightly, as if unsure of which direction to go — and you know one of satoru’s sharp teeth must be biting down hard to keep them in place. his shoulders are shaking, only barely, and he breathes out sharply through his nose; in a desperate attempt to keep his promise.

desperately struggling to maintain his composure.

he makes the mistake of opening his eyes, and all that effort goes down the drain. met with the sight of your flushed face, wide eyes, shining with embarrassment and disbelief.

like a stack of cards blown over by the wind, satoru’s poker face crumbles. he fails to bite back the wide grin that breaks out across his lips, showing off the white of his teeth, and a soft bout of fresh laughter flows from out his lips.

you gape at him.

then your brows furrow, harshly, and you choke on a scoff. with a start, you’re scrambling to stand up, tugging your hands away from his.

”see?” you hiss, almost tripping over your own two feet as you shoot up from the couch. ”i told you! you're laughing!”

you sound so embarrassed he thinks he might cry.

satoru gives up. laughter reverberating throughout his entire body, deep and loud, from the very bottom of his gut — enough to have him clutching at his sides. that only makes you flush deeper, glare harder, and all he can think is that he wants to kiss you silly.

”you promised!”

”i’m —” he chokes on a sharp wheeze, one hand reaching out to keep you from leaving. ”i’m sorry, baby, i —”

but he only ends up doubling over. sputtering with laughter, feeling the leather of the couch meet his cheek. you turn away sharply, and he pulls himself up again. ”wait — sweetheart —”

a fond chuckle rumbles through his chest, his long arms circling around your waist and pulling you into his embrace. caging you in. you struggle helplessly, trying desperately to break free, but it’s useless — he’s the strongest for a reason.

all you can do is writhe and grumble under your breath, inhaling a familiar scent of vanilla and musk. the fabric softener he uses puts your senses hopelessly at ease, but he’s still laughing — so you can’t help but kick and struggle seamlessly.

”let me go, satoru!”

said man chokes on another little laugh, shoulders shaking, tucking you so close he can feel the pitter patter of your heartbeat against his stomach. you’re so upset with him. but he can’t stop, can't reel it back in, and every weak punch to his chest and muffled protest just makes his composure feel more out of reach. he tried his best.

he really, really did.

he tried so hard not to laugh.

(”i think i love you too much.”)

god. just what is he supposed to do with you, huh?

”i’m sorry,” he grins, almost entirely out of breath. ”’m not doing it on purpose, you're just —”

a sudden fit of giggles.

"you're so cute.”

”satoru, it’s — not funny,” you whine, practically burning up. every single sound he makes buzzes in your ear. ”i’m serious. i —”

you squeeze your eyes shut. giving in, finally, allowing yourself to melt into his arms. limbs losing their feistiness. he delights in the sensation.

”you don't get it.”

it’s a whisper, muffled against the fabric of his shirt, but he hears it nonetheless. deep breaths, he reminds himself. it’s hard to take such an adorable confession seriously, but he tries. for whatever reason, you genuinely sound troubled.

”wait, so you —” he bites back an amused breath, but can’t hide the palpable smile in his voice. ”you love me… too much?”

a groan. you hide away, nuzzling further into his chest; your safe harbour.

”… i told you it was embarrassing.”

”it’s not,” he’s quick to console you. ”i’m just confused.” his palm glides across the back of your head, smoothing down your tousled hair, a grounding weight. he pats your head softly. ”i mean…”

a deep inhale. his heartbeat finally settles into a calm rhythm, slow and steady, lungs flooding with oxygen. he breathes out through his nose.

”is that really such a bad thing?”

”it is.” a frown finds its way onto your lips. your reply is instantaneous. ”i don’t think it’s normal. i’m just…”

satoru listens. patiently, feeling your fingers grip onto the edges of his shirt — comforting yourself with the soft fabric. then you sigh.

”i don’t know. i just can’t, like…” you grapple for the right word, moving your hands haphazardly, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. ”comprehend how much i love you.”

satoru bites back a smile.

(his heart flutters, flutters, flutters, like cherry blossoms on a windy spring morning.)

before he has the chance to, you part your lips again; speaking in a soft voice. resigned, he thinks. ”it’s just weird. it’s not exactly bad, but —”

you bite down on your lip.

”... it’s scary.”

a soft coo buzzes in your ear. satoru can’t help but pull you closer, closer still, smothering you in the warmth of his embrace. conveying what he knows will be too much for you to hear in words — what he knows he couldn’t convey in the language that you speak. you feel warm, still burning up a bit. like a little firefly.

he isn’t faring much better, though; a vague heat blooming under the skin of his nape. smiling so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt.

(what on earth did he do to deserve you?)

a firm jaw settles on the top of your head. satoru parts his glossy lips, voice flowing out somewhat breathlessly, affectionate as can be.

”don’t you think i feel exactly the same about you?”

his pulse trembles against you. when you strain your ears, you can hear the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat, mingling with your own; still resounding in your ears.

”… i dunno.”

satoru’s hold around you tightens, ever so slightly. something in the way he cradles you, strong arms around your waist, a low hum accompanying the light squeeze of his limbs. he can’t see your face, from this angle, but his pupils still flicker downwards — hungry for a glimpse of your expression.

then he smiles.

”i’m terrified of you, y’know?”

you blink. once, then twice, eyelids fluttering. a moment of silence passes.

”… huh?”

”beyond terrified, actually,” his smile builds into a grin. ”i’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it. no one scares me more than you do.”

satoru pulls away, just a little, just enough to finally get a good look at you. your eyes are brimming with confusion. a large palm goes to cradle your cheek, and he tilts his head — inhaling a breath.

”i love you so much that it hurts.”

…

a soft chuckle slips from out his lips, when he catches your flustered, wide-eyed stare. sneaking a hand towards the small of your back, leaning in to press a kiss against the apple of your cheek.

”i adore you,” he whispers, smooth syllables melting into a purr. you stiffen under his touch. his fingertips trace the lines of your jaw, lips trailing down to your neck, chaste and sweet as he nips at the sensitive skin. muttering under his breath. ”you have no idea.”

and you truly, truly don't. satoru doesn't think you even know the half of it.

you can’t possibly know what you mean to him — that your very presence makes him forget who he is, what he has to be, a weight on his shoulders he grew used to long ago. you can’t possibly know that just the feeling of your hand in his makes the distance between you feel so inconsequential.

you are the most precious thing in his life. he doesn't think you could ever understand the weight that sentiment carries — he wouldn't want you to.

and here you are, so awfully worried, because you're too in love with him. he still can't help but grin. you’re so sweet, so silly. the words make him feel as if his heart is crumbling.

”… i can't believe you’re real sometimes.”

something tender rests under the whisper. something frighteningly sincere. it makes you feel a little like you’ve been sliced open. it’s raw, it’s heavy and light and it’s love. it’s satoru — all his little inconsistencies, and the stability beneath it all.

and some part of you knows that he's telling the truth. that he understands your ridiculous little confession, your embarrassing worries. satoru understands.

that alone is enough to quell the turmoil in your chest.

(what he gives you is a love as boundless as the sky; one that covers everything you could ever be. unconditional.)

”so there’s no need to worry.”

he pulls back, lips leaving your skin. you still feel their warmth linger. his shades have slipped down, barely hanging on to the bridge of his nose, and you can see the blue of his eyes. they’re shining like jewels, soft around the edges. consumed by love.

”there’s no way you could ever love me as much as i love you.”

gazing into his eyes, as if hypnotized by their glow, your own gleam with a mesmerizing shine. glazed over with something sweet and wonderful, something satoru wants to burn into his retinas so he never forgets it. he wishes he could wring it out of you and put it in his pocket — but it looks prettier behind your cornea.

he savours the moment, slowly, until it abruptly ends.

with a second of pause, your brows draw together, forming into an irritated furrow. lips tugging downwards into a frown. ”that’s not true.”

satoru blinks. still smiling.

”i love you way more,” you huff. petulant, almost, something soft and amused in your tone. he thinks the sound fits you more than anything; unburdened and stubborn.

(as charming as you are, though — this is one battle he refuses to lose.)

”nu-uh,” he pokes the tip of your nose, delighting in the soft flutter of your blinking eyelashes. ”i love you more. sorry, sweetie.”

a huff. ”you don't.”

”i do.”

”you don't."

this time, you're the one reaching out, the pad of your finger landing on the tip of satoru’s nose — teasingly trailing up to the bridge of it. his heartbeat stutters, but he feigns nonchalance, raising an unimpressed brow; eyes unknowingly gleaming with mirth.

and mischief.

you barely have time to react. one moment you're seated on satoru’s lap, the next you're looking up at him with your back against the couch. he towers over you, keeping your hands pinned above your head with a single palm.

a familiar chill runs down your spine.

”i do,” he grins, free hand reaching towards you. recognizing the danger of a situation you've been in more times than you can count, you try to squirm away — but you don't get very far.

satoru’s fingers ghost over your sides, and panic floods your wide eyes.

even though you know exactly what’s about to happen, a yelp pushes past your lips when he begins to tickle you. mercilessly, fingers trailing over your most sensitive spots. all you can do is squirm, trying your damnedest to bite back the bout of laughter crawling up your throat —

but apparently neither of you are very good at that.

when the familiar cling of your laughter finally spills past your lips, flowing into satoru’s ears, his smile blooms into a grin. big and happy, childish in its innocence — not even attempting to hide his joy. his own giggles melt into your soft wheezes and desperate pleas, as you struggle to break free, straining against the firm hold he has on your wrists.

”i love you way, way, way more,” he continues to tease, halting his movement just enough to let you catch your breath. ”it’s not even close.”

even as giggles breathlessly spill from your lips, you manage a shake of your head. ”no, you —”

”wrong answer.”

he cuts you off with a smirk, and the torture starts anew. you can't get the words out, caught in your throat and muffled by a loud squeak, followed by forced laughter. satoru watches, in pure adoration, waiting for the moment you finally relent.

it doesn’t take long.

”f — fine, fine!”

he stills. eyes crinkled, shades barely hanging on to the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to keep going. if only so he can hear your melodic giggles.

”can’t we —” you struggle to catch your breath, words stuck between bouts of leftover laughter. cheeks flushed and chest heaving. ”just call it a tie?”

satoru pauses. he drags it out, exaggerated, building up suspense. eyes narrowing playfully. ”hmmm…”

then he smiles. a soft, resigned little thing.

”alright, alright.” he leans forward, keeping you in place. ”that works, i guess.”

his lips meet yours. soft and glossy, tasting of cherries, exhaling a pleased sigh against your mouth. you’re still panting a little, but he doesn’t seem to mind. slow to pull away, with a drawn out mwah, grinning boyishly down at your disheveled state. he lets your wrists go free.

an unimpressed look is all you give him, quick to melt into a soft chuckle.

”well, that’s that.” you push yourself up with your elbows, fixing your tousled hair. ”now we can forget this ever happened.”

satoru raises a brow.

”oh, i dunno about that,” he purrs, voice ripe with mischief. a teasing glint flashes in his eyes, as he scrutinizes you, and it’s enough to have your face heating up again. the sight makes him coo. ”you love me so much you can't comprehend it, huh?”

you blink. it takes a moment for your expression to shift, from bafflement to embarrassment — but he thinks it’s all worth it when it does. barely restraining the urge to kiss you again.

”satoru…”

a giggle leaves his lips. reaching a hand out, he pinches your cheek. ”you’re cute.”

with a roll of your eyes, you swat him away; unable to bite back a smile. “quit it.”

”aw.”

he looks so smug. you can’t help but want to bite back, somehow — so you muster up your most shit-eating grin, a distinctly teasing lilt coating your sugar-sweet voice.

”you love me so much that it hurts, huh?”

satoru blinks.

endearment blooms, in the depths of his cerulean eyes. he watches you carefully, awfully amused — thinking to himself that he must be rubbing off on you. what a scary thought.

”yeah,” he breathes, a sigh laced with sincerity. cupping your cheek with the palm of his hand, settling on the option he knows will fluster you most. ”i do.”

this time, you’re the one who blinks. once, twice, before letting out a groan — slumping against his broad frame. satoru chuckles, breathlessly, consumed by you; by every move you make. all six of his eyes aimed directly at you.

(if he gives you the sky, then what you give him is a love as steady as the ocean; one that’ll drown every bit of his sadness. unyielding.)

”can’t you ever just let me win?” you mutter, breathing in his cologne and tugging at his shirt. pressed up against him, on his couch, safe and secure. right where you should be.

he noses at your neck, pressing a little kiss against your pulsepoint. a quiet, quiet offering at the altar of your soul. ”nope,” he hums, smiling cheekily.

”i love you too much for that.”

#kisses you kisses you kisses you #ALSO YOUR TAGS MADE ME LAUGH SO LOUD MICKEY 😭😭😭😭😭😭#SILLY LITTLE GOOSE….#ily <33333 i hope your brain is nice to you and lets you get lots of sleep tonight!!!!!#dream abt satoru and all the iced tea he would buy you :33333 #mwah mwah MWAHH

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hyuckmov · 2 years ago

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haechan — gold-skinned, eager baby pt.2 (teaser) read the full thing here anticipated release date: valentine's day 2023 <3 read the first part here!

haechan x fem!reader teaser wc: 653 teaser genre: fluff & suggestive fic details: total wordcount tbc, smut (seriously almost entirely) and fluff anticipated warnings: as always our chest/boobs fixation, hair-pulling, my take on the classic riding him in his gaming chair scene, fingering, oral (f recieving), haechan being a mastermind male manipulator (in a sweet way), haechan not knowing what ovulation is, breeding kink, the usual brainrot topics....

a/n: NOW now now now now.... i have a good feeling about being able to make this deadline so i decided to post this now to motivate me to work towards it to :) i have a taglist set up (fill out the form in my pinned) but also you can just reply to this post/state in the tags if u rb that you would like to be tagged and i'll add you to the list (no need to do that if u alr filled up the form) !!! anyway i hope u enjoy this little bit and look forward to the actual fic <3 and thanks for 600+!!!!

haechan would say that his standard of living had increased exponentially since your second anniversary.

the two of you had become more open with each other, communicating your frustrations and needs more easily. there was also a faint buzz of something in the air, moments when you would look over at him and he would feel a blush spread across his cheeks, burn low in his stomach. it felt a little like he was falling in love with you for the first time — it had been a while since he had felt so vulnerable and loved by you.

"what are you thinking about?"

but perhaps the most significant improvement made to his life was the way he could now reflect on your loving and healthy relationship with his face nuzzled against your boobs.

