#know what your postage is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prettyboykatsuki · 2 months

Text

ANOTHER WORD FOR HOMESICK (I WANT TO SAY YOUR NAME AGAIN) | M. BACHIRA

☼ tags ; omegaverse, afab + fem!omega!!reader, alpha!bachira, childhood friends to lovers, established reader backstory, coming-of-age, romance, mutual pining, implicit sexual content (virginity loss to an oc), explicit sexual content ft. bonding, knotting, penetration, oral (f!recieving), fingering, praise, lovey dovey dirty talk, petnames (mostly baby) 18+

++ notes: readers appearance is mostly non-descript but they are shorter than bachira and have several piercings and a tattoo which are explained in story.

☼ content warnings ; lore applicable sexism, sexual harassment of reader as a minor (details in authors note, explained further in extended authors note), lore applicable homophobia, implied bisexuality + referenced mutual queerness queerness, underage drinking, heat / estrus as a symptom of puberty

please thoroughly read content warnings and tags before clicking read more.

THIS IS PART ONE. CLICK HERE TO HERE PART TWO.

☼ ao3 link | extended authors note | fics for gaza

☼ wc ; 16.4k / 33.2k

☼ a/n ; sorry for the incredibly long wait. as always i got extremely carried away. but cheers for fujoneet reader coming after this! written as part of the @ficsforgaza intiative

as mentioned above, there is a scene in this part of the fic that has reader experiencing their first heat as a minor omega during their heat.

they are being sexually harassed underage. if you find this content may be too triggering to you - the scene starts at the the [ THIRTEEN ] subheader and ends indicated with ***.

☼ synopsis ; you can't decide on how you feel about alphas, but your resentment or discomfort around them grows stronger over time as an omega who presented particularly young

maybe that's why you feel so devastated upon hearing the news that bachira, your childhood best friend, had been hiding his alpha status from you your whole life.

PART ONE: MAY THE BRIDGES I HAVE BURNED..

[ NINE]

A car speeds past you when you turn the corner. Too fast, you watch it skid to a stop at a red light and feel your face grow flush. You tuck your chin into the collar of your coat, cold numbing your senses.

The mailman is at your door by the time you walk home. He smiles courteously and hands you the mail directly when you approach your front gate. You bow to him politely before taking it, the cold making your eyes water.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” He says. Nakamura oji-chan has been running mail to this route since you were a little baby. Mama said he has a grandchild now so he works less hours. You’re glad to see him. “You’ve grown so big. What year are you in now?”

You hold up four fingers. “Fourth year. I’m nine,”

“You’re growing up well, then huh? That’s good.”

You’re not tall enough to reach the kitchen cabinets at the highest height and still losing baby teeth but other than that you think it’s pretty okay, so you nod. He laughs before turning to leave, and you make sure to stand in front of the door before he goes to be polite.

You shuffle through the mail as you walk inside. Warm air makes your face tingle. There’s two letters for you today. They’re addressed to your parents, but they’ve got your name on them so you think it’s okay to call them yours. One letter is from the hospital, but there’s another one too.

You don’t know what it is. It’s in a separate black envelope with a raised seal along and government postage. There’s some stuff for nii-chan and mama - plus some coupons that papa gets from a subscription service.

You announce yourself loudly once you’ve looked through it all. Only papa’s brown shoes are in the rack which means he’s the only one home.

Slipping your shoes off, you slide your feet into brand new Doraemon slippers and prop your bag up against the couch in the living room before finally hanging up your coat. Your tummy rumbles after you regain feeling in your fingers, and you decide the nap can be pushed back till after snack time making your way towards the kitchen.

You make sure to take the mail with you. Mama always tell you to leave it on the counter so she can take a look when she’s home. You’re good at remembering this.

Papa is working at the dining table when you come in. He works on a fancy computer from home some days. He smiles when he sees you, bright eyes pointed toward you. You decide to hand him the mail directly.

“Hey, sweetie.” His smile is soft. Ripe oranges sit for you on the counter, cut evenly on your favorite plate. Papa nudges them towards you with a smile. Quickly, you run to wash your hands and sit adjacent to him upon return. You start snacking on your oranges, wondering if he sliced them for you or just to eat. You sit folded up in the dining room chair as papa pats your head per routine. “How was school?”

You look down. “It was okay. We learned about praying mantis bugs. My friends thought they were scary but I thought they were cool, at least a little…”

Papa sits and waits for you to say more expectantly. You shrug, unable to think of anything more to say.

“They are, aren’t they? They’re really important to our eco-system.” Papa says. You nod. He starts to explain more to you about praying mantis bugs and you do your best to listen even as you feel your eyelids start to droop. You get sleepy early in winter because it’s dark so fast.

Even though you’re not listening too closely, you notice papa stops talking half-way through a sentence. You peek at him through your lashes. He’s holding the special envelope from before. Papa is very quiet when he reads it.

“What’re you reading?”

His eyes go wide. You wonder if papa is also tired, since he seems so surprised you’re there. His brows are furrow - putting the letter face down on the dining room table. He’s silent for a long time, though you don’t fuss to ask again.

“We got some important news in the mail,” Papa says quietly. He seems a little different somehow. “We’ll sit down when and talk about it when mama gets home, okay?”

“Am I in trouble?”

He smiles at you like normal this time but he still seems a little sad. “Not at all sweetheart. It’s just an important talk so I think we should be all together. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You tell him, looking down at your lap trying to figure out what to say so he stops seeming sad. “It’ll be okay, papa.”

Briefly surprised, he smiles again, using his hand on your face to pull you close to him wet kiss on your temple that you take in stride. You’re glad he seems to feel better.

“That’s right, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

When mama comes home, her and papa sit and talk for a long time in the kitchen. They send you to nii-chans room. Predictably, he turns you away when you knock on his door and goes down to complain to your parents. You think that whatever happened must be more serious than you thought, since he comes back up and lets you sit in his room without complain upon return.

Nii-chan rarely invites you to do things with him by yourself, so you’re surprised when he invites you to his lap so you can watch him play games.

Mama always says he’s just going through a phase when he’s being mean. You think that makes sense. You’re happy when he’s nice, though.

After a while, papa comes to get you. Him and nii-chan talk in whispers about something and take not-so-subtle glances.

Papa starts to explain a little to you as you go down stairs, holding his hand. He squeezes it tighter than normal.

“Do you know what an omega is, sweetheart?”

You nod. You’ve got a vague understanding at least. Nii-chan is an alpha, papa is an omega and mama is a beta. It was hard for mama and papa to have you, so they consider you both miracles.

“Well, today, we got news about what you are,” Papa says. He tries to smile. “And you’re an omega like me.’

“Oh,” You say. You look up at him as you walk down the stairs. “Is that bad?”

He shakes his head when you ask, but strangely doesn’t end up saying no directly.

After you find out you’re an omega, nii-chan walks you to school for a few weeks.

You find this to be very strange for several reasons.

For one, nii-chan doesn’t really like school and he doesn’t seem to like spending time with you either. He started going this year, you think - something mama had said about getting his life sorted. Either way, he clearly doesn’t want to be going at all.

So, it doesn’t make sense when he starts accompanying you even a little.

“I can walk to school by myself,” You say, not really meaning anything by it. He stares down at you. You aren’t sure why he’s so mad. Nii-chan always seems a litle bit mad at everything. You wonder if all alphas are like that.

“Don’t be annoying,” He says, harsh. You bite your tongue and turn your gaze to the sidewalk under your feet.

“I’m not being annoying,” You clutch the straps of your bag, because you’re not. He’s the one who suddenly decided to walk you, which makes him the more annoying one. Plus, he’s always causing trouble at home anyway, not you.

“Didn’t they explain to you that you’re an omega?”

You look up at him confused wondering why it matters. He stares at you for a long time, and even gets angry again before scratching the back of his neck. His hand comes down to the top of your head and you flinch, expecting him to mess your hair up but he pats it instead.

“Stupid brat,” He sighs after that. You huff but try not to let it show. “Worry about yourself and shut up.”

[ TEN ]

There’s a playground near your house that’s a few minutes walk. It has a rusty swing set but a nice slide. Most importantly, there’s a patch of concrete you can jump rope and draw on. You like going there most of all with Miki-chan. Not today though. Miki-chan is out of town to visit her granny in Osaka.