"love you so much," he mumbles against your skin, placing a small kiss on your cleavage. "that's what i'm thinking about."

he feels your hand come down to stroke his hair gently, and he closes his eyes at the feeling. sunday mornings with you in bed — you scrolling through your phone while he's given the freedom to love on his favorite parts of you, have become just another routine that started ever since your second anniversary.

focusing on freckling kisses on your warm skin, he's therefore completely unprepared for when you card your fingers through a handful of his hair only to give it a light, but still significant, tug.

the sensation sends a feeling shooting down his spine, a slight shudder to his body as he lets out a small gasp muffled against your chest. feeling something stirring in the pit of his stomach, his legs begin to twitch against the bed, and he nuzzles his face into your chest.

"again, please," he mumbles.

he feels the giggles you let out right from where his face is pressed up against your chest. kicking his feet, he whines lightly in protest.

"what's so funny?"

"found something else you like," he hears you muse. "you're so sensitive, baby."

frowning, he scrambles to push himself up into a sitting position. the visual is slightly amusing — his hair mussed up, his lips swollen, eyes narrowed.

"it's not fair," he states. you reach out a consoling hand to him, and even as he continues to grumble, he still intertwines your fingers gently, a contrast between his unhappy tone and his tender actions. "you have too much power over me."

"what are you talking about?" you laugh, and he scowls.

"you know." he mumbles. "you can just flash your tits at me and i'd do anything you ask-"

"i can?"

"-and now you know i like it when you pull at my hair," he whines, a permanent pout forming on his features. "it's like there's nothing i can do that makes you go crazy."

"that's because i love all of you," you soothe. "all of you makes me feel crazy."

"do you have any kinks you're keeping from me?"

"you're my kink," you tease, but your smile drops when he scowls. "sorry."

there's a pause. haechan looks at you, hard. scanning your face, his gaze doing a slow drag down and up your body, his expression darkening. something had shifted in the air, and suddenly you're a little scared to breathe too hard.

"haechan?"

"i'm going to find it," he breathes.

"what?"

"i'm going to find it, and then i'm going to make you beg for me to fuck your brains out."

"what the fuck?"

but haechan shakes his head, and when he next refocuses his eyes on you, his eyes have the familiar twinkle in them. moving over to you, he cups your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your cheek.

"love all of you too babe," he beams. "i'm going to go make breakfast, okay?"

and with that, he all but skips out of the room, leaving you sitting on the bed, feeling unsettled and also just a little bit excited.

maybe it was time to call mark again.

tags: @91qowngus, @joonpantheress, @sundhaelatte, @jaemboi64, @sassy-author, @krazy-kpoppy

#YAYYYYYYYYY #i was motivated to do this after i saw some lovely asks about my jaemin request #haechan smut #haechan fluff #fic: gold skinned eager baby pt.2 #nct fluff #nct smut

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lycanlovebites · 11 months ago

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(prev tags) Oh gods just opened tumblr and your post has me giggling twirling my hair kicking my feet etc !!!! I am reading over the story again and fuck if I don't say that is Unbelievably good #Your OCs are so HHHGHRGGRG (<- completely real word that definitely exists thank you very much)#How could I NOT fall in love with them??? #I want to know so so much more about them and if I can be part of that special space with you and your OCs I would be the happiest gal ever

My average daily experience: giggling kicking my feet and twirling my hair while thinking abt my ocs… you are so real for that!! Also thank u thank u thank u I’m glad you enjoy the story so much!! Writing that was like super good for character development and stuff and it was Fun so it’s making me wanna write more lore and stories… perhaps if I work out some more plot stuff soon I might work on the actual beginning of everyone’s story… like when Valentine enters through the portal and stuff and curiosity and eventual friendship and flirting starts happening… swoon!! I just want to write abt this demon who is like super nervously trying to make a fancy banquet kind of offering to impress Gabriel (when they realize they Have A Crush and are trying so hard to do something abt it) and asking Sol about his favorite foods and any allergies or texture issues Gabriel has and stuff. Does he like meat?? Does he like red wine or champagne or dry white wine?? Humans can eat figs, right?? Can angels eat this kind of fruit or is that only a human thing? like Valentine is nervously plucking rose petals and scattering them all around the altar (where they set up the banquet feast ofc) and Sol is trying to keep Gabriel busy while Valentine gets everything ready. God I just love when characters who are normally supposed to be fine in a situation feel out of their depth. Like Valentine is literally a love demon, it’s literally their specialty and they do it for other people all the time. But because they’re the one in love they’re just so worried abt making a good impression, it’s like their first big date kind of thing, and Gabriel has no idea!! Does their fur look ok? All the food is in place? There’s roses and wine and candles, all good. Oh devil, what if Gabriel doesn’t like it?? What if they do something embarrassing like spill wine on him?? What if they get struck down by god or something for being a pathetic little guy with a crush on a priest?? it’s just SO good to think about. AND YES, take my hand and together we can enjoy the wonderful world of my ocs!! also if you’d like to make an oc or a few for this universe I would be more than happy to add them in :] especially since there’s like.. only six characters so far (sol, Gabriel, Valentine, Gabriel’s dead parents, and the evil horrible priest before Gabriel.)

AND YES I LOVE that trope so much too!!! #There's something so inherently queer with the idea of that trope - the shame the pride the hate the love the despair the hope #and above all The Fight - neverending and tireless - against a system so much bigger than you are. #and yet there is comfort in knowing you are not alone in that fight. never will be because they are with you #and they will fight for you when you can't. fill you with love and hope and pride when all you feel is shame and despair. #and just as they are with you now You will be there for Them. and that's all that matters right? #Okay I think this spiralled out of the trope. but yeah

!!!! OH MY GOD YES!!! you get it you GET IT!! Even though you fight against something much bigger than you, you are not alone and they’re there for you even when you are feeling terrible and despairing and hopeless. god you’re so right !!!!

also YES I really want to make a comic of this!! I think it would be really cool because I’ve always wanted to make comics/graphic novel type stuff but like I have NO perseverance so I like can’t do a full novel. I made a complete (short) graphic novel for an art class once but I was only able to finish it out of desperation lol. (Perhaps I’ll digitize it and post it on tumblr.. much to think abt) anyways yes I want to draw Gabriel going through things!! Putting him in situations and making him confront his doubts and realize how much he truly loves Sol and Valentine!! Like YESSS go white boy go, get confronted with your past and current struggles and deepest darkest fears!! #The funniest answer to the last question would be: Gabriel smokes weed with his partners. #Sees my man Jesus whilst zonked out of his fucking mind. my man JC gives him free therapy. Gabriel swears to never touch weed ever again. #The sane answer would be the whole thing being just your narration - but don't listen to me!!! Go wild!! #I wanna see what you cook up in that beautiful mind of yours!!!!

OH MY FUCKING GOD 😭 the mental image is EVERYRHING to me. I’m sure Sol and Valentine have definitely done weed before but like I’m imagining Gabriel trying it for the first time.. he’s got like tears in his eyes and he’s sniffling a bit while gripping the blunt in his shaky fingers and he’s like “do you think this allowed??? God won’t strike me down?? Isn’t doing recreational drugs a sin??” And Sol is like “no I’m sure she thinks it’s fine. I’ve been doing this since before snakes lost their legs, it’s fine dude go for it 👍” and while Gabriel is like shaking and quivering like an elderly chihuahua, he is So Incredibly Anxious and he’s fed up with feeling scared and stuff about his whole facade and trying to act straight around townspeople so he just goes in for it and tries weed. It’s like not even a lot either. Thing is that Sol got like angel-grade weed and while it’s fine for HIM, it uh sends pretty much anyone else into like a Wizard high. Sol forgot abt this though and assumed it would be fine. Spoiler: it was not. Gabriel got zonked the fuck out of his mortal gourd. He saw the earth since before dinosaurs died out. He saw the formation of the horse head nebula. He saw stars get born into existence and die, collapsing into black holes before his eyes over and over again in the span of seconds. He saw what he thinks was Soleil’s true form too, with a bunch of eyes and wings and sparking radiant halos, although it was so bright that he couldn’t really tell. He waved anyways just in case before shutting his eyes and looking away so he didn’t burn his eyes. then he sees Jesus and gets free therapy from the man himself. Good for him :]

I think Valentine would be fine with Angel weed btw. They’ve worked up a pretty good tolerance to stronger stuff since the stuff in Hell where they’re from is crazy too. It would probably strike Gabriel dead if he had too much but yknow. For a demon it’s pretty standard I think.

(@justaderivative)

here’s a bit of a story I was working on involving Father Gabriel and Valentine! (Sol is also there too but he’s not really mentioned oops. He’s off doing something else I guess)

its a discarded first draft that I still like a lot even though it doesn’t work in this particular scene because it gives really good insight into Gabriel’s inner thoughts and also his Catholic guilt. It’s also UNEDITED in any way so sorry if there’s typos and the dialogue and stuff is oddly placed! (btw will anyone believe me if I said that this was the first draft for a smut fic I was writing yes or no?? I scrapped this draft because it was far too serious and angsty for the situation I wanted. Valentine is ready to fuck nasty and have a nice time and treat their boyfriend meanwhile Gabriel is struggling with Catholic guilt and paranoia. The vibe was off for him and I felt bad trying to get him into a sex scene when that man should be having a therapy session instead. Like its ok king take ur time, you and Valentine can try later when you feel better)

story below the cut! (It’s a bit long)

Father Gabriel closed the front door behind him. “I can’t believe that happened,” he said more to himself than to the cheeky demon who caused the scene, who was hanging their sparkly red blazer on the coat rack next to him. “What if people saw? No, how many people saw that? How many people saw me?” He said aloud with horror.

“Relax darling.” Valentine put a hand on his shoulder. “Believe me, no one saw my little display except you. Otherwise some old biddies would have me roasting at a stake by now.” They gave him a little grin at that last part. He was sure they found the idea of being tied up by little old ladies quite funny judging from their expression. It was meant to be reassuring but the idea of other church members burning his partner at the stake wasn’t exactly pleasant.

“That’s my point. It’s not safe for you to risk being found out by the church! If they find out you’re not human they’ll… they’ll do unspeakable things to you. I can’t risk you getting hurt, Valentine. Burning you at the stake would be the least of your worries if the wrong people get their claws on you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “It’s not only your safety too. I also have a reputation to uphold, as horrible as it is sometimes. I’m a priest. I’m not supposed to get flustered over someone at communion. The people see me as a symbol of devotion and modesty, and I fear what might happen if they see me as anything other than that. I’m supposed to be committed to God alone, not blushing over my handsome friend from out of town.” He was so worried. Valentine seemed so confident to show off but he feared what would happen if they reveal too much. Gabriel knew what happened to demons in churches they weren’t welcomed in. He’d seen it happen with his own eyes, was forced to read the books on how to do it himself, and he knew that powerful people with hatred in their hearts for even an inkling of difference would never stop until they get what they want.

“Darling, look at me.” Valentine stood in front of him and gently took his hand in theirs. “It’s going to be alright. I promise you that no one saw my little display to you, and as far as I saw no one seemed to say anything about your blush today. I mean, if you ask me, it was quite warm in church today, and you were quite lively in today’s sermon. I wouldn’t see anything unusual about how the priest was a bit more red than usual after that rousing sermon he gave. And I feel most people know how warm it can be in your cassock with all those layers.” They assured him. Gabriel wasn’t fully convinced, but their words did help. He stared down at his hand and watched Valentine gently stroke the back of his hand with a thumb. Such a small gesture, yet it still sent a shiver through his body at the touch. They didn’t want him to worry, he knew that. It was just hard sometimes to let these things go. He was always under scrutiny, always being perceived and his actions always judged by someone. If not by God then by the townspeople who looked up to him. At least that’s what he felt. Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe there wasn’t actually anyone who cared about these things besides him. He was just so worried all of the time lately. Maybe since he was a child. First about being good, following all the rules and being a faithful servant to the church. Then he worried about being sinful. Always ashamed of the way his heart beat against his chest when he saw Brother Marcus in the vestry, of the way he laid awake so many nights consumed with thoughts of him and Marcus doing terrible, lustful things. Now he was worried for Valentine and their safety. Of them being found out and torn away from the safety of his protection and killed. Soleil had to disguise themself as well, but for Valentine their disguise was a matter of life or death. Sol would be worshiped and adored if the townspeople knew what they were. But Valentine would be hunted down and killed before Gabriel’s feet if they were ever found out.

Gabriel was also worried about his reputation as a perfect chaste little servant of god. Someone pure, someone who was completely devoted to their god and had no room in their heart for any sinful thoughts of other people. The people saw him as one of them. No, better than them. They put him on a pedestal. They listened to his words and came to him for guidance, and he overheard how they spoke of him. With reverence, a deep respect. As if he was truly holy. But Gabriel knew he wasn’t. He was impure, tainted, guilty. His god did not answer his prayers and he knew he was dishonest to the townspeople when he pretended to be that man everyone saw him as.

He yearned for respite from the terror and guilt that plagued him for most of his life. He just wanted to let them all go.

He let out a sigh, trying to let go of his worries with it. “You’re probably right. No one came up to me about anything today after the service so I suppose no one saw anything unusual.” He focused his attention on his hand being gently held in Valentine’s. He took another deep breath and forced the worries out of him along with it. In. It will be okay. Out. No one saw what happened today. In. We’re safe.

[@justaderivative hope you don’t mind me tagging you in this! This has a good bit of lore/info abt Gabriel in it so instead of making an info post about him (I mean I still probably will but yknow) this is some good info for him and his less fun and whimsical stuff ]

#pookieposting #catholicsonas #my writing #gabriel and baby’s first time trying weed lets goooo 🗣️🗣️#oc: father gabriel #oc: soleil #oc: valentine

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darklcy · 3 years ago

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I was the one who asked for the enji koma hc's! Thank you so much, I loved it 💖 I'll request one more and then come bug you another time :p Hc's how he'd be/react if a female human customer was shamelessly flirting with him. Like subtle? don't know her 👀

ahh im so glad you enjoyed it! and don't be afraid request as much as u want :D hope u enjoy these headcanonssss

˙˚˙< tokyo ghoul masterlist >˙˚˙

*♡ Enji Koma W/ Flirty Human! Reader Headcanons ♡*

such a cute man

(also known as easily flustered man)

you instantly catch his eye the moment you step foot inside Anteiku

your hair flowing with each step, your eyes bright and beautiful, your outfit complimenting your curves

he can't help but stare, his cheeks glowing bright pink

you're radiating confidence and elegance, and it takes him a sec to realize you've ordered, bc all he could see were your lips moving

he blinks a few times

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that one more time for me?"

you chuckle. oh gosh your laugh is so pretty

"sure thing, pretty boy. i'd like just one vanilla iced latte for to-go."

he clears his throat at the nickname. did you just call him pretty-

"s-sure thing, ma'am. coming right up."

you seat yourself at the counter while waiting for your drink, a sly smile on your lips at his clearly flustered expression

"here ya go! one vanilla iced latte for to-go. that'll be $2.95."

"thanks so much, handsome."

you compliment while handing him your card

he can't help the wide smile bc GOD DAYUM

his face is beet red bro

when he hands you your receipt, his heart jumps when your soft skin touches his, your own lips mirroring his smile

even though you ordered to-go, you made a point to take the first sip right in front of him, a pleasant hum emitting from your throat

"hm. just how i like it. you got it right on, hun."

he bashfully chuckles

(on the inside he's like kicking his feet and giggling)

"r-really? well, i'm glad to hear that, then."

you take another sip while getting up from the bar stool, much to his disappointment

"well, i'll definitely be coming back here again. nice to meet you..."

he notices you squinting to read his name tag, to which he outstretches a hand

"oh, koma. my name's koma..."

you take his hand and shake. "nice to meet you, koma. you've got a nice name. mine's [First]."

he sighs with a hum. literal heart eyes.

"see you soon, koma."

before you exit out the door, he briefly waves:

"i'll be looking forward to it."

:)))))

#tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul headcanons #enji koma #enji koma headcanons #enji koma x reader #koma x reader #tokyo ghoul x reader #x reader #headcanons #x reader headcanons #requests #tokyo ghoul enji koma #tokyo ghoul enji koma x reader

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

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hi ma’am, it’s the mj wh*re anon! 🥰 i know last time i requested some jealous/overprotective!mj, but what about “flustered mj who only wanted some coffee but the barista is TOO cute and she doesn’t know what talking or coffee is?” 😩

sugar, cuz you’re sweet

w/c: 1.1k

warnings: peter and ned are annoying, cussing

a/n: i love how that’s what we’re calling you 😭 and this is adorable thank you <3

michelle jones is the most honest, real, never afraid to speak her mind type girl in all of new york city. she knows it. everyone does. don’t get into a debate with her because you’ll lose, no matter the subject. she never concludes an interaction without a few snide remarks. they’re smarter than whatever you had to say.

the point is, mj is unapologetically herself in every situation and at all times. or so she thought.

peter and ned are making her order their coffees. they’re supposed to take turns, peter being all about equality in the group and the golden rule and blah blah blah. it reminds mj very much of somebody’s kindergarten teacher. she’s always found a way out of ordering because she’s mj. clever, persuasive mj. she can talk her way out of anything.

except for today when peter catches on. her excuse was lame. “i need to put down my backpack.” but, hey. you try fooling the only two people smarter than her. you’ll run out of ideas eventually. peter is pouty as he tells her that, “mj, it’s not fair! you haven’t gone up one time. how would you like it if-“ she has to interrupt him before she gets a speech.

“alright, alright, mother teresa. i’ll get the freaking drinks,” mj groans and kicks her chair back. peter smiles smugly, ned giving him a pat on the shoulder. “thanks. do you know what we want?” she blows at a piece of hair covering her eye. “you losers get the same things every time.” not bothering to push in her chair, she slumps over to the line.

ned yells, “don’t forget the whipped cream!” at her. that makes mj let out the longest sigh of her life. she very rarely does favors for other people. if you’re lucky enough to be one of them, it means she really loves you... or whatever.

mj waits on line while peter and ned get into a discussion about their nerd movies. her turn is next at least. she’s all prepared to grumble the order at the poor cashier, then you call her up.

“i can help whoever’s next,” you chirp, leaning over to see the group. your eyes land on mj. with a grin, you nod at her. the permanent scowl on her lips disappears. she takes a few steps up to you, feeling small even though she’s far from it. she finds herself thinking fuck, she’s pretty as you point at her torso.

“wait, i love your shirt,” you compliment and sound completely genuine about it. it’s mj’s favorite, her joan of arc one. a hint of a smile graces her face. “thanks.” her voice comes out much quieter than she intended it to. she didn’t know she was capable of being so... shy.

you tilt your head to the side and look down at the register. you’re still smiling. “no problem. what can i get you?” mj doesn’t hear a word you say. she’s entirely captivated by you, whoever you are. she notices pins with band logos on your shirt, ones she listens to. the probably homemade jewelry around your wrists. most importantly, your name tag. she’ll remember it.

mj doesn’t do the whole crush thing, not really. you just seem so chill and like you’d have a lot in common. also, you’re so pretty.

“do you know what you want?” you tap your nails against the register buttons. “i can suggest something, if that’s cool.” “um, i think so. the... the...” she can’t for the life of her remember what the hell peter and ned wanted. her face falls at that. sensing her nerves, you start punching things in on the register.

“i’ll surprise you. i’m good with those.” mj notices the corners of your lips turn up slightly. into a smirk. are you flirting? “ah, thank you. i’m, uh, not sure why i’m being so weird,” she laughs out. she’s very sure why. “you’re fine,” you snicker back and look up at her again. “just one drink?” “three,” mj quickly replies.

she rocks back and forth on her feet, you finishing up the order. “they’re on the house, by the way. they should be done soon,” you shrug the statement off. ok, you’re definitely flirting. “woah, thank you. can i give you a tip?” mj tucks the same piece of hair from earlier behind her ear. your eyes lock with her sparkling ones.

“nah, you don’t need to. just your name.” you’ve been waiting to get to this part. she’s not far behind you. “mj,” she speaks with the most certainty since you two began talking. “mj,” you murmur to yourself and punch it in. “you’re all good, mj. enjoy your drinks.” you give her a final heart racing smile. she really doesn’t want to go yet, but she has no choice.

returning the smile, mj waves at you. “bye.” she leaves the counter then, and you watch her go before calling up the next customer.

the drinks are done about five minutes later. mj has never been so excited to chug down a random liquid. that reminds her, she has no idea what you chose.

for the other two drinks, you made them your most popular. they’re larges, too. you decided on a plain black coffee with an obscene amount of sugar packets for mj. there’s actually a good reason behind it. you felt like she’s into the classics, and you aren’t wrong one bit. you left a note for her on the side of the cup.

‘lots of sugar, cuz you’re sweet ;) lol i’m bad at this but i liked talking to u, come back soon!’

mj giggles, literally giggles as she reads what you wrote. she should’ve ordered here a long ass time ago.

she’s in her happy place when she brings the tray back to the table, ned pursing his lips at her. “what’s with the face?” he comments on her dazed out look. peter is about to complain that she got their drinks wrong, but mj answers first. “the barista, she was cute and gave me the drinks for free. i think i like her.” she bites her lip to hold back yet another smile.

peter happily pulls one of the drinks from the tray, no longer concerned with its content. it’s not often mj is like this. he’ll bug her another time. “that’s awesome, mj. did you get her name?” he opens up one of the straws mj throws on the table. “y/n,” she sighs out in content. ned’s eyes go wide. “dude, y/n? she asked about you last time.”

and he didn’t think to tell her that? the part she mainly focuses on though, is that you noticed her. you wanted to meet her. this could actually go somewhere.

“you know what?” mj looks between peter and ned while ripping open one of her many sugar packets. “i’ll be the official drink orderer from now on.”

#michelle jones #michelle jones x reader #mj x reader #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #spiderman #marvel #tom holland #tom holland fluff

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alkhale · 4 years ago

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

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

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

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

title: change the channel

pairing: Kenma Kozume/Omega!Reader

rating: T/very slight M

summary:

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

“I want to buy your game from you.”

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

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

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

He nods.

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

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

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

Omegachion has signed on!

The monitor screen flickers to life.

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

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

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

Omegalovers has signed on.

Rockyroadncream has signed on.

Omegasarekings has signed on.

Cumqueen324 has signed on.

Mrknottt has signed on.

Msbyjackalboi23 has signed on.

Openwideandsmile has signed on.

Sunnydayandnight has signed on.

Marshmellowtime has signed on.

Thecoolestalpha has signed on.

Bettagetbeta has signed on.

KingKodzuken has signed on.

Kodzu00 has signed on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bettagetbeta has gifted you 30 cherries!

Bigboialpha has gifted you 350 cherries!

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

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

(God, you make me want to vomit.)

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

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

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

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

Gonna come for us on screen?

Face reveal! Face reveal!

Omegachion i would do anything for u

Pls let me touch u

Take off ur jacket

Stfu and let her talk u horn dogs

Fking disgusting dont ruin the stream

Open ur legs, baby girl

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

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

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

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

It’s an omega collar.

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

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

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

Tease

Don’t cover up that beautiful neck

Dont blueball us

I only want to see u in my collar

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

You turn back to the screen, smiling.

(You’re like babies.)

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

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

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

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

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

You point.

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

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

The reactions are instantaneous.

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

It was foolproof.

I can’t wait to hear your voice

Will it be nudes

I want nudes

Thank you so much for doing this!

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

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

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

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

Is your username based on Water Emblem?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For how long?

Who even is this lol

Damn big bucks

Show us the tits already

Pls sit on my face

Your outfit is so cute today!

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

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

Kodzu00 is typing…

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

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

Kodzu00 has gifted you 3,000 cherries!

You freeze.

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

3,000.

3,000 cherries?

3,000….

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

HOLY FUCK.

Lol i think u broke her

God damn

Congratulations, Omegachion!

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

WHAT THE FUCK?

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

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

(Give them what they all want.)

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

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

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

9,750 Cherries.

Nine…. Nine thousand…

Almost 1,000,000 yen?

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

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

The grand, generous donation of Kodzu00—

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

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

And stare.

A thirty minute meet and greet.

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

What the hell?

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

Nothing?

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

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

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

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

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

You pause, fingers halting over your keyboard.

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

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

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

They only want one thing.

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

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

You weren’t backing down.

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

You started streaming in high school.

The middle of your last year, to be exact.

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

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

(What does that mean?)

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

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

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

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

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

You stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Omegas just don’t become doctors.”

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

You froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your teacher stopped, looking at you.

You smiled back at him.

(Being an omega was supposed to stop you?)

What a load of shit.

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

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

“You got the money?”

You stopped.

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

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

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

Your teacher shrugged.

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

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

Means what?

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

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

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

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

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

You glanced at his caption, freezing in disbelief.

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

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

“Thank you again for all your donations!”

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

(Did people enjoy this?)

Yeah you can make money from it, lol.

You stared at the internet thread, blinking in disbelief.

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

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

You scrolled down.

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

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

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

So just give them what they want.

And suck them dry.

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

What sites do you recommend for beginners?

Youcanruletheworld is typing…

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

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

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

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

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

You want to call it ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ice coffee drips onto the table.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” he says. “That’s… me.”

You stare.

He stares right back.

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

He has pretty eyes.

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

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

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

This guy.

You stare at him in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink.

You stare at him, dumbfounded and hopelessly confused.

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

That.

“That?” you say like a robot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink.

You know exactly what he’s pointing to.

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

“Water Emblem’s Special Anniversary Edition?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YOU MET WITH THE CREATOR OF—”

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

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

Who even is this guy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him in confusion.

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

“I want to buy your game from you.”

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

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

He nods.

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

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to buy your game.”

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

He wants to buy your game.

Your game.

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

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

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

“I’m really sorry.”

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

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

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

(He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.)

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

But that game…

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

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

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

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

Maybe, just maybe.

(You feel a little desperate.)

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

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

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

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

A beta.

(Oh.)

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

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

He does it quietly, but he still complains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You’re a weird guy.)

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

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

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

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

That’s just how it goes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenma follows warily behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pleasantly surprised.

“What happened to your chair?”

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

Kenma looks at you like you’re crazy.

“...You keep two chairs?”

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

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

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

“...Do you even like your job?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I see it?” he asks reverently.

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

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

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

“It’s amazing,” Kenma says.

“I know.”

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

“I know!”

“You took great care of it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause, looking at Kenma, dumbfounded.

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

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

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

Kenma wordlessly nods.

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

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

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

--- (change the chanel) ---

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

--- (change the chanel) ---

One month.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--- (change the chanel) ---

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

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

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

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

(He worked hard.)

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

“I never get tired of this part.”

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

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

Kenma Kozume loves this game.

He loves what he does.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you even like what you do?”

You shake your head, closing the door behind you.

--- (change the chanel) ---

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

The screen clicks, turning off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you even like what you do?”

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

--- (change the chanel) ---

(L/n) is typing...

Hey, can we talk?

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

Is that fine?

Kenma is typing...

Yes.

Location sent.

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

Okay! :)

(Y/n) is typing…

(Y/n) stopped typing.

--- (change the chanel) ---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Kenma says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance to Kenma’s phone.

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

“I want to do it with you.”

You freeze, mouth falling open.

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

Kenma taps his phone again.

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

You look at the numbers.

Your mouth stays open, knees sinking to the floor.

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

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

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

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

You can’t help it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenma rigidly shakes his head.

You blink, feeling very, very, very small.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry—”

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

“You should let me—”

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

(Pleased?)

“I’ll be right back.”

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

The start of something great.

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

Oh my god.

You stop, blinking again in realization.

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

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

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

--- (change the chanel) ---

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

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

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

Your scent floods him.

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

This would be the start of a fairly interesting partnership.

Omegachion has signed off!

Thanks for watching!

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

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kalinawtokilig · 4 years ago

Text

180 Turn to You

{Bokuto Koutarou x genderneutral! Reader}

((Do you guys even need the guide?))

Guide :

(Y/N) = Your Name

(C/N) = Crush’s name

((bruh,, do you really need ya crush??? That bih broke ya heart,,, now ya reading anime men,, honestly same))

(((((is this how I write him????? Did I do it right???? I’m not sure how to tag this ending, I’m writing at the top of my head)))))

----------------------------

It was no surprise to see you at the gymnasium again, the Fukurodani volleyball team were used to seeing you come in. You were always the plug, bringing snacks during their break and sometimes even energy drinks. The managers were always thankful of you dropping in from time to time, cause not only do you help them give out the towels and help refill the bottles, but you somehow held their precious and hyperactive ace on a leash. Besides Akaashi, who had seemed to have a lightbulb go off when Bokuto responded positively and listened to you when things are not going his way, Akaashi threw a meaningful nod, a silent ‘Thank you for being alive to help me with the emotional owl’.