Nii-chan offered to take you but you usually refuse him. It’s not to be mean, but just because doing things with nii-chan always makes you a little sad.

He’s moved from home now, but you still feel weird when you see him since he hasn’t liked you all this time. Mama tells you not to hold it against him - and that you’ll understand him better when you’re older. You hope that’s true. You try not to hold it against him.

But it doesn’t mean you want him with you at the park.

(You feel especially dejected when nii-chan acts cold to you but you can’t be sure why. Papa says it probably has something to do with your hormones, since nii-chan is an alpha. Something about packbonding. You don’t quite get it.

It’s starting to feel like every problem you have is because of being an omega, but you try to keep that thought to yourself so you don’t make papa sad.)

You bring your jump ropes and chalk along with you. The sky is half-blue, half-grey. You wonder if it might rain on your way there or if it’ll be blue and warm all over by then. You like the rain, but you’d prefer sunshine today so you can draw with chalk.

You think of things to do. You’ll sit on the swings first then jump rope, thenn draw. Or maybe it will rain and you’ll have to run home. You hope you didn’t jinx yourself.

Your neighborhood is small so you know the names and faces of all the kids there. Even the little ones who are in the grades beneath yours. Mama tells you it’s important to know your neighbors. You aren’t really trying to remember for that reason, though. It’s more like it bugs you not to know. You’re always like that.

Papa uses the word meticulous to describe you. Meh-tick-you-lus. It’s easy to say but hard to spell.

(Nii-chan says you’re just acting like an omega when you do things like that. This makes your parents upset, especially papa. You never take nii-chan seriously when he complains though. He complains about everything.)

When you arrive at the playground, there’s a boy on the grass playing with a soccer ball by himself. You’ve never seen him before. He’s got big wide-eyes and a shock of yellow hair underneath which is super cool. His hair is long, just a little shorter than yours and he even has bangs. You wonder if he’s an omega too, since you’ve only seen omega boys be that pretty.

Your heart beat fasts. It’d be nice to make a new friend, though you’re a bit unsure what to say. You’re a little nervous to approach him but you reason it’d be stranger not to.

“Hi,”

The boy stops playing with his ball, doing a trick to kick it up into his hands. He’s cool. Or at least very interesting. His eyes are bright, dark brown with a touch of yellow like his hair. You wonder if grows like that or if he’s allowed to dye it. He stares at you for a long time wordlessly. You shift your weight on your feet.

“Hi,” He says back.

You smile.

“What’s your name?”

“Bachira,”

He asks for yours and return and you give it to him.

“How old are you?”

“I’m ten,”

“Really? Me too,”

“Do you know how to play soccer?”

You shake your head. “My nii-chan plays it sometimes at his school, but I dunno how. I prefer jump rope. I can do some tricks with a jump rope.”

He lights up when you mention your nii-chan plays soccer, eager to ask you about it. “Is he good at it?”

“I think so,” You reply honestly. You ended up going to a lot of games when you were little. He used to practice lots in your backyard too and stayed after school. The memory makes you a little sad “He wanted to play it more but he got hurt. We went to a lot of matches when I was a baby. He has some trophies and stuff.”

“That’s so cool,” Bachira gushes. You shrug because you don’t really feel like agreeing. “Do you think he would play soccer with me?”

You shake your head dejectedly, eyes cast to the ground. “Probably not. He barely plays with me so I don’t think he’d play with you.”

You feel a little bad telling him that given he seems so excited, but it’s true. Soccer or not. It’d also be a little unfair if he played with Bachira, you think. Bachira visibly deflates.

“Oh,”

“It’s okay. I don’t think I’d be good at soccer but you can tell me about it.” You say, because Bachira seems fun to be around. He doesn’t seem interested but you go on. “The thing you did with your ball earlier was cool.”

He lights up again and you smile softly. “Really? I know a lot of other tricks, too. I’ll show them to you!”

You nod. “Okay. I’m gonna draw on the concrete while you play.”

You sit on the nearby patch of concrete and set your jump rope besides you as you open up your box of chalk - all brand new. You came in deciding to draw a cat or bunny, but decide to draw a soccer ball as a peace offering to your new companion.

“Okay! But you have to look up when I tell you or you’ll miss my tricks.”

“Sure,” You tell him.

As soon as you sit down down to draw, Bachira starts talking a mile a minute about soccer. He took your words to heart it seems like. You think he must really like soccer, maybe even more than you like jump rope and you really like jump rope. But you don’t mind listening to Bachira talk. He kind of reminds you of Miki-chan, who also talks a lot. It’s good since you prefer not to talk much.

“So the tricks and cool stuff you do with your feet is called dribbling?”

He brightens at the fact you put it together without him saying “Yeah!” following it up with “You’re really nice.”

Your brows raise in surprise as you shake your head. Embarrassed, you direct your gaze down towards your lap.

“Not really. I’m just normal.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just grins as he keeps going. You decide to keep drawing instead of talking, listening to Bachira ramble. He tells you to draw for a while he practices his tricks, so he can show you the best ones and you agree without any hassle.

You look through your plastic box of chalk, smiling as you choose a color. You decide to draw with dandelion yellow.

Bachira brings you home to meet his mom after he runs out of tricks to show you.

On the way there, he tells you more about her and himself. She’s his only parent, and she makes art so he thinks you’d like meeting her. Mama usually tells you not to follow strangers, but Bachira doesn’t feel like a stranger. He’s your friend and you find you really like him.

When you get there, Bachira’s mom seems very happy to meet you. She’s pretty and smells like paint. She asks you if you know your parents numbers, since they might be worried about you disappearing and you give it to her, even though you know you’ll get scolded.

It takes mama and papa twenty minutes to come over. Mama scolds you about doing something dangerous by yourself. You tell her it wasn’t dangerous because you were with Bachira and you really like Bachira.

They don’t scold you again after you say it.

(Bachira becomes apart of your daily life as easy as breathing. Despite going to different schools, you always walk to and from school together after meeting. You’re close friends, maybe even closer than you and Miki-chan who you’ve known since you were a baby.

Bachira always comes to pick you up anyway, and you walk home from school together every single day. He always has one hundred things to tell you but you like to listen to each and every one. You like how much Bachira has to say about everything.

On the way home, you play rock-paper-scissors on who’s house to go to. You like it best when Bachira comes over, but if nii-chan is home, you normally go over to his. Sometimes, you wish you went to the same school. Being with Bachira is always fun.

It’d be nice if you could be together all the time. You think if you were always with him, you’d never be bored. You wonder if it’s too much to hope Bachira feels the same. )

“So, you’re an omega?”

Bachira and you are playing in the yard today. Your room is getting renovated. According to otou-san, it should’ve been done a while ago to accommodate your nests but it’s getting done now instead. You’re in the backyard with a book, staring up at him as he joins you under the shade. It’s the end of summer break and everything is too hot.

You look at him. “Uh-huh. Otou-san is too.”

He stares at you for a long time before joining you in the grass. You feel weirdly self-conscious of the space he occupies next to you. You’ll be eleven soon enough. Bachira drapes his head in your lap as you sit, staring up at you. You don’t bother moving him. He’s always like that.

He puts his hands up and shades his face from the sun. His eyes glow yellow gold just like always.

“Does that mean you like alphas?”

The question is embarrassing somehow. Makes you feel weird because you can’t answer right away. You cast your gaze away and shrug, pretending to read your book but finding it hard to focus with Bachira’s eyes on you.

You read in a book that alpha and omegas fall in love most naturally. Sometimes they like betas. But you’ve always felt sure you like omegas, and you don’t want to lie to Bachira so you don’t.

“I don’t know,” You say truthfully. “I’m supposed too,”

“But do you?”

You can’t answer him right away. You scrunch your nose and think of nii-san, the only alpha you know personally. The idea of dating someone with any similarities to him troubles you, even though you know he’s not a bad guy. You shake your head.

“I don’t know. Alphas are too much,” You say after some time. That feels like the right choice. Sometimes, you see older kids and alphas and they all feel that way. “And they’re scary.”