Which you responded, an ‘ok’ gesture, a signal to reply to him, ‘I gotchu bruh’.

But this visit was different. Instead of approaching with your mellow and calm vibes, you appeared with red-rimmed, puffy eyes, glossed with already shed tears and eyes looking heartbroken. You tried your best biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from crying, and you did, as no one even noticed, not looking anyone in the eye for more than five seconds before turning elsewhere to give out the last water bottle.

Like anyone else, Akaashi was known to be observant and perspective, seeing other peoples tells and what they results are. He was good at that. He was also known for being a good friend and wingman. Contrary to belief, Bokuto had noticed your change in demeanor, shoulders slumped a bit and the forced smile he always love seeing on your cute face hadn’t reached the corners of your eyes.

“Akaashi,” The dark-haired male looked to his captain, the ends of his excited hair drooping a bit, “Doesn’t (Y/N) seem...weird?"

Akaashi wiped the sweat from the corner of his brow with the towel you’ve given to him, as he drank his water bottle, his eyes glanced to your figure, standing by the doors of the gym, you were kicking off something off your shoe and every time you let out a deep exhale, you begin to wipe your face with the end of your sleeve. Placing down the water bottle, he sat down on the bench and turned to his dear friend, “Bokuto-san, weird is a rude way to put it. Odd, yes. Weird, no. (Y/N) seems different today because maybe something happened, like they didn’t pass a test or they got into an argument with a friend.”

Bokuto drilled his eyes onto you, not like you noticed, you were too busy checking your phone, seeing if (C/N) texted you, expecting a better response to how they rejected you so curtly today. Yet, nothing. Well, nothing apologetic, as (C/N) continued to text you as if you didn’t pour your heart into confessing to them as they laughed at your face and denied your attraction towards them. You bit your lip, fingers gripping the phone as you shoved it into your pocket, hands balled into fists as you felt the utter annoyance and humiliation from how naive you thought you are, thinking that they’ll like you back.

As you waited for the team to leave, you sat on the bench at the corner of the gym building, you kept scrolling past through several past messages you had with (C/N). It was weird, how they would act so cozy and cutesy, but once you address them that you like them, thinking the signals they sent were definitely mutual between you and them, they shoot it down. Tears began to drop, one by one, as you sniffled, rubbing your nose with the hem of your sleeve, hiccuping a bit.

Something draped over your head, startled from the suddenness, you look up and see Bokuto looking down, standing as he crouches to your feet. He didn’t say anything, taking your phone and placing it to your side. You feel for the cloth that was on your head, soft and woodsy smell. It was his jacket.

“Heya.” He grins to you.

“Hi...” You mutter, looking down to your hands.

Bokuto tilts his head owlishly, his large hand holding yours, not hesitant by the fact you twitched by his impulsive actions. “Why are you sad?” He asks, peeking to see your face.

Sniffling, you shrugged.

“Did you fail a test? You shouldn’t worry about that, I fail plenty of tests, but I’m still passing somehow. Akaashi helps me a lot, but Konoha says its cause people don’t like to see himbos sad. I don’t really know what that means, but I’m glad no one likes to see me sad.” He pouts a bit, “I don’t wanna see you sad. Himbo or not, I think you’re really smart and you’re able to get back up if things don’t go your way.”

You let out a watery giggle, the unintended joke that Bokuto made was pretty funny, seeing your light reaction made Bokuto feel happier, he continued, “I think whatever happened today, or yesterday, or three days before, I think you were able to study and prepare for what happened! You’re always prepared for stuff! I’m not usually prepared cause I just wing it, but I know from you, you can keep going when things aren’t okay. You help through that a lot,” He plays with your fingers and holds both in his own, “I wanna help you through it, too, y’know.”

Bokuto always had something to say, even if it was a bit off. Yet somehow, what he says hits the mark most of the time. Three days before, you had planned and rehearsed your confession, thinking of possibilities of what will happen. Though, you hadn’t prepared to be laughed at by (C/N) and have what had between you two pretend like nothing happened, going throughout their day, whilst you stay sad with a broken heart.

Bokuto did make you feel better. You started to forget what happened today, sure it made you a bit bitter, but Bokuto’s sweetness overfilled your heart.

The ace began to see you stare at your hands, the small smile fading a bit. He pouted even more, grabbing your hands and placing them on his face, pushing cheeks together as he leaned close to you. “Don’t get sad now, (Y/N)! Let’s head to my place and watch that anime you like! The guy that keeps eating fingers!”

Your eyes widened to see his golden eyes sparkle, staring into yours. “U-Uh, sure, Bokuto.” Blushing from how close he is, you should be used to this, as Bokuto doesn’t recognize the concept of personal space.

He scrunched his nose, his hands pressing against yours to squish his face he hummed. “I know what we should do! Let’s do those sleepovers where you put that face masks of animals on me! The ones that smell good! I can take some from my sisters, they won’t know!” He proposed his idea, attempting to make you feel better as he plans.

“I-I’m not sure, Bo...” “Please! I’m here, y’know? I wanna help you, and I know you like to do those skincare stuff! My skin needs extra help, feel it!”

Blinking, you gulp down the internal screams as you rub your thumbs on his cheek, seeing his happy face become dazed a bit, he looked as if he was melting in your hands while you continued to caress him. You chuckled at how cute he can be.

“Fine, let’s go.”

He beamed, smile shining as bright as the sun, “Yosh!”

---------

Bokuto kept patting his face, astonished by how soft his skin is. “(Y/N), (Y/N)! Feel my skin! it’s so soft and shiny! The wonders of the mask is so cool!”

You smiled at him, patting your own face and began rubbing your hands. While he was busy, occupied with how amazing his skin had become, your phone chimed. Glancing at it, you frowned immediately.

(C/N) : Let’s hang out, just the two of us! It’ll be a date :D

When Bokuto turned around, seeing that you haven’t answered his question, his smile faltered, seeing you frown again, he shuffled onto the bed and plopped his chin on your shoulder. “Why are you sad again?” He muttered in a defeated tone. He thought having a sleepover will make you feel better, were you not enjoying it? Was he forcing too much of you? Is he making you feel bad or trapped that you had to be obligated to hang out with him?

“It’s not you, Bo. It’s...(C/N).” You replied, chucking your phone to the heap of pillows on his bed.

“(C/N)? The one in Akaashi’s class?” He asked, lifting his chin as you turn to him.

You nodded. “I told them I liked them and they...laughed at me. They said they didn’t like me and they only liked me as a friend. But it’s weird! They text me and get all...hugging and cutesy with me, they pretend they haven’t rejected me and go one through their day. Then,” “Then?”

“Then, they want to go on a date. Frickin, pick what you want us to be, jeez! I can’t keep up with their 180 turns! It’s getting me confused and I don’t want to keep having my heart ache.” You cross your arms on your chest and Bokuto hugs you from behind.

He hums. “Well, if it was me, I’ll say I’ll like you.” “That would be nice. And way better to understand. You’re straightforward. Not to mention even though your emotions do complete 180s, I’ll be there and I’ll be able to keep you close, also we get to be straightforward and have no...weird mixed signals to know that we’re just dancing around the subject of hand.”

Bokuto nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, his hair no longer his usual hairstyle as he already took a shower as its down and fluffier. “Mm! You don’t have to see them anymore either! We see each other more often and hang out more!”

You continued on, “We also are kind of that hyperactive and calm-collected dynamic too!”

“Ohoh! If you got together with (C/N), you have to memorize their favorite foods and movies. You already know tons of stuff about me!” He hugs you closer as you begin to laugh. “Bo, you have to know their favorite movies and foods if you’re dating. It’s part of being together. Making an effort is what makes the relationship work.”

He cuddles you more, strong arms around your waist and legs on either side of yours, “We make everything work, even if we argue n’ stuff like that.” You blink slowly. “We...Do, don’t we?”

“If anything, I’m always here, (Y/N).” “You always were and still, Bokuto.” You spoke, realization dawning on you.

He sighs, breathing in your scent mixed in with his conditioner, “I’ll always like you, even if you do a 180.”

Your hand held onto his, a small smile of fondness on your face as he laces your fingers with his, “I’ll always like you too. Even if your emotions do a 180.”

#haikyu x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto x y/n #bokuto x you

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what-the--curtains · 4 years ago

Text

Alliance

Chapter 8 – The Foil

(Mando x f!reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: Outposted on Hoth while you heal, you, Cara and Grogu keep each other company. But your nightmares quickly return, and the dark forces sending them can no longer be kept at bay.

TW: Major character death (briefly), blood, swearing

Notes: Thank u all for reason still every like makes my heart go 🥺 and every reblog/comment makes me WEEP with joy! Hope y’all are staying safe! Two chapters left!!

Word count: 4.6k

Tagged: @crazycookiecrumbles

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What?” Din asks, noticing your face scrunch as your feet hit the ground.

“What is this?” you question, squatting down and picking up a handful of the white powder covering the planet's floor. The cold bites at your bare skin causing your hand to instinctively release.

“What never seen snow before?” he taunts, in a manner you had often used on him, as he and Cara stride ahead, each carrying bags twice the size of the average person. An impressive sight that left you feeling less than inadequate. You kicked at the snow turning around to grab a bag from the ship in an effort to demonstrate you could carry your own weight. In the meantime Grogu had managed to form the snow into a small ball which he promptly pelted towards the Mandalorian hitting him square in the helmet.

The thunk causes you to turn around in time with Din whose head was accusingly cocked towards you. You point to the kid who mirrors your movements causing him to grin underneath his helmet. He watches as you throw a bag over your shoulder, wincing in pain when you bend down to pick up the child. Anya bounds behind you, enamoured with the snow. The Mandalorian stops and begins tracing his steps back towards you.

“Here” he says reaching for the bag, any other day he wouldn't bother, he knew you could carry your own weight, hell you'd carried his literal weight before.

“If I can carry your ass, I think I can handle this bag” you roll your eyes, as the bag strap digs further into your shoulder causing you to quickly move past him. He watches you push through the snow and towards the concrete base a few feet ahead. He wished you’d let him help you. He knew you were strong; he wished you were a touch less stubborn.

“Well not the beach vacation I was hoping for, but it’ll do for now.” Cara say’s placing the sac carrying the medical supplies and food rations on a nearby table. You drop your bag the second you enter into the abandoned rebellion base. Slowly rolling your shoulder out attempting, and failing, to masquerade your pain. Din comes in behind you grabbing the bag you'd just dropped effortlessly tossing it, along with his own bag, up on the table with the med supplies.

“Looks like there's plenty of room here, enough bunks for us to have our own, amenities seem to work well enough, not sure about hot water, but at least its water.” Cara says appearing from a hallway.

“What about the camouflage? Is it still in place?” you ask as Din begins to type away into one of the dust covered computers. He grunts hitting the machine rather harshly while swearing under his breath.

“I can't tell, we need parts to fix it.”

“Should be some on the base.” Cara offers, more as a question than a statement.

“No, we need new technology to reinstate the old. I'll have to go out and get some.”

“That safe?” Cara asks

“If it's just me? Yes.”

“So I'm playing caretaker. You wanna tell her that or is that gonna be my job” she says, looking over at you as you unpack the preservatives into the kitchen area with Grogu tucked under your arm. The Mandalorian emits a low grumble. This wasn't going to go over well.

“We need food, I’m going to get some,” he states firmly, but from a safe distance.

“I'll come with you, you’re not much of a hunter” you say, placing Grogu down on the counter and brushing your hands off on your pants.

“Not hunting here, I'm going to get credits, I need to buy some parts to get the camouflage working again.”

“Alright, well I can help with that too” you say, confused as to why he was being so dismissive.

“No, you're injured,” he says, taking a cautious step towards you.

“I’m fine” you reiterate for what feels like the hundredth time since they’d saved you.

“Really?” He says rolling up your left sleeve, revealing scars still raw from the electrocutions. You push his arm away and roll your sleeve back down wincing when you graze the raw flesh. “When was the last time you slept? Really slept”

“No worse than it was before” you mumble out.

“You spent two weeks with the empire being treated like a caged animal, you need to rest.” he persuades, placing a tentative hand on your arm. The contact briefly causing you to shift away before settling into the gentle grip.

“And you’re leaving Cara here to babysit me?” you ask, eyes skirting to the side.

“ Yes. Normal circumstances you’d be fine, but you’re not in any shape to be fighting.” slightly taken aback by the honesty, but not surprised by his lack of bedside manner.

“This is crap you say.” shaking your head, if positions were swapped, sure you would be saying the same thing, but there's no way he would listen to you.

“If someone comes, you and Cara need to be here,” he states. Why he didn't just say ‘I just got you back, i'm not risking losing you again’ he doesn't know, but he’s sure it’s for the best. With no response from you he takes his leave. You watch his cape sway in the wind as he renters the ship and takes off leaving you behind once again.

“He’s infuriating.” You say to Cara who's hesitantly appeared by your side.

“Yup. But he’s also right. Common I want to see your light saber.” She says tugging on your elbow until you comply. You enter into one large open area of the base where various mismatched chairs littered the scene. You pull out the box containing the lightsaber as Cara burritos Grogu into a blanket propping him up on one of the strewn about chairs with a cushion.

“You're probably gonna want to hang back” you say, turning it on. The light purple aura shoots out vibrating softly. You move across the floor swingin it about a bit before finally closing it.

“Not bad,” Cara says, a smirk forming.

“We got anything disposable here?” you ask side eyeing her, eyebrows slightly raised.

“Ya. Want me to throw it at you?” she responds, seemingly reading your mind. You nod your head excitedly. What started as a relatively safe game of toss and slice had progressed into something slightly more dangerous. You were blindfolded, three beers deep and Cara was no longer throwing soft items at you. After another piece of food smacks you in the face you rip off the blindfold only to see Cara giggling like a schoolgirl.

“You know if I was smarter I'd say you were doing this on purpose.”

“Good thing you're not any smarter.” she laughs, waking up Grogu who immediately reaches for the saber.

“No,” Cara says, grabbing him in the knick of time. You both begin to clean up the mess you had made, well at least the half that would smell bad by the morning. What would have been a 15 minute job turned into an hour long ordeal with most of the time being spent preventing Grogu from eating the splattered food and opening up the lightsaber.

“He’s got a predisposition for danger” you say, grabbing him away from the saber for the 90th time that night.

“I wonder where he learnt that from,” Cara laughs.

The next morning you wake up from another nightmare, at least it had been of the no name variety this time, nothing quite as drastic as being suffocated in your sleep. You pull yourself up onto a barstool and lean over the counter clutching the back of your head as a plate of food enters into your eye line.

“You're chatty in your sleep” Cara says, watching as you take a bite.

“Sorry did I wake you up?” you ask scrunching up your forehead and hiding your face in your hands.

“No, don’t worry I’ve got my own demons keeping me up at night. You sleep walk as well, had to turn you around or you would have walked right out the front door.”

“Well, that's embarrassing. Thanks for stopping me from freezing to death, ill strap myself into the bed tonight” you say with a chuckle.

“So what are yours about?” she asks.

“Some weirdo in a cape” you say, taking another bite. “you?”

“The war mainly,” she says “if you ever need to talk”

“Thanks, you too” it was nice to have her in your corner.

“Sorry by the way if you know, what we did to you has caused any nightmares” it was the first time you’d seen Cara look remorseful and soft.

“Ya those stopped after a few months, around the same time the bruises did. Not sure if it was thicker skin or I just got better at fighting.” Cara nods, emitting a relieved sigh.

“Who do you think would win in a fight? Me or Mando.” she asks, stopping any further awkwardness from continuing.

“Tough call, doesn't matter though i'd beat you both.” You smirk.

‘Oh please I could drop you with my pinky finger!” She laughs waving around the frying pan she’d been cooking with.

‘I’m stronger than I look” you say pointing your fork at her with a mouthful of food.

“I know that but i'm a better fighter. At least at hand to hand combat. Though from what I've heard if I give you a spear or a bow you’d probably destroy me.”

“Games were more rigged than you think. It was largely a performance.” you admit.

“Killing the devaronian part of that?”

“No, that was a fun surprise. They like to pit fan favourites against each other. Who told you about that, or were you there?”

“No, I don't take pleasure in forced fighting. Mando told me, when I asked if you were a strong fighter. He was convinced. Also told me you saved him from drowning. How'd you do that his armour weighs as much as a ranakor.”

“Gods I honestly don’t know how, could barely move the next morning between the freezing water and unexpected heavy lifting.” you respond, shaking your head.

“How’d you survive it, cold waters a killer even if it doesn't drown you?”

“Fire, thank god his cape was fast drying or I think the hypothermia may have gotten him.”

“Just the cape that kept him warm?” She asks innocently enough

“What did he tell you?” you shoot back, your eyes telling her there was more to the story.

“I don’t know what he should have told me?” she says now increasingly interested

“Is this why you made me a delicious breakfast? To grill me? You laugh

“Oh you are not getting out of answering that question by complimenting me”

“Body heat” you mumble, quickly stuffing more food into your mouth to shut yourself up.

“So you guys have..” she starts.

“No, oh my god, I don’t even think he's allowed to. No in order to survive we had to maintain body heat. Which we did with our clothes on, there's nothing more to it”

“Well from what i've heard he's definitely allowed to, and has on multiple occasions, but if there's nothing to it.” she lifts her eyebrow.

“Survival was the only thing to it.” you stress.

“Oh im sure neither of you enjoyed being cozied up to each other”

“I’ll get the saber if you're not careful” you threaten stuffing more food in your mouth in an attempt to shut yourself up.

“Seriously, him lugging around that armour all the time, he must look pretty nice under there and I mean, you’re... you so nothing to not enjoy there.” she rambles on.

“I'm getting it” you say sliding off the stool.

“Threatening to kill me, won’t get you out of this” she hollers after you

“Oh no Cara don’t worry it's for myself. Gonna use it to burn out any remnants of this conversation.”

“I'm just sayin!” Of course she was just saying, of course he hadn't told her about that because it meant nothing. Would you mind being wrapped up in his muscular arms again no of course not, you're not blind, but your also not stupid. You know there was nothing more to it than a debt and a friendship, and that was fine. F-I-N-E, fine with you.

*************************************************

The Mandalorian walks towards the base sporting a bag holding parts he hoped would patch up the base's broken down systems. The sun had set and the white snow glowed a light blue from where the moonlight reflected down on it. The grey clouds forming above indicated that a storm was brewing and the last thing he wanted was to get caught out in a blizzard. The doors whir as they close behind him preventing any cold from seeping through. Placing the bag down on a nearby table he pulls out some food and warmer clothes he'd grabbed while he was out. He walks over to the kids room cracking the door and peering in. The sound wakes Grogu causing him to start fussing only stopping when he's picked up. Din follows the trail of inanimate objects sliced and strewn across the floor until he sees Cara whose on the couch carving a wooden stick into a point.

“Welcome back” she says, not looking up from her project.

“Got the stuff, he wasn’t too much trouble?” he asks, referring to the kid and tossing her a blanket.

“Nope” she smiles, catching the quilt and wrapping it around herself.

“You two have fun?” he asks, directing her attention to the various metals that she had meant to clean up before he got home.

“You know we should really get lightsabers, it's not fair only Jedis can have them. She's something else, I can see why you enjoy her company so much” Cara says, hoping to provoke a reaction.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he spits out.

“Well it wasn’t supposed to mean anything but, I guess it's more than her company you'd like to enjoy? I heard about the cave, interesting the details you left out” She says, eyes glancing up at him as a smile spreads across her face. He's about to respond, but the distinct sound of doors opening brings about a silent truce as they shift into action mode, blasters in hand maneuvering quietly towards the door. Noticing a figure, Din takes aim, but Caras hand stays his shot.

“What’s she doing?” he asks, reholstering the blaster and moving towards you

“Sleepwalking.” Cara responds “she didn’t do this when you were around?” he shakes his head, he knew about the nightmares but this, this was an escalation he didn't see coming.

“We should wake her up, she’s going to freeze” he says

“You’re not supposed to wake them up,” Cara returns

“So we just let her wander out and die?” Din argues

“No we just turn her back in the direction of her room smart ass.'' The argument ceases when they remember the door being opened. You had managed to make your way out into the blizzard concerning both Din and Cara. He hands Grogu to Cara and trudges through the thick snow, which you were moving through with ease. Cara, not one to be left behind, follows him out sheltering the kid under the quilted blanket.

“Someones with her.” Cara shouts over the wind. She's right; he watches as you reach out for the cloaked figure turning it around to face you.

“Y/N!” the Mandalorian calls out.

*************************************************

Your name being called pulls you back to reality. You look down seeing Anya whose ears are back and emitting a sound the likes of which you’ve never heard. Your name’s called again further indicating this was not a dream, despite the surroundings feeling uncannily familiar. The figure stands before you, unmoving, still present, what the fuck was going on. Your heart races as you reach out this time your hand makes contact with a bony shoulder. Your eyes widen as you turn the figure around to face you. Your eyes flutter side to side trying to piece together the situation playing out before you. You hear the Mandalorian shouting for you, but you don't turn away.

Your hand reaches up to pull down the hood as you do a familiar buzzing fills your ears as a scarlet flash lights up the sky. A burning sensation radiating in your stomach causes you to look down just as the saber retracts back into its hilt, the red light dissipating as it does. Your hand grasps at the cloak tearing a piece off as the figure disappears into the night. You fall to the ground, it's cold, you can feel your light fading, it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

************************************************

Din makes it to you first, dropping to your side. He places a hand under your waist lifting you onto his lap scanning your body for the damage. Your hands cover your abdomen. He moves them away revealing a substantial hole where the saber had cut straight through you. There was no blood, there was no fixing this, there was nothing he could do. Too many vital organs had been hit. He watches as you try and fail to intake the surrounding air into your lungs. He can see the panic in your eyes as you try and fail to breathe. Cara’s run comes to a halt. She stares down at the Mandalorian as he cradles a body that would never heal. You’re trying to say something, but all that’s emitted is a series of bloody splutters as you cling desperately to life. You look at Cara and the child before looking back up at him. Your purple eyes bore into him as your body goes limp. Anya throws her head back howling loudly into the night as Cara continues staring down stoic as even, placing a hand on the beskar armour. The Mandalorian doesn't move, he can’t, he won’t let you go. Why didn't he say anything, why couldn't he offer you some comfort in your final moments. He had failed you. As the howl fades back into the wind the silence becomes deafening.

Cara sees them first, Dins hand moves to your chest where small palpitations seemed to be occurring. His head swivels around staring up to see Grogu’s small green hand reached out, head wrinkled and eyes squinting in focus. As quickly as it had stopped your breathing begins again punctuated by a loud cough and several gasps for air which launch you upwards. The Mandalorians arm braces your shoulder as you do. He pulls up the hem of your shirt running a hand over skin that was beginning to smooth over. Grogu collapses back into Caras arms. Din breaths out for the first time in what felt like forever, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat back down. Your hands found their way up to his helmet tracing around its edges in an attempt to ground yourself.

“It’s okay, I’m here, you’re alive, you’re safe.” he whispers, as he brings his helmet down to your forehead pressing them together lightly. Your arms quickly wrap around him as you bury your face in his chest. The metal suddenly feeling like the most comfortable thing in the world.

“Makers get a room” Cara shouts. He hears you mutter something which he eventually makes out as “the child”

“He’s fine,” he says, watching the relief rush over your face as your arm reaches out to pet Anya before your eyes start close again.

“We have to get her inside, and warm, she’ll be fine, but we have to move quickly.” Cara says as Din lifts you up carrying you back inside.

The following days blur together for Din he left shortly after you were secured back in bed in search of supplies and medicine that would help ease your recovery. In all truth it helped keep his mind off the fact that you may not wake up. Despite Grogu’s best efforts you had been dead for a solid five minutes, that's not something many people recover from. He took up a few extra bounties along the way hoping they may have some answers as to who was with you in the blizzard that night, but nothing turned up. The killing helped him feel better, and coming back with supplies made him feel useful. No matter where he was, he always made sure to return with blankets and warm gear, especially after Cara had said you felt cold to the touch. He couldn't have that.

“I think we’re good for blankets, Mando anymore and she’ll sweat to death” Cara says with a small laugh unpacking yet another massive sheet made from some type of animal hide.

“You said she needed to be kept warm” he states, as if his actions were completely normal and reasonable.

“Well why don’t you just crawl in there with her that'll keep her nice and toasty” she teases “or you could just wait until she wakes up then you’d be able to keep her really warm, at least based on what I’ve heard from some of your past lovers” she laughs, as he leaves the room embarrassed.

*************************************************

Your mouths dry, that’s the first thing that alerts you to the fact that you were still alive. You open your eyes slowly permitting the fluorescent lighting to creep through causing a dull ache to pulse in your forehead. Closing one eye you move up in the bed causing multiple blankets to cascade down from your shoulders pooling in your lap. You turn to the side reaching for the glass of water precariously placed on your bedside table. A sharp pain shoots through your body as you reach out causing your hands to jolt down to the source of the pain. The scar tissue reminds you just how lucky you were to be alive. Your hands positioning is quickly changed as Anya nuzzles her snout underneath it. You scratch her ears, smiling as she licks at your face. You're distracted by the sound of footsteps inching closer to your door. You sit up and straighten your shirt, suddenly aware of how you must look and smell. Your fussing with your hair as the door clicks open.

“You're up!” Cara exclaims “wait here there’s someone who’ll want to see you. “

“Like I can go anywhere” you respond, shifting slightly as you do. She re-enters with Grogu who she places in your arms. He stares up at you with his big eyes, his hand reaching out for your chin. You lower your head so he can touch it eliciting a small contented gurgle.

“Thanks for saving me,” you say, as he worms his way underneath the blankets.

“Mando’s off getting supplies, mainly bringing back blankets for you though” Cara remarks causing you to roll your eyes.

“Five bounties so I’ve been out what? a day?” you ask shuffling through the thick fur covers which were, to be fair, keeping you nice and toasty.

“How are you feeling”

“Like a shish kebab”

“You looked like one. Do you remember anything about that night?”

“What apart from dying? I remember taking this” you say pulling out the small swatch of fabric you had torn from the figures cloak. “Nothing after that. I figured the only way this hole was closed was because of Grogu. Did something else happen?” Cara contemplates telling you about the tender moment she had witnessed between you and the Mandalorian, but opts to let him tell you himself.

“No, nothing. Get some more rest, you look like shit.” she laughs leaving the room allowing you to fall asleep with Grogu tucked neatly under your arm.

“Fuck” you shout, shooting awake. Your eyes water and your chest heaves. Another nightmare. Whoever this figure was, it knew it had not succeeded in killing you. Whatever it was you, and your friends, would not be safe until they, or you, were dead. You maneuver out of bed, careful not to wake the child as you do. Your feet hit the floor with a light slap, the sound being enough to rouse Grogu from his slumber. He blinks sleepily watching as you grab some clothes, a blanket and the ripped fabric tossing it all into a small leather bag. You whistle for Anya who begrudgingly hops off the bed and makes her way over to you. The child, now awake and apparently savvy to your plans scowls.

“I know, but we’ll be back once it’s dealt with” you say leaning over the bed to stroke his ear.

“Once what’s dealt with?” the familiar modulated voice asks behind you. “You’re leaving.” he continues, noting the rucksack tossed carelessly over one shoulder.

“Just for now.” You say, offering him a reassuring smile as you turn to face him, “I have to deal with something.”

“We can help.” He responds. You turn back to face the wall, not wanting to meet his gaze.

“Not this time I can’t put the kid at risk. It’s too dangerous. Whatever came here, it’ll come back once it feels I'm alive. I’m going to find it. See what it wants.” you unpack and repack your bag making sure everything you need is there.

“How do you know this isn’t what it wants you to do.” he poses, causing your hands to stop shuffling around inside the bag.

“I don’t.”

“And how do you think you’re getting off this planet.” he asks, a touch too smug for your liking. Especially considering you had not figured that part out yet.

“Gotta be some spare parts around here, maybe even an old ship.”

“Can you even fly?” Was that worry you detected in his voice, or amusement at the notion of you piloting a spacecraft.

“I'll be fine.” You say closing your bag.

“Let me help you.” he takes a step towards you, closing the space between you both.

“I’ll be alright” you say, turning and haphazardly throwing the bag over your shoulder. He steps in front of you, not willing to let you pass without a conversation. Not wanting to put him in danger you stand on your tiptoes and place your hands on the helmets sides, causing him tense up. You pull his face down to meet yours planting a kiss where his mouth would be.

“You’ve helped me enough” you say staring into the visor and slowly removing your hands. He remains where he stands, giving you enough time to skirt around him. Entering the kitchen you grab some preserves and a knife out the cupboards tossing them into the bag.

“Tell her she’s not leaving,” Din asserts to Cara, who had witnessed the previous events from a nearby chair.