“Then what about omegas?”

That feels easy to answer. Bachira stares at you intently and you flush, turning away and covering your face with your hand. “I like them…they’re pretty and smell nice.”

“Hm,” Bachira says. His expression is hard to read. You make a face at him, head tilted asking the same thing. “I think I might like alphas. I dunno though. I don’t know what I am,”

A pang of disappointment makes your chest ache but you bury it and smile at him. Just barely, corners of your lips lightly upturned. “That means we’re opposite.”

“But in a way it means we fit together right?” Bachira says, same as usual. Expectant. Content. Like it’s not a big deal at all. You nod and cast your gaze down to your lap again.

“Yeah. Right.”

[ ELEVEN ]

Fifth year students have special lessons for secondary sexes, before a secondary health examination.

In your fourth year, you learned about the characteristics of your primary sex which is most important for betas. Most people are betas, so you guess it makes sense they spend so much more time about it. Still, it’s a little surprising how little your teacher really discusses…anything at all.

You try to pay attention to the lesson but keep tuning out, finding it boring and most of all - not very useful. Otou-san had this conversation with you already. It’s not anything new.

You don’t mean to sound like a know-it-all of course, but with the way otou-san quizzes you on it, you’re pretty sure you know more than most of your classmates and maybe even your teacher.

You find your teacher leaves out a lot of important details about alphas and omegas, though you don’t feel you can or should correct her. During your lesson, you start to understand why Otou-san insisted on making you learn at home.

Reflecting on it, you think being an omega is a hassle. Sometimes it seems scary. Most times though, it just feels inconvenient. When people find it out about you, they always act like they know you. But they only know you’re an omega, so you doubt that’s true.

Your first heat hasn’t come yet since you’re on lots of medicines but you get all the same growing pains. New, tiny fangs are already forming in your mouth and your scent is stronger than most kids your age. Your body is already changing, growing and you have to get more check-ups than other people.

Okaa-san says that’s normal. That you’re normal. But it doesn’t really feel that way. You notice otou-san never uses the word normal, only says that you’re perfectly healthy.

You wonder if it’s something so strange that you’re teacher can’t discuss it. If your disposition is something so offputting. Omega’s are uncommon but not unheard of, right? So why does everyone seem so hush-hush?

You don’t know how to explain the feeling. It’s lonely. People know you’re an omega, but you don’t even know what that means. Don’t know what it means to feel like an omega either. But supposedly it dictates so much of your life.

You keep yourself from sighing as to not disturb your class. The led of your pencil snaps from pressure as you write in your work-book.

[ TWELVE ]

You return to the classroom early after health examinations.

It’s the start of the sixth year of your elementary. Most people are finding out their secondary sex for the first time today, but since you already know yours - you’re given a pass to go back and read quietly in the classroom until it’s over. Some people have already developed with strong, obvious scents but getting the official results require a medical check up.

You want to linger a little more so you can talk with all of your classmates but your P.E. teacher shoos you out of the room before long.

After you change out of your gym clothes and back into your uniform, you traverse down the hall and take the long way back. It’s April. The sun is out, peeking through the leaves as warm shades of spring bloom outside your schools windows.

The hallway is unusually quiet. You try to keep your steps light so the hall monitor doesn’t write you up for making noise and causing a disturbance.

You haven’t been able to shake the strange feeling since morning. Such an important day, met with anticipation - but you exist entirely outside of it. You almost feel noting towards it at all.

You’ve known you were an omega for nearly three years now and you’ve already heard rumors about you in relation.

It is isn’t all that important to you. But it is, at the same time since it seems important to other people.

Maybe it’s because you already know yours, but it makes you kind of uncomfortable to hear how your classmates talk about it.

You’ve never liked talking about being an omega, even though it’s not a secret. You pretend not to hear them when you’re in earshot but you always do.

Omegas are weaker, more annoying, too emotional. The only thing they have is attracting alphas, and most people want an alpha to take care of them. Alphas are bound to be successful, and they’re good at sports. It’s great that they have easier chances of seducing them and betas, too. They’re easy and weak so naturally an alpha will want to take care of them.

You’re used to hearing it, and rarely bother to correct them no matter how wrong they are. Sometimes, you want to point out to them you’re one of those things at all - but then, you wonder if that makes you weak and emotional so you never do. You’re not weak, nor annoying, and you rarely show your feelings to anyone.

You can’t make sense of whats expected of you and why your classmates laugh you off when you mention you like omegas, either. You’ve always preferred omegas and their company. They’re comfortable, understanding, easy to be with and smell nice.

There’s something exhausting about the idea you need to be with an alpha. All of it is tiresome. You can’t help but get the impression that from here on, it’ll only get harder to deal with and you don’t want that. You don’t want it to matter. You just want to be yourself.

Lost in thought, you arrive at the classroom. One of your friends seems to have arrived at the same time. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of her.

Akemi-chan is one of your good friends. She’s beautiful. She has long, straight hair and cut-across bangs and always smiles. There’s a mole under her eye and her scent is ripe and summery like peaches. She smiles when she sees you.

She’s so pretty and she stands to close to you - an arm around your waist with a comfortable laugh.

“Guess what!”

“Did you find out your secondary sex?”

She grins, brightening several degrees. “I’m an omega. And,” Her voice drops suddenly. “Chiyo-san is an alpha!”

“Ah,” Your voice drops.“Did you like Chiyo-san?”

She nods. “Now that I know she’s an alpha, I like her more, I guess?”

You try not to look sad, and try to quiet your heartbeat at the way she shows you affection she wouldn’t had you not both been omegas. She doesn’t pull away from you despite knowing you like omegas, so you still feel grateful. Akemi draws her cheek against yours gently. Scents you in the way friends do with her wrists.

You nod listen to her. The listless melancholy of whats forward draws your attention outside.

You notice storm clouds coming in as Akemi looks alongside you. It feels different.

It feels a little too early in spring for such stormy rain.

“I didn’t get the results of my secondary sex exam,”

You’re on your way home back from school when Bachira blurts this out to you. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, turning to look at him so you can understand his feelings better. Given how quiet Bachira’s been today - you figured something was wrong.

You look at him, unsure of what to make of it.

“Does that bother you?”

Your question surprises him in return. It’s not unheard for people to present later. It manifests in everyone eventually, even betas. You don’t remember all the terminology though it has something to do with a specific hormone.

Bachira thinks on your question before looking down at his shoes. He shrugs. “Mm. Dunno. Guess it just makes me feel even more different.”

You think about what Bachira seems to go through at school and feel your heart tug. That makes sense you think.

You shake your head, with new and sudden resolve. “I think it’s fine. It kinda makes sense. I got mine early so you get yours late. We’re always like that, right?”

You hope the attempt to comfort him reaches him. When you look over and see him smiling, you feel unimaginable relief. The world feels more colorful when Bachira smiles. He pauses in the middle of the street, throwing an arm around your neck with a grin that feels like himself again.

“Yeah. Right.”

[ THIRTEEN ]

You can’t tell it’s your heat right away.

A fever breaks along your skin in a cramped train car. sweat clinging to your skin underneath your middle school uniform, a heat rash making your whole body itch. The noise around you becomes static, cottony as your heart starts thudding against your ribs.

Your ears are ringing. Time slows down around you as the speed of the subway seems to double underneath your feet. Your knees buckle as you try and hold yourself upright as the intense and unfamilar feeling of desire violates your senses. Too intense for your body. It doesn’t feel like you. You’re not in your right mind.

It’s too early. Most people’s heats don’t come for another year or two at least. You feel so unlucky as the pain flares, mixed with something burning between your legs.

You try to focus your thoughts elsewhere. You take the same train home every single day at the same time. Plenty of students take it, but clubs keep you later than most.

Bachira often comes with you just like he has today, so you focus on him. His middle school is a short-distance from yours so you try and walk home together when you can. A small promise that means the world to you. If you can’t go the full way, you always meet up at the intersection and walk the short distance together instead.

You focus on Bachira as he stands next to you. He’s watching a game of soccer on his new phone, turned sideways with a single headphone in. You watch it over his shoulder. You try too. Your skin scorches, hot like something crash-landing through the atmosphere as a tension grows between your legs. Sweat breaks out around your collar and the small of your spine. You feel out of your body - floating just outside of it. Your neck throbs, scent glands suddenly aching. Both wrist and neck, all of you—aching.