“You can’t go by yourself, you’re smart enough to know that. Let us help.” She says. Realizing this isn’t a fight you can easily win you agree.

“Someone has to stay here with the kid. He won’t be safe where we're going. Din you should stay with him ” you say.

“I can’t fly a plane.” Cara lies in an attempt to force you both to confront your feelings for eachother, though she wasn’t entirely sure either of you knew how deep said feelings truly ran.

“I’ll take you.” Din says without hesitation

“I know you don’t like to be away from him.” you whisper quietly, your actions from before suddenly creeping to the forefront of your mind.

“We won’t be gone long” he says, evidently unfazed by the kiss. “You know where we’re going.

“No, but she does.” You nod in Anya’s direction.

#the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x y/n #the mandolorian x reader #mando x reader #din dijarin x reader #din x y/n #din djarin x reader #din x reader #din dijarin #din djarin x you #star wars #mandalorian fanfic #alliance #chapter 8

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foodcourtdetective · 6 years ago

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i’ll be yours in any way you’ll have me

summary: y/n waits for her soulmate to return from visiting Gene in the hospital, but there’s good news and bad news when Barry finally gets home.

tags: tw gun violence, tw anxiety attack, soulmate au, love at first sight, nods to canon but obvious twists on it, stressful plot with a happy ending

A/N: thank you for all of your lovely support! this is the end of the soulmark!au but I have another fic half-written if anyone is interested!

word count 1.7k

part 1 x // Part 2 x // AO3 x

Y/N was lounging on the couch, reading her psychology of personal adjustment textbook while mindlessly writing important terms in the notebook precariously balanced on her bent left leg. Barry was visiting Gene in the hospital; the couple had planned on finally celebrating the success of the scenes showcase after the pandemonium that had occurred opening night. Sure enough, Sally upstaging Barry in the scene and getting all the acclaim on the same night as Fuches escaping had been a bit of a dark cloud looming over her boyfriend. Y/N closed her books, her grad work forgotten as her eye caught the Catalina Breeze bottle displayed proudly on her mantle. She sighed happily before turning her glance over to Barry’s phone on the kitchen counter nearby. He had insisted on leaving his phone which her at all times so if Fuches was tracking their devices, the older man would think that Barry was always watching over his girlfriend. NoHank had given him a burner phone for when he had to leave her, even offering to stay nearby if Y/N needed backup.

She chuckled to herself, remembering the instant shine NoHank had taken to her. Any girl of Barry’s is a girl of mine. Despite the contention between the two criminals, Y/N could tell that Barry and NoHank really did have a strong connection. She could only imagine how excited NoHank would be for Barry when he finds out that he got the part in the Jay Roach movie after all. The leading man himself had yet to receive the news and Y/N hoped that the combination of Gene getting better and the huge career score would cheer up her soulmate when he got back. The rattling of the doorknob pulled her out of her happy thoughts, forcing her to confront the idea that someone was breaking into her apartment. Her heart jumped up her throat as she stood up, her books falling silently on the carpet as Y/N reached for the Glock 43 stored underneath the couch. Carefully tip-toeing to hide behind the kitchen island by the door, Y/N pointed the gun at the door with her dominant hand and speed-dialed the burner phone with her other hand. Despite herself, she thought back to how Barry had shown her these safety precautions and how goofy his long legs had looked as he crouched down behind their counter, how he had hindered her giggles with a hard kiss that somehow conveyed the severity of all of his emotions.

The phone was shaking as she raised it to her ear. “C’mon Bear, please pick u—“ her voice betrayed her fear as it cracked on her pet name for him, the one she had coined after comparing him to the teddy bear she used to cuddle as a child. Y/N’s prayers were cut off by the door swinging open, the lock successfully tampered with. She took a shaky breath and mentally prepared herself to jump for the intruder’s legs, to shoot— Her thoughts were interrupted as the intruder fell to his knees, revealing himself to be none other than Barry Berkman. She lowered the gun and put it down slowly, a choked sob of relief betraying her presence to him. He didn’t acknowledge her, staring at the floor with a hopeless look on his face as silent, angry tears streamed down his face. Y/N crawled over to his side, tilting her head downward to try to look into his big eyes.

“Bear-“

“Gene knows. Fuches told him I.. I…” Barry started hyperventilating, the raw emotions of guilt and hurt overwhelming him as his hands flapped like an actor trying to “shake it out.” Y/N intercepted his hands before he could punch something, her warm thumbs stroking his knuckles soothingly. Their soulmarks burned like they always did when they got closer to each other, still visible as his hands were surprisingly clean of any blood. He looked up at her, trying to read her face, trying to see how badly he had messed things up.

“How can he believe the man that framed him for murder? Besides, there’s proof that it was the Chechens…” she tried to reassure him.

“He told me to leave town, to never step into his class again,” he choked on his words, wheezing on the large gulps of air he was sucking in. Y/N shushed him kindly, pulling his long arms around her waist as she pressed her lips to his forehead. Her own hands left his so she could wrap her arms around his neck and stroke his hair, trying to envelop Barry in warm love as he cried into her CSUN sweatshirt. They sat there for a while until he pulled away, in awe of how she supported him unconditionally, without the same self interest everyone else valued in his relationship with them. Taking his observation as a victory, Y/N helped the assassin to his feet and walked him to the couch, kicking the books out of the way. As Barry hesitantly sat on the couch, Y/N pressed her hands atop his thighs and pressed her forehead to his.

“You sit here. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to call Leo and tell him that a con artist named Kenneth Goulet has been manipulating Gene and feeding him lies to isolate him from his loved ones. Then I’ll try to get him to let you go to class next week. You might have to pay extra the first couple sessions or lay low in participating but once he’s off his sedatives, it will be like it never happened. Okay?” She gave him a chaste but sweet kiss as he sat there, stunned by her calculated solution. Not paying his shock too much mind, Y/N headed over to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“I don’t know if you’re hungry, I know hospital food is terrible. I’m going to heat up my Mediterranean food if you want some. Just promise me you’ll take me to that new hipster cafe next weekend to make it up to me, m’kay?” Pulling the plastic container out and placing it in the microwave, Y/N tapped a few buttons before turning back to him to tell him about the part he had gotten. Barry was looking right at her, a look of epiphany painting his face as he asked her a question that stopped her pleasantries in their tracks.

“Marry me?”

“What!?” She asked, bewildered by his simple request out of nowhere. Suddenly aware of what he asked, Barry sheepishly stood up and scratched the back of his neck.

“Well, we can’t actually get married on paper because of my whole fake identity thing and I know you’re still working on grad school, but you’re my soulmate, literally and emotionally, and I want to prove that I’m gonna spend the rest of my ugly life with you in it and oh god, this was too soon is it—“ mid-rant he noticed that Y/N had closed the distance between them, her face glowing with happiness and her eyes glistening with tears.

“Yes! Of course yes! I’ll be yours in any way you’ll have me!” Emboldened by her response, Barry picked Y/N up into a hug, spinning her around with the same strength that broke a man’s windpipe to share his love for her. As Barry set her down, he placed both hands on her beaming cheeks and laughed in disbelief.

“Wow, I’m sorry I had plans! I don’t even have a ring yet…”

“I do!” Barry pulled a pistol out of the back waistband of his pants, roughly pushing his fiancé behind him as he faced the doorway to the bedroom, the source of the strange voice. NoHank had emerged from Y/N’s walk-in closet with tears in his eyes and his hands in the air, a twinkling ring in one hand.

“What the hell, Hank??”

“I told you I would stay nearby your zuda!” NoHank lowered his hands as Barry stored the gun back in its original spot. The bald Chechen handed him the ring, a bright smile on his face.

“Thank you, Hank,” Y/N smiled at her friend, gesturing for Barry to put the blood diamond on her finger. He simply obeyed, his muttering under his breath about getting her a clean ring later quieted by her soft eyes.

“Oh this is SO beautiful!!! I have shipped you ever since you guys went to the shooting range together!”

“GET OUT HANK!”

“But-“ a flurry of movement and a warning shot cut short whatever NoHank was about to say, the bullet hitting the wall next to the memorial bottle. NoHank yelped, scampering out the bedroom window behind him. Y/N shook her head, a wry smile on her face as Barry made a show of putting his gun away.

“That was a little dramatic, Bear.” He shrugged in response, kissing her earnestly with a joy he had never known. This commitment wasn’t going to be easy with Fuches still at large and Gene still unstable, but the radiance of affection that swelled through his once empty heart told him it would be worth it. After a long, beautiful kiss, Y/N broke it with a smile and tilted her head up at him.

“So am I ever going to know your real name?” He looked down at her, a gentle flush across his features as he pretended to consider her request. Suddenly, Y/N found his lips tickling her ear as he whispered faintly. She laughed, twisting away to get a good look at her fiancé.

“Bartholomew! That is SUCH an actor’s name,” she laughed, ruffling his hair as he just gave her a lovesick look. Heading back to the kitchen to get their food, Y/N failed to notice Barry following her into the kitchen and yelped when he encircled her waist with both arms, kissing her on the cheek.

“You know, you should change your actor’s name to Bartholomew Block for the Roach movie so it’s half real, half fake,” she added, the accidental reveal of the big news not dawning on her until Barry turned her to face him, the complete and blissful shock vibrant on his face.

“I GOT THE PART!” Y/N’s shy little nod prompted Barry to tackle her onto the floor playfully, his fingers brushing against her side accidentally and drawing a laugh from her lips. Kissing right under her ear, he smiled brighter than the sun.

“That is the second best news I’ve heard today!”

#ah what a journey #thanks for the support!#also fun fact #this part was written first and was originally 300 words #I close at the open?#barry berkman x reader #barry #barry hbo #barry block x reader #soulmate au #barry berkman imagine #barry block imagine #barry block #bill hader #hbo #bill hader x reader #my words #engagement fic #proposal fic

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im-whatchamccallit · 6 years ago

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Like in the Stories//Lucas Wong (WayV/NCT U)

Request: can I request something with either Lucas from Wayv or Mingyu from SVT. A noona who’s a little older but not as experienced as them and they’ve known each other for a long time so they’re comfy with each other. Please & Thank you!!--Smut & Fluff I forgot to add

Pairing: Wong Yukhei (Lucas) x Reader

Genre: Smut, some fluff but not really (my bad)

Warnings Unprotected sex, virginity loss. Nothing too crazy.

Words: 4.2k

(A/N: Should I write one for Mingyu? I thought about writing two separate pieces for both of them but idk.)

“Lucas pressed you to his mattress as his hands tightened around your throat.” Lucas read from his phone, a squeal leaving your mouth as you cringed further into your sofa, Lucas trying not to show his blush but failing miserably.

“It’s hilarious that they think you’re dominant.” You commented, Lucas’ fingers scrolling through the various post tagged with his name.

This was a game you and Lucas have been playing since he debuted: going onto Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram to search his tags, finding any and everything his fans could post about him. Over time, Lucas has managed to save various fan edited videos and pictures, one currently being his lock screen, and even found himself subject to many of their sexual fantasies.

Although he was flattered, you found it bizarre. The way everyone describe him in their writings was nothing like his true personality, instantly making you cackle at the idea that he could ever be authoritative and bossy. He was just a human-sized puppy in your eyes, easily flustered and shy from something as simple as a woman’s touch. He even flinched as you placed your feet into his lap, his hips trying to move farther from them despite your couch preventing him from doing so.

Lucas continued to scroll before a certain fanfic caught his eyes, an amused laugh erupting from his mouth as he passed his phone to you. Your brows furrowed as you took the device, curious as to what he found so funny. Probably another story about him and Jungwoo.

Nope! It was you and Lucas.

Your eyes skimmed over the wordy text, catching a few phrases that showed a more sexual side to your friendship, your teeth gritting as you laughed awkwardly, pushing his phone back towards him as to cleanse your eyes of the narrative. You knew Lucas mentioning you in his Vlives and tagging you in post on Instagram would come back to bite you in the ass someday.

“Let’s read it.” Lucas suggested, scrolling back to the top.

“You read it.” You said, reaching onto your coffee table to grab the half empty bag of chips.

Lucas began to read through the lines, not realizing you meant to himself, but you couldn’t help but listen. Whether it was about you and Lucas or him and someone else, you still managed to find amusement in it, the lines and actions nothing that either of you would do in reality.

“’(Y/N) crawled forward, staring up innocently at Lucas as she wrapped her lips around his dick, taking all of him in her mouth. “Noona, you’re taking my dick so well.” Lucas moaned.’”

You screamed out in a mixture of embarrassment and disgust as Lucas read that line, your body shivering at the word ‘noona’, something about it being the most sexual phrase in the fiction.

“Oh god, just end it there. It’s so weird.” You chuckled, shifting uncomfortable in your space and placing the chips back as you no longer had an appetite.

“I forgot virgins don’t like this kind of stuff.” You tried to laugh the situation off but couldn’t help but glare at Lucas’ smug smile.

Despite you being a year and a half older, Lucas was more experienced than you when it came to sex. But a virgin? He knew of your sexual exploits and vice versa, yet he always managed to mock the fact that you’ve only, in his words, experimented at 17. Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal but you still felt demeaned, almost as if it was something you should be ashamed of.

Nonetheless, you took a deep breath, tying not to show how upset you were despite your lips forming a deep pout.

“I’m not a virgin, I just don’t like the idea of people wanting us to fuck.”

“Why not? If we did, you’d probably learn a thing or two.” God, why were you friends with this smug asshole again?

You rolled your eyes and swung your legs off of him, standing from the sofa and heading to your bedroom to avoid punching him.

“Come on, (Y/nickname). Just sit on daddy’s lap. Or, if I call you ‘noona’ will you do it? Would you do it for me, noona?” You felt like you were going to explode, your hands visibly shaking as he continued, your feet suddenly stopping you just before entering your hallways. You suddenly remembered why you were friends.

You turned to face him, the simple smirk on his plump lips as he egotistically pat his lap, as if you were some kind of cat. Lucas smirk slowly faltered as you began to move closer, your hands gripping the hem of your t-shirt before lifting it over your head and tossing it to a random corner of your living room, your body stopping just in front of him to push down your sweatpants and kick them away, leaving you in only a black bra and panty set.

The way his eyes scanned over you, his tongue darting out to moisten his quivering lips, body sat straight as if he were in the presence of a teacher, the overall bashfulness. That was why you were friends. You knew underneath his cockiness and playful attitude, he was just a shy boy, that simple fact causing you to smirk as you climbed into his lap, feeling him jerk away slightly as your clothed crotches met. Lucas’ head turned slightly so that your faces weren’t as close.