You can barely make any sense of your surroundings anymore. Your breathing is erratic as you grip onto the metal pole tight and try to make sense of your surroundings. You want to hold out until you can get to a stall. You’ve had a plan for this for as long as you can remember.

You just need to keep it together until the train stops.

There’s a man behind you. You don’t notice him until you do. You’re still wearing your uniform - short skirt rolled up to combat the heat of the season. A calloused hand reaches underneath the fabric. You think it’s an accident until it sticks between your inner thigh. It slides up slowly, getting closer to where it shouldn’t be. Your breath hitches. You shiver. Your body is hot.

“Are you an omega?” An older man, the one behind you murmurs. His voice is crass, grating and dark against your skin. Your stomach twists with fear as your gaze freezes you into place. Unable to find your voice as he touches you, you try not to recoil. Disgusted at your body reacts to the involuntary arousal that spikes in result of it. He’s an alpha. The acrid, overbearing nausea of an alphas scent drives itself into your center like a stake. You hate it so much it’s unbearable but every is so hot.

You have no control. Over anything. You’re terrified and barely there.

Fear makes you jump. Your conscious mind slowly loses its grip as you feel your skin dampen with increasing heat, skull throbbing. Your heat is coming and it’s coming fast. You breathe heavily in a pant, trying to ignore the sensation. Trying to ignore everything, just to drown out the oppressive scent of alpha invading your lungs as you tuck your chin.

“You’re a little young to be presenting like this. Having your heat on a train like this,” His voice weighs down on you oppresively. Your heart is so loud, clamoring noisily behind your ears as tears prick at your eyes. His hands go further and further and you flinch. Brushing where you don’t want to be touched you jolt.

our jolting makes Bachira look up from his phone.

“Are you trying to tempt an alpha?”

You’re not very conscious. You’re disgusted. You know this is normal but it feels wrong. You feel wrong. The horror is grounding in it’s own right. Fog clouds your mind, makes your senses sharp. You feel split at the seams. Fighting with your own consciousness, you can’t think of anything except trying to suppress your instincts. But it’s painful, so painful - and something sticky is running down your legs. It’s not you, it’s your body. It’s violating.

Your instincts want an alpha. Your body wants something you can’t understand to the point it aches inside of you, aches between your legs and makes you want to throw up.

Before the man behind you can get any further, your shaken awake by the sound of him practically shrieking. Bachira appears in the corners of your vision.

You’ve never seen him so angry.

You can see his hand reaching behind you. Your eyes gloss over as you stare at Bachira. The hand touching you is gone and you feel immediate comfort. You ground yourself in the warmth of his eyes. You try to find his face amidst your tears.

“Bachira-kun,” Your voice is a whimper. You tuck your head against his shoulder. “I’m scared, I’m so scared, it hurts,”

He stiffens and then his voice comes. It’s soothing, sounds just like him. High and soft. He hums a lullaby to you like nothings wrong. When his hand rests on your lower back, it doesn’t make you feel like crawling out of your own skin.

“It’s okay,” He whispers. “It’s safe. You’re safe. I’ll protect you, promise.”

It’s weird to see him this calm. The loud Bachira you know is never so poised, but he holds you steady. You whimper as he pushes you against his scent glands. He smells sweet. You huff it involuntarily. Bachira doesn’t tell you to stop.

When the train comes to a slow, you let him move you through the station and take you to the bathroom. Your knees are weak. He’s not the type to worry but you’ve made him so concerned.

He opens a stall and sets you gently on the toilet. The cool linoleum sobers you enough to look at Bachira. His worry, his concern, his care. You whimper.

“Hug me,” You practically beg. He hesitates, clicking himself into the stall alongside you as you let yourself drape around his waist. It’s not very different from how you usually are, is it? Bachira is always so affectionate, yet it feels so different.

He rubs the scent glands on his wrist on your neck.

Above you, Bachira is on his phone. Your brain is too hazy to make the details, but you think you hear your fathers voice on the other side of the line.

“Ji-chan will be here soon,” Bachira says. You clutch the back of Bachira’s uniform. It’s the first time he’s ever felt so broad. “Don’t worry.”

“Meguru. Thank you,” You say in a half-sob.

“Anytime,” He says, his voice small and high and so familiar. “I’ll always protect you. Promise. No alpha will touch you again.”

***

The reality of your first heat should be what you expect. You know these things happen. Otou-san has told you to be cautious everywhere you go for the last four years without fail.

But when it happens to you, it’s the first time you feel resentful about your secondary sex. Anger towards your body first, for not being able to control itself. Angry at the world next, for making you feel as if it’s your fault.

You grow averse to alphas in the after math. You try not to be. You try not to let your discomfort show and try not to become the sort of person who makes judgements on secondary sex - but for a long time, just the thought of being around them makes your bones chill.

The only thing that keeps you from being all negative is Bachira. His anger for you when discussing that day is enough to ease the burden. Bachira bears your hurt like its his.

You start calling Bachira, Meguru when you call him after he stays with you during your heat. It’s the last bridge of closeness to cross - the last barrier between you. He calls you by your first name too, sometimes a nickname if the mood suits him.

You find yourself so thankful to be his friend some days it makes you want to cry.

You find yourself even more grateful when he tells you he’s an omega. It comforts you. You think, he’s too good to be an alpha and too goo to be with one but you never tell him. It’ll happens someday and you think you’ll be sad.

But for now, you’re happy being by his side a little while longer.

[ FOURTEEN ]

Miki-chan invites you to celebrate her fourteenth birthday with a visit to the mall.

There’s a huge mall a little over half an hour away from Chiba that she’s been dying to visit since forever agp. Her nee-san takes all of you in her nice car, even letting you spend money on her card within reason. She’s a lot older than all of you, twice your age with a big girl job in Tokyo. She’s stylish and kind and always has fun nail designs because she works for a famous fashion magazine.

Otou-san has also given you an excessive amount of pocket money after you told him about your day-trip. You really weren’t planning on getting anything, but you’re glad to have something in case Bachira wants to make a purchase.

You’re stopped in for frozen yogurt, following Bachira as Miki-chan and another mutual friend, Sasaki-san wait for you to come up front. You watch amusedly as Bachira piles his frozen yogurt with more toppings. You’re pretty sure he’s not even going to finish it.

You peer at his cup from over his shoulder, watching him pile gummy bears onto his already loaded cup of frozen yogurt, wrinkling your nose in distaste.

“What flavor of froyo did you get this time?”

“Sea salt chocolate. For balance,” He says, dead seriously.

You smile involuntarily before brushing past him, spooning yogurt chips into your own cup. You get different things depending on your mood but always keep it simple. Since it’s hot and humid, you’re getting a coconut flavor with shaving, yogurt chips, fruit and strawberry sauce and sprinkles for good measure.

“You’re too much,” You move past him and wait for him to finish up at the counter. “But if you’re happy,”

“I’m always very happy. I have no place for sadness!” Bachira replies.

You give him another crooked smile, turning to where Miki and Sasaki are chatting.

“I’ll pay for Meguru-kun,” You announce. His frown is instant.

“Eh? No way, I brought money though? That’s why I put so much stuff,”

He’s pouting. You wonder if all omega boys are that cute naturally or if it’s just Bachira.

“Buy something with it later.”

He pouts, swallowing his complaint as he knows it’ll fall on deaf ears.

“Fine,” He huffs, placing his alongside yours on the weight. The cashier gives you two a knowing smile that you miss as she rings up, sticking a color-changing spoon in each before passing it back along with your change. “I’ll get you back for this.”

You don’t say anything as you watch the weight counter.

“Over one thousand yen…. you’re such a glutton,”

“I’ll split it with you as thanks,”

You make a face of disgust that makes him cackle as you both sit down and join your other friends. Bachira drags his chair to sit as close to you as possible, fully inserting himself into your personal space per usual. You eat a spoonful of your frozen yogurt, unconcerned. Sasaki stares at you for a bit. Your eyes meet and you tilt your head in confusion but she turns away.

“Miki-chan, is there anything else you want to look for?”

“New shoes, maybe.”

You glance at her then shake your head. “Pick something else.”

“…Okay. Thank you in advance, I guess,” Miki-says with a laugh. You smile a little.

You look over at Bachira who’s very enraptured in his fro-yo.. You lick your thumb as reach over and wipe the corners of his mouth - stained with chocolate.

“You eat like a kid,” Fondness unmistakable in your voice.

He shakes his head sagely. “Eating something delicious is supposed to make you eat like a kid, you know? And we are kids. This is what it means to be free citizens of the world! Of this great nation!”

“Uh-huh. I’ll take your word for it, but clean your mouth at least.”

Bachira looks at you with smeared mess of chocolate, worsened by another sugary bite. “Why should I worry about it when you’re here to do it for me?”

You give him flat look. Despite yourself though, you use a napkin from the middle of the table to wipe his mouth off. Miki scoffs at you both.

“If you’re too spoiled, she’ll get sick of you,” Miki-chan says bitterly.

“She’d never get sick of me. You on the other hand,”

You shake your head as the two of them hiss at each other. You’ve been friends for years and they still argue. It’s hard to say they’re oil and water. If anything, they’re so similar it baffles you why they don’t get along better then they do you. After a minute of glaring, she sighs and goes back to thinking of her shopping trip.

“Well if shoe’s are out of the question, maybe some new earrings. Oh! And we should get you some makeup you can wear at school.”

You shake your head. “I told you I’m not interested.”

“You’re wasting your beautiful omega looks. I won’t allow it,” Miki pouts at you even as you shake your head. “I promise it’ll be easy stuff. I just think it would look nice on you.”

Bachira doesn’t even look up. “You’re pretty the way you are.”

“Don’t say something that embarrassing,”

“It’s not embarrassing if it’s true,” He voices, sing-songy. His insistence only worsens your frown.

Sasaki glances between you again, you think. It’s too brief for you to catch but the weight of it lingers even when she pulls her gaze.

“Please? Just a little? I’m buying it for you so it’s fine right.”

“I know you said you want to practice on me but it’s not just that, right?”

Miki smiles at you, coy. “Eh… maybe? I want to max your potential more like. You’re not seeing my exquisite vision but I will make you.”

You shake your head, and sigh - pretending to be more troubled than you are. “Fine. We’ll go after. I want to go to another store too. For stationary,”

“You’re too much of a bookworm. Boring. Nerd!” Bachira says automatically.

“The one time we agree on something,” Miki replies.

You frown at both of them. “It’s important that the world has boring people. How else would we have laws?”

“Even you thinking about laws is so boring,”

You shake your head, displeased.

Conversation flows more steadily between you, Miki and Sasaki. Bachira tunes out, draping himself all over you once he’s done eating. He fidgets with your hands, resting his head on your shoulder. You adjust so you can eat while letting him.

“Pee,” Bachira announces abruptly. He stands up, arms over his head as his shirt slides over his belly, exposing skin. “Need to pee really bad. Pee time,”

“Do you want me to come with you?” You ask.

He looks down at you and smiles widely before shaking his head. “Mm, no. I’ll be fine. I can do it by myself. I’m no longer a kid!”

You give him a raise brow in reply to say can you? that makes him stick his tongue out. You chuckle at that. “Go pee then. Don’t get lost.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Bachira does a salute before scurrying off to find the closest bathroom. Sure that’ll occupy his time, you smile to yourself as take a spoonfuls of your melty frozen yogurt - careful not to spill any as you put in your mouth and go back to conversation.

Sorry about that. What were you saying, Sasaki-san?”

She stares at you for a long time. “Are you two… like… together?”

You blink.

“Sorry?”

“You and him,” Sasaki reiterates. Besides her, Miki snorts.

“What a good question,”

You shoot her a unimpressed look. “Ignore her. No, we’re not.”

“What?” Sasaki says. The genuine disbelief shocks you a little. You’re used to Miki teasing you but not this. “Seriously? Even though he’s like that?”

“Oh, what? Like touchy?” You reply, starting to understand. Miki interrupts you.

“Don’t bother, Sasaki. It’s a lose cause.” She shakes her head.

“Again. Ignore her,” You emphasize, shooting her a glare. “Anyway no. We’re just childhood friends and he’s always been sort of clingy like that.”

“With everyone?” Sasaki says pointedly. “Or is it just because it’s you…?”

You pause.

You’ve never… considered that. You rarely have time to feel overly conscious about what Bachira does or doesn’t do with you. In the first place, he’s not the sort of person that’s easy to predict. He’s got more quirks than you can keep track of but all of it is Bachira. It makes no sense to question his idiosyncrasies this far in. There’s nothing he could do to make you think of him differently. Bachira doesn’t have many friends outside of you to begin with.

You blink a few times, considering it. “No, I’m…sure it’s just with anyone he feels very close too,”

“But to that extent? He was letting off his—“

Miki shoots her a look and shakes her head. You catch it but find yourself unable to ask, lost in thought. Too hung up on what feels like the edge of an epiphany.

There’s a long bout of silence until you shake your head.

Even if it’s only you, it doesn’t make a huge difference.

“Bachira is only interested in alphas,” You reply, remembering. Sasaki seems surprised by that for some strange reason. “It really doesn’t mean anything,”

Before long, Bachira returns to the table. He takes as long as you predicted, but you find you’re a little relieved to see him acting the same. He drops down and places his chin on your head, waiting for you to look up at him.

“Didja miss me?”

A sweet, familiar scent. A soft, high voice. A wild look. You look up at him, reassured by your own reminder of his sexuality. You grin mischievously.

“Not at all,” You say with fake nonchalance. He gasps.

“Rude!”

Yes, it’s fine. Still the same old Bachira.

[ FIFTEEN ]

“Oh,” You can’t mask the surprise in your voice as your older brother sits at the dining room table. “Nii-san.”

Your oldest brother has recently started at a real office job. It’s closer to your childhood home then his apartment, so some nights if he’s too exhausted - he’ll drop in and sleep in his old room. It’s rare you come across him though, since he’s usually home and asleep as soon as it’s night time.

He must’ve come from the office. He’s still wearing his dress shirt and tie, though he has the suit jacket he wears to the office laid over the back of a dining room chair. You try to get used to him looking like that, but the version of him most strongly in your head is all the years he spent as a delinquent.

His straightened out appearance is unusual for you no matter how often you come across it now. You mostly keep in touch through socials and sparse texts, and he sometimes calls you. His hair is dyed a natural color now and he only has his piercings in on days off. The few tattoos he used to show off are now well hidden under his clothes.

But his manor and demeanor are largely the same when he’s relaxed. The way he spreads out when he sits makes him look like the average delinquent. The familiarity of it is comfortable albeit funny.

“You’re home late,”

“I had student council,”

He taps his fingers against the table, a silent gesture for you to sit.

“You’re in student council? Since when?”

You shrug, setting your bag down to join him in the kitchen. “Since school started. I was roped into it,”

“Then are you in other clubs?”

“I’m in a volunteering club. We help the elderly and read with younger classes and help out around school.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, tipping his head back. “We’re complete opposites somehow…”

You purse your lips, faintly amused as you open your fridge up. There’s more pudding then when you left in the morning, but you decide against asking as you take one and open a drawer for a spoon. “You were already skipping class and stuff by then, right? I remembered because you and kaa-san used to argue while I was doing homework.”

“You heard all of that?”

You open the plastic peel off lid and dip into the flan-like texture, nodding indifferently as you sit in the dining room chair across from him. “Uh-huh. Kinda hard not too.”

“It didn’t scare you?”

“Nah,” You tilt your head. “You glaring at me whenever you saw me did though. A little.”

His eyes go wide before sighing. “Sorry. I was a knucklehead back then.”

“It was fine. It made me a bit sad but I’m fine now. And I hope you don’t hate me any more?”

He gives you a half-hearted laugh, still feeling guilty. You’re mostly teasing. Nii-san has only grown increasingly over protective, though you still don’t know what he’s thinking. He also gives you allowance now, which is nice.

He leans back. “Nah, course not. How could I hate such a good kid?”