“What’s wrong, daddy? I thought you were gonna teach me a thing or two?” You mocked, bringing a hand to his face, gripping his chin to make him face you, your eyes locking as he swallowed hard, almost audibly.

“Or you can just call me ‘noona’.”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what happened. You were only teasing him the same way he did you, using a few tricks that you’ve seen in porn, just trying to get him riled up and a bit frantic. But you never expected his large hands to grip your wrist, twisting your bodies until your back laid flat against the sofa, his body towering over yours as you stared wide eyed at him. Being in this position, Lucas’ body between your spread legs while your chest rose and fell slowly in anticipation, made you realize how virginal you truly were. The farthest you’ve ever gone was oral sex and maybe fingering in a public space, so this situation, and the possibilities of what could come of it, made your breath hitch. From the way things looked, you were excited for his next move.

But Lucas had no idea what was to come either. Sure, he was joking before, overplaying his confidence to agitate you, but he never thought he’d have you here, his eyes struggling to focus on your face as they dropped to your cleavage, the blood draining from his face to his lower regions, his body making their plans as his brain tried to decide if he wanted the same, his lips hesitantly opening to finally break the silence.

“D-do you want me to keep going?” You nodded softly, Lucas leaning down as if he was preparing to kiss you, only to lift himself once more to stare at you again.

“Are you sure?”

“You’re really ruining the moment.” You sighed, Lucas hurriedly pressing his mouth to yours just before you had time to change your mind, a soft moan slipping through your lips at the softness of his own.

He slowly let his tongue glide inside, brushing over yours to distract you from the way he shifted his body, his jean covered knee pressing to your damp panties, something you didn’t feel until it touched your clit, your mouth opening wide as a breathy, laugh-like moan filled the space between you, Lucas staring at you with confusion.

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Oh, sorry. K-keep going.” You couldn’t help but giggle slightly with him before he returned his lips to yours, moving them slowly and fluidly while his knee began to grind against your heat, a tingly sensation in your lower regions causing you to lift your hips, the pressure more intense as you embraced the new sensation.

Lucas’ hands slowly released your wrist, slivering down your waist and to your hips, pulling them down gently just so you could feel the pleasure of his covered kneecap as he nudged it against you so slow yet so hard, his mouth no longer on your own as he moved down to your neck, biting on a sensitive spot just by your ear that you had no clue was there, the surprised moans from you urging him on.

You didn’t know what to think of this situation, only knowing you didn’t want it to end. The feeling of Lucas’ rotund lips making trails down to your covered breast, your hips and his knee grinding with one another to practically soak your panties, the realization that you’ve never experienced pleasure at this level, even if you haven’t had sex yet, it made you want more.

“Lucas, more.” He froze at your command, bring his head up to see your shut eyes and wide smile, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as if you were trying to suppress your moans, failing horribly.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked cautiously, bringing his knee to a halt while his hands slowly released your frame, much to your dismay.

“Anything. Everything. Please.” You begging was honestly a delight for him.

Your statement made his body shudder at the thought that he could do anything to you, the various positions and acts he wanted to perform on you crossing his mind until he remembered that you were new to this. Sure, he’s had sex enough times to figure out what he liked and dislike sexually but this was like a learning curve for you. He needed to show you the universal pleasures of sex before you found your personal ones.

“I’ll keep going. Only if I can call you ‘noona’ until we’re finished.” You groaned out, mainly in annoyance.

Why wasn’t he continuing? And why was he suddenly so interested in honorifics? You never used them before but the way he said it, it did things to you. Things you couldn’t comprehend or dismiss, your head immediately nodding in agreement, just wanting to hear him say it once more.

Lucas wasted no time continuing down your body, pressing his lips to your warm flesh, kissing your navel just before reaching your panties. He took his time removing them, almost like he was defusing a bomb, carefully moving the cotton fabric down your legs, straight past your calves and finally off your body, your legs instantly opening for him to view. Was pretty the right word to describe someone’s pussy? If yes, then that’s exactly what it was, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watched the fold glisten with your juices.

As if he was testing it, he stuck one finger inside, producing a high-pitched moan from you, your hands unsure of where to go, reaching for his wrist before finding a place above your head, gripping the arm of your sofa as he slowly slipped another into you, your walls swallowing his long digits. He knew you never had full blown sex but the tightness of your pussy around his fingers, making it hard for them to thrust in and out of you as it clenched onto him, was 100% proof of it.

Lucas placed one hand on your knee, predicting your next move as he blew gently on your clit, your lower body convulsing at the odd sensation before his tongue swirled around the pinkish-red button. He began to pump his fingers inside of you, twisting and curling them to find your g-spot, a satisfied grin on his face as your hips bucked at the feeling of the hidden ball of pleasure inside of you being found, his fingertips tapping and rubbing against it teasingly while his mouth latched onto your clitoris, sucking gently as his tongue flicked over it, a shaky moan exhaled from your mouth as his hand’s movements became faster.

The contrasting feelings, his light and careful mouth working against you as his hand thrusted into your body, fingers practically abusing the sensitive spot within you, were driving you crazy. The wetness his hand began to collect from your arousal made his movements seem so fluid, the only thing stopping it was Lucas, those two digits buried deep inside of you while his palm laid close to your heat, fingers angled to massage the delicate parts of your walls viciously, his mouth slowly growing rougher and his hand moving from your knee and up to your clothed breast, slipping beneath the wired material to cup your fleshy and soft mound.

“X-Xuxi,” You tried to speak, your hands gripping his hair in an attempt to make him slow down, your thighs tensing as your lower body uncontrollably elevated to meet his lips and fingers.

Your body was growing hot, your head thrown back and back arching, allowing his hand to knead more of your doughy breast, moans bouncing off the thin apartment walls, some louder than others to let him know you were close, the burning and pleasure scaring you a bit, never having been this close to an orgasm in your life. Sure, you’ve cum plenty of times, but this was intense. You could feel the energy draining from your body with each of his movements, a cry leaving your lips as you dug your nails into Lucas’ head a bit too roughly.

“Ow!” He gasped as he sat up, his hands leaving your body as your eyes flied open when the sensation began to die down.

You looked up to see Lucas staring at you as if he needed an explanation for the sudden pain he felt, your mouth falling open as you realized what you’d done.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to.” You said, sitting up to check his head, making sure he wasn’t bleeding.

Lucas could only laugh at you, reaching up with the only hand that wasn’t coated with your juices to grasp yours, dragging it down to return your focus to the situation at hand, a more painful feeling bothering him.

“Noona,” He said, loving your wide eyed response to the simple name.

“I’m in pain and it’s your fault.” You were ready to apologize once more before he led your hand to the bulge in his black pants, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as you were thankful you hadn’t truly hurt him.

You didn’t question him or make a witty remark as you stood to trail down his body, palming his erect length through his constricting pants as you sat on your knees, making a home between his spread legs as you stared up at him. This felt like déjà vu, life imitating the art of his fan’s salacious writings.

Lucas watched impatiently as you began to undo his pants. Once you brought the zipper down, he raised his hips, pushing away the tight jeans and boxers from his waist and to his knees, your eyes tracing over his exposed member.

Were you really going to do this? Did you want to do this? You’ve done this a few times and, from your experience and feedback, you’re pretty good at it, so why not?

You hesitantly wrapped your hand around the veiny muscle, genuinely shocked by its size. Your tongue poked out at the slit of his bright red tip, tasting the saltiness of his precum and growing accustomed to it quickly, your lips clasping around the head and sucking as if more would come out, a hiss filling your ears as Lucas leaned further into the couch so his hips were forward, silently begging for you to do more.

Your eyes shut as a small moan croaked from your throat, your mouth opening just wide enough to let your tongue out to swirl around the tip, a long wet stripe being dragged down to his shaft, your lips pursing on the prominent vein, sucking at it as if you were trying to leave a hickey, your hand securing itself at his base as you finally gave in to his needs, trailing your moist lips back to his tip and taking him into your mouth, going down until you felt him at the back of your throat, a whispered ‘fuck’ exiting Lucas as his head fell back, enjoying the feeling of your saturated mouth.

You weren’t sure how someone could taste so good. It was indescribable yet addictive, your hums of satisfaction vibrating through his writhing body, more droplets of precum dripping into your mouth where you eagerly licked at them, bobbing your head and pursing your lips around his thick length, stroking the solid flesh that couldn’t fit down your throat. Lucas loved this but it wasn’t enough. Your pace was too slow, even if you were doing everything right to bring him to the edge. He didn’t want to seem too demanding but he was desperate at this point, his mouth dry as he tried to speak your name.

“No-Noona,” You hummed once more, his hips jerking a bit at the feeling as he adjusted his head to stare down at you, his cock still in your mouth as you continued to suck before releasing it with a thin trail of spit connecting from his head to your bottom lip, your hand pumping him as you waited for him to continue.

“Yes, Xuxi?” You asked breathlessly, knowing you should have stopped for air sooner.

“Can I fuck your throat?” The question caught you off guard but you hesitantly nodded. You had never been throat fucked but the idea of it made your body quiver, your legs closing together to manage the throbbing between them.

“Make sure you breathe through your nose.” He warned, your head nodding although you mentally face palmed. You forgot you could breathe through your nose while doing that.

Lucas sat up straight as he cupped your face, bringing your mouth back to his cock where you opened it happily, him wasting no time going to the back of your throat, your body shifting as you tried not to gag. You began to breathe through your nose like he said as he thrusted into your mouth, your eyes rolled upwards to stare at his face, eyes shut and lips parted as he enjoyed the warmth of your throat, moving your head along with his hips so he could go deeper.

“Your mouth feels so good.” He moaned out, praising you as he increased his speed, a loud moan leaving you and his cock dipping further inside, your nose touching his pelvis and making him groan.

So moaning helps too? That’s another thing you needed to keep in mind.

Lucas was very verbal, more than you expected. He swore under his breath as he continued to thrust into your mouth, leaning back into the sofa as his hips lifted further up, the narrowness of your throat feeling good around him and his hands running through your hair. You moaned against him, your hands digging into his thighs as you tried to steady yourself while he continued. The throbbing of his cock, the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, the heat burning through him as his movement grew rougher, he was close. And he knew he was close. He wasn’t sure if he should stop but he couldn’t, he didn’t want to. You felt too good and he was too focused on the twitching of his member immersed deep into your esophagus to end this.

“Noona, I’m going to cum.” He moaned, not giving you a chance to react as he brought your face to his pelvis, your nose pressed to his warm skin as he let out strangled moans, releasing down your throat as you moaned quietly around him.

You sat like that for a few seconds, his dick in your throat with his cum ready to be swallowed, his head thrown back while he slowly unclasped your head. You pursed your lips around him, moving back carefully as to not spill his seed before reaching his tip, Lucas’ pained moan from how sensitive it was making you smile slightly before pulling back completely, swallowing the salty fluids.

You sat there for a bit, waiting for Lucas to recollect himself before he finally looked down at you, a lazy smile on his face.

“Thank you for making me cum, noona.” He said teasingly, your eyes rolling in amusement.

“You’re welcome, Yukhei.” He cringed a bit, not used to you using that name with him.

There was a small silence before he looked at you once more with a raised eyebrow.

“This is the part where you say ‘Thank you’.” He joked, your bottom lip being sucked into your mouth as you tried to find the least embarrassing words for this moment.

“I actually didn’t…” You started, letting him figure out the rest on his own and his expression went from playful to confused to shocked and, finally, sad.

One thing Lucas prided himself on is his need to satisfy everyone before himself, so to learn he didn’t at least make you cum was devastating.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No! It’s my fault! I was about to, but I scratched you.” You laughed awkwardly, hoping your laughter would reach him but it didn’t, an obvious feeling of guilt still on his face.

“It’s fine, I promise.” You said, slowly standing as your eyes scanned the floor for your discarded panties, only for Lucas to grab your wrist, causing you to look at him.

“I have to, (Y/nickname). Just tell me anyway I can do it and I will.” He spoke pleadingly, his eyes wide like a puppies, a loud sigh leaving you at how easy you were to convince, especially with him.

You placed your legs on either side of him, your lower half straddling his as he stared up at you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Plus, you’re kinda still hard, and I don’t think you want to deal with that for the next few hours.” You said light-heartedly, finally managing to get a smile from him.

Lucas’ hands reached for your hips as yours held onto his shoulders, your eyes shut as you waited for some kind of pain. But there was no pain. As soon as he lowered your hips, the tip of his cock slipping through your folds and into your core, you felt nothing but satisfaction, your face burying in his shoulder as you whined. Lucas guided your hips to repeat the action, slowly rising and falling onto his member as he helped roll your hips forward, your mind and body soon catching on and doing so yourself, Lucas moaning at the feeling. He wish he hadn’t came so soon, his body sensitive and susceptible to overstimulation, your tight walls already bringing him back to the edge as he tried to hold back from fucking you himself.

You sat up and gasped, your hips lurching forward at the random sprout of pleasure. You rolled your hips forward again and moaned out at the feeling, resting your hands behind you on Lucas’ knees as you continued to roll your hips against him, his hands gripping your waist as he lifted his own, thrusting upward as you moaned at the simple but electrifying sensation. You ignored his hand leaving your waist as you moved faster, letting your moans turn to screams as you felt the same feeling as before, your pussy clenching around him just as he placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing at the fragile nerves as to bring you just as close as he was.

“Lucas! Don’t stop!” You cried out, nails seeping into his exposed skin as your stomach began to twist into knots, the sounds of his cock slipping in and out of you with ease as your skin collided filling the room.

You gasped as he brought his hand back to your waist, pulling you up so that your chest were pressed together, his hips slamming into yours at an inhuman speed, his moans growing louder to match your own as he felt the pressure of his orgasm coming, trying hard to hold back as you sank your teeth into his clothed shoulder, hands moving back to his hair as you felt the contractions of your lower body increase, driving you crazy before an unfamiliar feeling hit you. Like you were at the peak of rollercoaster and it just dropped, a series of breathy cries leaving your mouth as your body convulsed against Lucas’, his thrust not slowing down even as he came, pushing himself further inside of you as he squeezed your hips, possibly leaving marks.

His hips finally came to a halt, your sweaty bodies holding one another as you tried to catch your breath, minds blank for the moment as you let exhaustion engulf you, your eyes shutting peacefully until you felt a tap on your lower back, humming in response.

“Now you can say it.” Lucas whispered, your eyes rolling beneath your eyelids.