He reaches over to pet your head as you eat your pudding, giving you a smile you can’t really read. “Your birthday is soon right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Got any plans?”

“I’ll probably drag Meguru-kun around to the bookstore.”

He makes a face at you. “That brat,”

“Don’t call him that.” You frowb. “I don’t get why you hate him so much anyway.”

“Because he’s always hanging around you and he’s—“ He shakes his fist aimlessly, unable to find the words. They’ve had arguments with each other for as long as you can remember. “Whatever. Fine. Just. Don’t marry him,”

“He likes alphas,” You say with ease. He looks at you incredulous, before shaking his head.

“Sure. Even if that changes don’t marry him. Don’t date him either. Settle down with someone nice,”

“No offense, nii-san but that’s not really a lecture I wanna hear from you,”

“See? He’s already rubbing off on you.”

“Huh? The two of you already broke up?”

Bachira lays on your bed on his stomach while you sit at your desk, his legs swinging up in the air. Predictably, he’s watching videos about dribbling on his phone.

You haven’t seen him in a few days but it makes sense that he wouldn’t have heard about it. Your relationship with Inoue wasn’t very public to begin with, at least not on her end. Aside from that, you always got the impression that things would turn out this way.

You’re sure that your own pessimism and detachment is part of the reason.

You busy yourself with the derivatives taunting you on your graphing paper, making an affirmative noise. “A couple of days ago,”

“Ehhh? Wasn’t she totally clingy with you, though?”

You shrug indifferently.

Inoue-san was the only other omega in your grade who likes other omegas. There’s rumours about Suzuki-kun who’s a second year and some other third years you don’t really know. Of them, Inoue was the only one you knew personally. You sit next to each other in class and joined the same clubs coincidentally.

A conversation in the club room making flyers devolved into one about secondary sexes and sexuality. Eventually, you landed on the topic of being an omega. You commiserated about it then, shared some words of camaraderie about the social woes of being the perceived weaker sex and became a little more comfortable with each other. You aren’t sure what thread of conversation exactly led to the talk of you both mutually preferring omegas.

Inoue-san confessed too, that unlike you who couldn’t figure out what you felt towards alphas, she knew with some certainty she didn’t like them at all.

Another few weeks of friendship and the steadily closing distance between you, one thing led to another. Inoue-san confessed to you first in a sort of abrupt and out of the blue way. It was a semi-impulsive decision to date her, but you thought she was pretty and nice. A puppy crush worth something, a youthful love affair.

So after summer break, the two of you started dating.

It was a short lived relationship. A break in routine. You dated for three months and broke up just this last week. The first month of your relationship was nice. You ate lunch together and texted a lot. The second month you went on dates. The third month had been fine for a little before everything seemed to rip at the seams and fall apart.

Inoue-san was nice to be with when you were alone. In the sanctity of storage rooms or her childhood bedroom - where there were no eyes to leer at either of you, she was everything you liked about being with an omegas. Soft skin, pretty eyes, an intoxicating scent that made your brain go alight when you touched her. She was comfortable to be with during your pre-heat, easy to touch and hold and caress.

It made sense to be with her in the way you always thought it would.

Fundamental differences in your feelings about being omegas in a relationship would appear sooner rather than later though. You’re sympathetic, which is why you don’t think you’re as hurt as you should be.

“I kinda knew. In the back of my mind, I guess,” You click the end of your pencil to push out more led, scribbling out some more numbers. “She always avoided crowds. Seemed paranoid about people finding out in general. So I thought it might be something like that.”

“You don’t seem very sad,” Bachira points out. You give him an amused smile from the corner of your eye.

“What kind of best friend would want me to be sad?”

“Nooo,” He whines at you, tossing a stuffed toy at you that you reflexively duck a way from. “I was just worried about you, jeez. Plus, I didn’t really like her, you know?”

There’s no way you couldn’t have known. Bachira being hesitant towards people in your life isn’t anything new. He’s never been fond of any new friends you’ve made, always openly jealous and always asking for assurance that he’s still your number one. Sometimes he’d go as far as doing it in front of them, which you reprimanded him for.

Sometimes.

You roll your eyes. “Oh I know,”

He grins. “I was being so nice this time,” He pouts, rolling onto his back with his arms crossed over his chest. He turns his face to your bedroom wall instead of you. “You should praise me. I wasn’t even mean to her face! Not once,”

“Pfft,” You laugh behind your hands. “Yeah, good job. Still, I didn’t think Inoue-san was that bad. She didn’t do anything to me,”

“She was ashamed of you,” Bachira says. It’s weird. A strangely serious sentiment that makes your eyes go wide.

“Not of me,” You correct. “Of us, maybe. I think she was being sincere when she said she liked me but I mean. I get it. It’s not something I go around telling people either, though I’ve been out for a while,”

There’s some impulse he bites down. It’s not like you’re defending her, but Bachira takes it as such and takes it personally as he does most things. You give him a small smile as you notice, so attuned to his moods. Even his petulance doesn’t shake you. Selfishness comes as naturally to Bachira as breathing.

“I wouldn’t be ashamed to be with you in public,” He bites his tongue again and you want to ask what could be on his mind. He’s intending the words to be lighthearted, but there’s weight there. You aren’t sure how you’re meant to hold it. “If were ever to fall madly in love with each other, I would tell the entire world.”

You try not to let it mean anything. The numbers on your page blur together so much you have to start a problem over. It takes you a second to pull the shake out of your voice.

“If you like something, don’t you usually tell the whole world anyway?” You say sardonically. Bachira frowns, huffs, turns his head away. His ears are pink.

“Yeah,” He says back and leaves it there. “Usually keeping it in makes me feel like I’m gonna explode into a million little pieces. Bleh,”

He slumps back onto one side of your bed and keeps watching his game. The sound of your pencil scratching along the paper makes up for the empty space.

[ SIXTEEN ]

On the field, Bachira shines brighter than any star in the night-sky.

You’re the only one here for todays game. His mom usually comes to whichever one she can, but she has an important exhibition on the other side of the country today. Bachira didn’t show any disappointment about it. You’re not sure how he feels but you doubt it affected too much.

When it comes to soccer, he becomes completely single-minded.

The soccer Bachira plays is a reflection of him. Golden yellow and free, like a shade only he can color with, that touches everything and makes it shine in its path.

The Bachira you know—the Meguru you’ve known your whole life is different when it comes to soccer. Soccer is the precedence of his entire existence. For Bachira, who enjoys being completely and entirely uninhibited, there’s nothing as freeing as the square PVC frames of a net.

He splits his life in two ways. Soccer and everything else.

The field are still mildly damp today. It lingers in the air, cooling on your skin as you watch him from the stands in utter awe. Rays of light spill through gaps in the thick clouds over head, shining down on the field and making each move vibrant.

The game goes on around you bustling endlessly. Noise from all sides. Whether that be in the stands with people talking amongst themselves, the shouting of coaches, or the players talking to one another. It’s loud all around, blurry movements of team mates passing the fall back and forth make up the scene. Guarding and passing, taking each other into consideration as all team sports encourage.

The soccer that Bachira plays is different from the soccer everyone else plays on the field. Selfish, ego-centric, enigmatic - you find that you can’t take a single breath or you might miss something. It’s antithetical how team sports are played. Eye-catching and flashy as he dribbles the ball along with his feet in a movement like a dance.

He’s mesmerizing. Despite all the things happening around you all at once, your gaze is fixated completely and utterly on Bachira. So bright it outshines everything else, everyone else, without feeling apologetic. Without reason or rhyme, without strategy. A soccer that demands to be seen.

This is a game with many players, but to you - it is simply the stage in which Bachira shows off his talent in it’s rawest form. Even in a place not well suited for it, Bachira shines. You’ve never seen anything so brilliant. It’s been years since you last attended a game and seen this applied version of himself.

It’s the first time Bachira has ever felt so close while feeling so far. It’s the first time you can’t hide from him, pinned underneath the honey-viscous weight of his presence.

He dribbles the ball between his feet and kicks hard into center stage, scores a goal so beautifully unpredictable the whole crowd roars in cheers and Bachira laughs like he’s delighted.

You love Bachira. You realize this as he stands like a center piece in the field.