“Thank you.”

169 notes · View notes

nomorelonelydays · 6 years ago

Text

kick your pretty feet up on my dash

Part 1 | Part 2

Two days after the Instagram account opens, Sidney unofficially gets put on naming duty.

The strawberry shortcake biscuit is named The Taylor.

The cream cheese-stuffed banana muffins, crusted with dark chocolate ganache, is The Fleury.

The slice of warm spiced peach cobbler (available for just two weeks), topped with a generous portion of thick, whipped cream and vanilla ice cream, is The Deidre.

He shares the account password with her, but she seems more interested in digging up her mom’s old recipes from an ancient box filled with yellowed index cards than photographing.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” she says, then passes him a card titled, ‘Cherry Layer Chocolate Cake.’ “I think I’ll make this for the holidays. What do you think?”

Deidre makes just one and a half cakes for a trial run (the other half, which had come out lopsided, is sitting in the back of Sidney’s fridge). It’s another instant hit.

Sidney watches a couple, two teenagers who are making it pretty painfully obvious that they’re on their first date, split a slice in a corner seat. She’s chasing the cherry around the plate with her fork, and he watching her like she hung the literal moon. He laughs a little too hard at her jokes, his eyes crinkling like Geno’s when he’s chirping Sidney. But with the way she’s beaming, it’s clear that she doesn’t mind at all.

He’s not jealous—or, at least, he doesn’t think he’s jealous. Having hockey and having a boyfriend have always been mutually exclusive. But now, with no obligations to the NHL, he’s supposedly free to do everything that he’s wanted to. He doesn’t dwell too long on it though, because the last thing he needs is to have an existential spiral in Deidre’s store over whether or not he’s missed his his golden hour to be happy the exact minute the Penguins drafted him all those years ago.

He finishes lettering the card for the cherry chocolate cake and slides ‘The Jack’ neatly into its proper holder.

Geno calls him on Thursday nights now, like clockwork. He’s grateful for the routineness of it, especially when he knows how much Geno lives on spontaneity. It’s always the same—updates on how the team is doing (good, the weather over in Pittsburgh (not so good), another dumb prank the rookies are trying to pull (hilarious, but slightly unoriginal with the shaving cream), even though it’ll never be as good as the ones Flower used to plan.

“How are you?” Geno asks one night, while Sidney is puttering around the kitchen to figure out what he wants to make for dinner. “Your tomatoes grow?”

“I think those are a goner,” Sidney grimaces. The entire plant had shriveled up weeks ago, despite Sidney faithfully watering them. “Guess I’ll just have to stick with the storebought ones.”

Geno is silent for a bit. Then, “Is quiet in locker room without you.”

Sidney pauses. “I doubt that’s true.” There’s plenty of rookies every year, eager to prove themselves on the ice and to establish themselves as a personality on the team. Besides, Sidney has never been the life of the party—that’s always been Geno himself.

“No, is quieter.” Geno sounds like he’s swallowing a yawn. “Different without you.”

Sidney’s heart flounders, and he has to blink a couple of times before his throat unclogs. “Maybe you should get to sleep. It’s pretty late over there.”

“No, I’m not tired,” Geno mumbles, sounding very drowsy. Sidney can almost picture Geno, hair-mussed and sleepy eyes about to close as he curls up on his mattress. “Want to keep talking.”

“I know you have practice tomorrow, G,” Sidney says. “You have the C now, you can’t get there two hours late anymore.”

“I’m never late,” Geno huffs. “You too early.”

“Get some rest,” Sidney says gently. “I’ll still be here next week, same as usual.”

“Maybe I call tomorrow.’

“I won’t go anywhere.”

“Wish you still here, Sid,” he murmurs. “Miss you so bad, some days.”

Sidney doesn’t miss a beat. “I miss you, too,” he whispers, because any louder and he knows his voice will crack. “I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after, if you still want to call.”

“Okay,” Geno says. “Okay.”

Sidney’s restocking the brioche rolls when Deidre’s voice casually pipes up from the coffee machine, “You have a secret admirer, you know.”

“I know. It’s Samantha. PTA President,” Sidney says, trying to not sound exasperated. He only knows her name and title because she must’ve giggled it at him as a greeting every single time she’s marched in. “She asked me what the main ingredient was in the banana muffins and I told her banana like, three times.”

“She just likes to hear you say banana. And no, it’s not Sam.” Deidre makes a come hither motion with her hands and slides a napkin towards Sidney. “Yesterday afternoon, there was a young man, maybe around his 30s, who stopped by for a latte and he asked where you were.”

“Oh.” There’s something he can’t name fluttering in his stomach. The words on the napkin scrawled out, Jeremy, and a string of numbers. “What did you say?”

“I told him, ‘He’s a cute one, isn’t he? He’s the store eye candy, bringing in all the sales.’”

“Dee, you didn’t.”

“I did, and he went full red. It was adorable. And I told him that you pop in in the mornings and in the afternoon to help with opening and closing.” She leans forward, grinning. “I’m just saying, think about it.”

He thinks about it.

At night, he tells Geno, “I think I have a secret admirer. Or a stalker.”

Geno’s voice suddenly becomes infinitely more awake. “Have what? Someone stand outside your house? I read about this before, you need call police.”

“No, it was at the bakery. I got his number on a napkin. Well, the owner gave me his name on a napkin, so I don’t really know what he looks like. He could be 100. People in this town are usually…around that age range.”

Geno still sounds perplexed. “So say no.”

“What?”

“Say sorry, only go on dates with girls. But thank you.”

Sidney’s brain feels like it’s stuttering to a pause. “Geno, what the fuck?”

“What?”

“I don’t ‘only go on dates with girls.’ I—” Well, to be quite fair, he hasn’t gone on any dates at all. “You know this.”

It takes a full ten seconds for Geno to crackled back to life on the line again. His voice is hesitant. “You only bring girls to events. Like Halloween, or—”

“They’re my friends, I’ve told you. I’m not going to bring a guy in front of you guys,” he exclaims, then reigns in his voice. His heart is beating like a jackhammer boring straight through. “Hey, listen, I have a pretty early day tomorrow, I’ll talk to you next week, okay?”

“Sid, wait—”

He hangs up and puts his phone face down on the nightstand. It’s not his proudest moment.

I’m sorry(((, the text reads. The timestamp indicates that the message had been sent at 2 AM. You should go on a date with secret guy. Maybe he’s secret Ryan Reynolds.

Geno’s texts are never longer than five words, usually cryptic versions of a yes or no, accompanied by eyeless smilies. Sidney wonders if he’d been painstakingly worrying over each word since Sidney hastily ended the conversation.

I don’t think he’s Ryan Reynolds, Sidney sends back. Besides, no one in this town knows hockey. That’s gonna be a problem.

Geno’s reply is instantaneous, as if he’d been waiting.

Picky)))))

More messages follow in quick succession, before Sidney can even start typing.

But always best for u. Deserve the best only.

He laces up his shoes and heads to Dee’s.

It snows a little mid-December.

He helps Deidre with the decorations, hanging up tinsel and little snowflake cutouts on the window. She has a box of Christmas lights stored away in a dusty box from the attic, which definitely looks like they haven’t been disturbed since the 80s, but the one of the bulbs dies with a sad fizz the moment Sidney plugs it in. So they have to make do with the other nonflammable options.

The store looks nice. ‘Well-loved’ is a better word for it, with its mismatched decorations and ancient garlands. He snaps a photo of the mini tree on the counter for Instagram before he goes to help Deidre frost the rest of the ornament-shaped sugar cookies.

There’s commotion on the streets from all the tourists and families coming back for the holidays. He thinks about flying to Nova Scotia for the holidays, but then he realizes that none of Deidre’s children will be coming to Cardwell Point.

“They’re busy,” she shrugs indifferently, but she turns her back to Sidney as she busies herself with rearranging the shelfs. “It’s alright. That’s what Skype is for, right? Besides, I have to watch the store.”

He thinks about Geno, who’s probably headed to Florida soon to escape the onslaught of winter chill that he absolutely abhors, no matter how much he loves the city. He could Skype Geno, or Facetime him. Except Geno would always have the angle wrong, and Sidney’s sure he’d just get an on-brand mugshot of Geno’s nostril from the bottom up for the whole conversation.

He did ask Sidney if he wanted to go to Florida, except the way he had asked had felt like a given tagged with a question mark at the end (Florida w me this year?). Nonetheless, Sidney had been tempted.

But he also wonders if he’d feel even more homesick when Geno is physically standing in front of him again, all tall and loud and too big, too much, too many years of his unrequited love staring at him and making Sidney think that he has a chance. He doesn’t want to go to Florida to watch Geno pick up strangers at a club.

“I’m not going anywhere, either,” he tells her.

She looks over, finally, pursing her lips like she’s trying to hold back her smile.

@DeesBakeryandCafe

Season’s greetings and a happy New Year to our wonderful customers and families here in Cardwell Point. Hope everyone is spending time with their loved ones this holiday season.

Winter refuses to go. The clouds hang over the streets stubbornly, and each days trudges on like it’s dragging its feet.

He misses skating.

He misses Geno. Especially as it gets closer to February and teenagers and adults alike start coming to the shop in twos, their gloved hands clasped together as they squeeze through Dee’s tiny corridor when it’s really much easier to be in a single-file line.

He’s not jealous. He is not.

But he is lonely. And really fucking cold.

He serves up at least thirty slices of The Jack, which is apparently the most popular item these days thanks to Instagram. Deidre switches up the decoration, so the cherry-glazed design in the middle forms a big, gaudy heart. The Internet completely eats up. Sidney doesn’t understand it.

“It’s like a Titanic reference, right?” a customer asks, as he picks up the cake for his wife. “Like, an ‘I’ll never let you go,’ kind of thing. Jack and Rose?”

“Sure,” Sidney says. It’s really for his first childhood crush, but he can work with the Titanic.

The moment Deidre fills her last custom order of The Jack (and there had been plenty of those, for anniversaries to birthdays to just becauses), she tells Sidney that she’s figured out how to make her mother’s cheesecake.

“Finally worked out how to stop the goddamn filling from clotting,” she says, cutting him a slice. The cake has a brownie bottom, and the inside is perfectly creamy and smooth and dotted with dark chocolate chips. “What do you think?”

“I’m biased,” Sidney says, trying to not scarf down the whole thing like an animal. “I love cheesecakes. This one is my favorite so far.”

“Good,” she tells him. “You can name this one, then.”

His fork stops mid-air. “Weren’t you going to call it ‘The Lily’?”

She pats his arm affectionately, not unlike the day she did when Sidney told her why he ended up at Cardwell Point. “I figured she wouldn’t mind. This can be our second February special. God, I’m sick of The Jack.”

The next week, Sidney carefully slides The Geno in its display cabinet.

(Deidre doesn’t ask about the peculiar name. She never does, and Sidney is grateful.)

After over a decade in the NHL, he’s well aware of what he can and can’t have. But lately he’s been feeling selfish. He snaps a photo of the cheesecake and sends it to Deidre.

It’s a good photo.

“I got invited to a neighborhood potluck yesterday,” Sidney mumbles into the receiver, when Flower asks him how retirement is treating him. “I don’t know what to bring. Maybe I’ll bring something from the bakery.”

“Do you officially work at the bakery or are you just there because the owner is blackmailing you? Does she know who you are?”

“I just help out when I can. And no, I told you, it’s not a hockey town. They do have competitive knitting here. It’s a thing.” Sidney doesn’t have much to do these days, aside from working out and catching up on reading, which means that he does end up doing most of the latter in the café. Maybe he should take up competitive knitting. “I started an Instagram for her shop. We just hit 200 followers.”

“You know how to do that?” Flower asks, because he’s a little shit. “I’m kidding, I know you’re not actually a senior citizen.”

Sidney rolls his eyes. “I haven’t checked it in a while though. I let Deidre handle the posting now. It’s her shop, anyways.”

“What’s the handle?”

He tells him. Flower is quiet for a bit as he searches through the page. “Pretty cool, eh?”

“Yeah,” Flower says, his voice slightly off. “Yeah, it’s—it’s good. Looks like the real deal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course it’s the real deal.”

Flower makes a noncommittal noise. “Nothing. Cheesecake looks good. Does Geno know?”

“No,” Sidney says. “I mentioned the bakery once or twice. He didn’t ask. Not, uh—not after I told him about Jeremy.”

“Secret napkin man?” Flower remembers. “You didn’t go on that date?”

“No, I didn’t go on a date with ‘secret napkin man,’” he mimics. “I don’t think he’d care.”

“I think he’d care.” Flower always sounds so sure when he wants to be serious, and it’s one of the things Sidney missed most when he left for Vegas—there’d been a metaphorical hollow within the team for a good few months following his departure, and that void never quite got replaced no matter what.

“Maybe.”

Sidney can only hope. But he’s a little too old for hoping these days.

Foot traffic is slower when they hit March, but Deidre promises that it’ll pick up when Cardwell Point’s 11th Annual Theater Festival starts in the middle of the month, because that’s apparently the other big thing aside from the 4th of July Carnival Bash. Sidney has just packed up another dozen of red velvet cupcakes for Samantha the PTA Queen when the front bell jingles.

“Hello? I’m look for—”

Sidney heart leaps to his throat.

“Sid,” Geno says softly. He looks like the wind knocked him in (it probably had), mismatched Frakenshirts and all. “Hi, Sid.”

Samantha may as well not have even walked into the store at all.

“How are—“ He must be imagining things. But Geno takes another step, until he’s right in front of the counter and Sidney can reach out and touch just how real he is. He hasn’t changed much--still the same eyes, the same nose and lips, and maybe his hair is a bit thinner but he still makes Sidney’s chest feel too small and too big all at once. “Where did you—how are you here?”

“Fly,” Geno says sheepishly. “Wanted to see you.”

“What about—”

“No games until Friday.” He’s staring at Sidney like he’s looking his fill and he can’t get enough. “I—I see your post, and I just—buy ticket.”

“What post?”

Geno pulls out his phone and flips through it until he lands at a familiar Instagram account. He passes it over to Sidney, his hands warm as it brushes against Sidney’s fingers.

@DeesBakeryCafe

‘I love you’ tastes a lot like our chocolate chip cheesecake, The Geno.

“Oh,” Sidney breathes. “Oh.”

#retirement fic #sidgeno #okay!!! getting closer to the final part #probably wont be any posting during the weekday because need to do Real Job things #but hope you guys enjoy #wish i knew graphic so i can like...make a graphic header

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