Like the moon loves the sun. Like the sand loves the tide. Like shadows love light. Bachira is more beautiful playing soccer than you’ve ever seen him, and it occurs to you it’s taken you sixteen years to find this out.

He’s so beautiful you can’t tear yourself away. Can’t run from the realization.

His eyes find yours in the crowds of people, elated with his brows raised. You can practically hear him where he stands, lips curled around the words. Did you see that? Did you see the goal I made?

You break the neutrality of your face and grin wide, uncharacteristic as you chant his name. “Go, Meguru!”

Bachira laughs again as the game goes on. Your shining star, your ego-centric sun. Your heart is beating loud enough to crush your ribs.

What an incredible view.

(Namikaze highschool wins that round of their inter-high bracket. The team goes to celebrate. They never invite Bachira.

Today, though, Bachira has you. After the game, Bachira wraps you in a hug so tight it could break you. You wonder when he got so strong. His scent, overwhelming and sweet, mixes with the scent of sweat and deodorant. You like it. You hug like that for a while, suddenly aware of your lack of proximity.

A comment Sasaki-san made about you two years ago pops back into your head but you still don’t think to let him go.

After he showers and changes back into his usual attire, you and Bachira walk to the 7/11 around the corner of his house.

You sit on the curb, legs out stretched. The sun is in full bloom, sky painted an pastel orange melting into pinks and blues. You hand Bachira his soda water from your bag, and split the melon flavored popsicle you bought in two halves.

You give him the bigger half. Unusually, it’s very quiet between you two.

“I’m going to become the best striker in the world,” He says. A repeat of a dream you’ve heard before, but said with amazing conviction. You look at him for a long time. Wet hair and brown eyes. You tuck a piece of hair behind his ear to look at him better then smile.

“I know you are,”

His grin brightens. “Right! Right, so when that happens,” His voice drops, feather soft. “When it happens, make sure you’re watching me. Don’t look away or you’ll miss it. ‘Kay? You gotta promise.”

He holds out his pinky for you. Were his hands always so calloused? Were they always so big, you wonder. You look at Bachira and suddenly he seems so much older. You nod your head.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Meguru.” )

[ SEVENTEEN ]

“Come over,” Bachira demands on the other side of the line. His voice is nearly a screech. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him so excited in your entire life and that is saying a whole lot. “Come over, now. Like right now! You have too, you absolutely must,”

You pull your bag up on your shoulders as you pull the phone away from your ears. “Jeez, jeez - alright. I just got back from my supplementary lessons, so give me a second.”

“Are you on the street in front of my house?”

“Huh? Yeah, I am.”

The phone line cuts off, going completely silent as you stare at your phone in a mix of confusion and disbelief. Your fingers hover over the call back icon for a second before a tremendously loud shout and even louder footsteps sound in your ears.

You’re too surprised to laugh as Bachira comes barreling towards you in minutes flat. You steel yourself preparing to catch him if he lands face-first, but he manages to pull back in record speed skidding to a halt. You blink at him rapidly. He feels like an illusion.

“You ran here,”

“Yes. I did. Because,” He grabs both of your hands and starts to tug you into some kind of spinning dance in the middle of the sidewalk. “I. Have. News!”

“News? What about?”

His eyes widen and shine brilliantly. “Bluelock!”

The act of disappearing requires a lot more work than you could’ve imagined.

You’re being dramatic. Bachira isn’t disappearing. Not forever, at least. He’s just going away for a while, abruptly doing the thing that he would’ve done regardless because it’s not like he can become the best striker in the world in Japan alone. It’s something that was bound to happen eventually.

And, it’s not like you didn’t get any warning. The letter came months beforehand. Bachira was set to leave towards the end of November, which meant he about a month to prepare. Which means you’ve had about a month to be with him.

It’s not a big deal. You have other friends. Other people. It’s good that Bachira is going to be in a place that he can play the soccer he’s always dreamed. Even as his best friend, there’s some things you can’t do for him. It’s the happiest you’ve ever seen him, which is saying more than you ever could.

Rationally, you know there’s nothing to worry about. Emotionally, you’ve found out that you rely on Bachira more than you thought. Even the thought of him leaving temporarily is making your heart wrench. You’ve asked him a million questions.

It’s not like you to be so anxious about anything. You ere on the side of calm. But it’s Bachira. Your Meguru, so you can’t help but worry.

Bachira, dense as he is about other people, sympathizes with your concerns without asking and doesn’t get mad when you answer. It’s easy for you to forget that he understands you in his own way.

Bachira depends on you because he cares about you and you take care of Bachira because you are about him. It fulfills a mutual sense of purpose.

This is a normal part of growing up. You’ve been repeating it to yourself constantly. It’s not like you won’t see him ever again. You’ll see him afterwards, at least for a little while. You won’t be able to call or text him while he’s in the facility but that’s not forever. And even while he’s in there, he wants to hear about your boring life. So he says, anyways.

Rationally, you know it’s fine. Emotionally, you’re growing a keen sense of awareness about this being the end of your so-called youth. It’s not you’re adults, but you’re not kids either. You’re going to be eighteen next year. You have to think about entrance exams. You have to think about life and where Bachira will go without you.

Time is passing by you whenever you hesitate. Eventually, it’ll catch up to you and Bachira will be somewhere so far out of your reach. There’s no one you can think of more perfect for center stage. No one’s soccer will every shine as brilliantly as Bachira’s.

But it’s lonely. In it’s own right. To think about how far he’ll go. He’ll dribble himself to the ends of the Earth eventually.

At least for another week though, he’s within your reach. You have so many pictures together in your room per his request over the last few years, but looking at him now you kind of wish you had more.

“Aren’t you wanting to practice?”

“Ehh?” He frowns. “I can practice later. But I can’t be in your room all the time you know. I want to burn it into my brain. I thought we should do something special to commemorate but I couldn’t figure anything out.”

You hum. A thought strikes you. It’s incredibly out of character, but maybe that’s why it does. “We could drink together.”

Bachira laughs at first, definitely assuming it was a joke. When he realizes you’re dead serious though, he gasps, scandalized. Your lips quirk up at the corners.

“Who are you? An impostor? A shadow clone?” Bachira grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. “What did you do with my uptight best friend?!”

You laugh helplessly. “Don’t act like that. I just know where my parents keep bottles of shochu cold in the basement and thought maybe. I’ve never touched it before. It’s the weekend right? So if we get too drunk, you can sleep here.”

Bachira dramatically places a hand over his mouth in shock. “Have you really been replaced by alien clones…I can’t believe my ears.”

You shake your head. “Do you want to drink together or not?”

“Ehhhh?? Of course I do!” Bachira says, absolutely enthused at the idea. “We should get so drunk together.”

You consider it. “My parents are visiting relatives. I guess I can text and see if nii-san is coming home.”

“Are you saying it’s okay to get drunk if he isn’t planning on coming?”

You nod. “He’d probably be easy on me but I don’t want him to lecture you,”

Bachira squishes his face to yours, rubbing his cheek on yours with unabashed affection. You try not to laugh. You can feel him so close, smell him so close it makes you a little dizzy. Bachira doesn’t let out his scent more than necessary, but he is now just barely - scent glands brushing against your skin.

He smells sweet, but in a strange way. It was comforting and familiar. A little unusual for an omega given how strong it was but it’s not like Bachira is very usual in general.

It’s a little intimate for friends, but it’s Bachira and who knows when you’d see him next. You let him do as he pleases.

“Hurry and text your brother,” Bachira huffs, then brightens back up again. “Then lets drink! Yay!”

You bring the bottles of shochu back up to your bedroom as a pre-caution. Nii-san is is a couple hours away for a work trip, but you can’t get over the lingering paranoia of him appearing back home and trying to fight Bachira as a result so you figure it’s probably better to drink in your room.

You bring two glasses up with you along with juice and soda water, unsure about the taste. Bachira likes soda water as is so maybe he can use it as a chaser.

You sit across from each other at the small table close to the floor in the middle of your room. It took a while to get the bottles open.

You’ve smelled it before but it’s a little weird having it available to drink.

“I can’t believe you’re drinking with me. Underage. You, of all people.”

You pour a little shochu into each of your cups with a roll of your eyes. You’ll save the mix-ins for later, but you’re interested in tasting it on its own. You’re sure your parents have other stuff too, sake, beer and wine but you don’t know where they keep it. You read the labels of the bottle before drinking it.

You brush past what Bachira has said. “Fourty-three percent seems like a lot.”

“That’s basically half right? Doesn’t that mean this is gonna make us super drunk? Ohh, think I’m gonna throw up in your room? I haven’t done that since we were ten!”

“Please don’t throw up in my room.” You say, shaking your head. “I don’t know actually. It seems like a lot. Guess we’ll just have to drink and see.”

You shrug. You pick up your glass, signaling Bachira to do the same. He lets out a loud kanpai as you do, making you laugh a little as you bring the glass up to your lips. The scent itself sort of burns, you can’t imagine what drinking it is gonna be like.

You watch aghast as Bachira knocks the entire glass back and nearly hacks up his lungs coughing. His eyes are wet when he recovers with a fit of laughter that he can’t seem to get control of.

“Ahhh, it burns! It burns so much and it tastes weird. But it was easier to drink at once.” He says dramatically laughing, nearly retching in the process.

You stare at him in disbelief before taking a sip of your own drink refusing to partake in the same foolishness. He’s right that it burns. You always heard that but feeling the acidity in your mouth is different. It feels like all the moisture from your mouth is going along with it. You try it a few more times in short sips.

Are you some sort of masochist?

“I kind of…” You blink. Your eyes water as you look up at Bachira. “I kind of like it…?”

Bachira takes the bottle into his own hands that time and pours more of it straight into your glass and less into his. You’re sitting but you feel woozy. He pours soda and juice along his own before picking it up again, smiling with a friendly cheers.

Hours pass.

You and Bachira drink two entire bottles and talk to each other about nothing in particular. Mostly, it’s Bachira telling you how excited he is to go to Bluelock and you listening. You like listening to him. You love his voice.

You’re not sure when exactly the distance between you had disappeared entirely. You’re used to Bachira. To his body heat, to his presence, to his weight. You know how to carry him. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the drawn out feeling of loneliness making you feel self-conscious.

You don’t know what it is exactly. But there’s something about him at this proximity you’re having a hard time with. Wrapped up together, tangled on your bedroom floor while you both reek of liquor. He smells like burnt honey and he’s… handsome. More than he is pretty, you think. Still pretty though too.

He’s so unusual in every way. Your love for him sort of simmers underneath you in a pleasant but difficult way. You blink. Your eyes are bleary. He talks so much, but it’s the first time you really think about kissing him. The first time you wonder about how it feels.

You’re staring. Bachira pauses halfway as you’re tucked against him and stares back, mouth curled into familiar chesire grin. He drops his voice down to a whisper.

“What?” He says. He’s being teasing. He does that occasionally.

“Nothing,” You say and want to shut your eyes. “Keep talking. ‘s fine.”

“It’s not nothing,” He whines petulantly. “You’re not listeninggggg,”

“Sorry.”

He hugs you, an arm slipping under you and squeezing you. Was he always so strong? You figured his legs might be but there’s muscle in his arms too. “I’m not actually mad, dummy.”

“I was sorry, though.” A beat of silence. A heartbeat. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Really?”

You look at him incredulous. “Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“You’re hard to read sometimes! Even for me.”

You decide not to apologize again. Bachira would complain. You desperately want to tell him you love him. They’re the only words on you mind. But even this wasted, you can’t bring yourself to do something that pointless.

“You’re the most important person in my entire life,” You opt for instead. “And I hope you find someone who can play the kind of soccer that’s fun for you.”

Another minute of silence passes before you hear the familiar huff of Bachira crying. He cries often but he hasn’t done it in front of you for quite some time. He tucks himself against your neck and shoulder, shifting to press against your scent glands.

“I was doing a good job not trying before this,” He mutters. You rub his back soothingly, smiling a bit. “Gosh…don’t be so sappy like that randomly. It’s bad for my heart!”

Your own throat feels thick but you keep it down. Manage to swallow the tears away. You want to tell him so badly it’s making it hard to breathe.

Bachira looks up after a while. You do him the courtesy of wiping his tears away with your thumb, brushing them away from his face.

You don’t realize how close your faces have gotten until you nearly brush against his nose.

You think the alcohol is making you hallucinate when you feel a kiss.

Your eyes are still open for it. It’s not clumsy but it’s not smooth either. You blink. And you feel it again, and it lingers a little longer until you close your eyes and kiss back.

You kiss him so hard it feels like you forget how to breathe.

You don’t talk about it.

When Bachira wakes up the next day thoroughly hung-over and much in the same condition, treating you exactly the same - you assume he’s forgotten about it unlike you. You try not to let it weigh on you by writing it off as one of Bachira’s many quirks. Maybe you’ve gotten practice at repressing your emotions better than you thought since it works perfectly.

The week passes by easily. At the end of it, you see Bachira off along with his mom and the rest of your family who insisted on waving him off. The thought of not knowing the next time you’ll see him is painful but you manage it with the feeling you’ll see him eventually.

Though you don’t know how long it’ll be.

The next time you see Bachira’s face is on T.V.

It’s the first time you’ve ever sat in your living room to watch a game of soccer. You had wanted to attend, but tickets had only been alloted for family. You settled on watching at home, though Bachira’s mom had promised she would relay any messages she could from Bachira to you through text and otherwise.

You’ve never been into soccer. Despite your many years spent along side it for one reason or another, the sport itself has rarely ever been of any interest. You’re sure this is partly to blame on the fact you are hilariously unathletic albeit perfectly healthy.

When the U-2o match gets announced and you hear Bluelock will be playing, your ears perk up like a dog. You’re glad Bachira isn’t around to see how you announce to your entire house and tell them the T.V. and living room will be totally occupied during the duration of the match. You invite Miki-chan who pretends to want to refuse but comes over to watch anyway. Your nii-san joins you, which isn’t a surprise since he liked soccer to begin with.

You know whats happening well enough since you’ve had it explained to you hundreds of times.

You see several people on the screen during the match. Bachira’s team mates. Team mates he gets along with. There’s another player named Isagi on the field and him and Bachira have such tangible chemistry you feel a little jealous watching them.

In the short few months Bachira has been away at Bluelock, you can see how he’s changed. How much his soccer has transformed and improved in so little time.

Most of all, you can tell that Bachira is having the best time of his entire life. You can deal with the mild envy if only he gets to be that happy forever.

The U-20 games end in a victory for the Bluelock team and several interesting characters appearing. That guy, Isagi, announces to the world that he’s going to be the one to lead the team to victory. You think to yourself that you understand exactly why Bachira likes him.

The next time you see Bachira in person is not long after that. Apparently as a reward for their win, they’d been granted two weeks of free time.

It was only a few months, but it’s easy to tell how much Bachira has changed. It was all over him. He carried himself with more confidence, more electricity, more buzz.

He was still himself while being completely unrecognizable at the same time.

You were happy Bachira was happy, elated to hear all about his life and new friends. You couldn’t keep track of all of it, but you’ve been spending the last few days attached at the hip now that he was back in your hometown.

He’d had another day to visit friends already out in Shibuya that you couldn’t attend. Not that you really wanted too. You were happy he extended the invite but being around that many athletes and no doubt many alphas sounded like a nightmare.

You figured he would have another day or two like that as is, so when he texts you again that he’ll be meeting with some Bluelock friends, you’re content to let him go and not tag along despite yourself. As much some whiny part of you wanted to monopolize him completely (an omega part of you, you can admit) you feel it’s more important for Bachira to nurture his newer relationships on his own.

And again, being around that many alpha athlete teenage boys is mildly nightmarish to you in particular.

So you invited Sasaki to the mall to talk about this and that to keep your time occupied. She’d started dating some guy at school and you have yet to know the details.

You weren’t expecting to run into Bachira with his friends at the same mall.

You catch Bachira’s eye from across the way in the middle of the mall, along with a group of boys you know to be his new team mates. You honestly think it’d be better to avoid them for now. Not that you’re not happy to see Bachira, but there’s no way this won’t be incredibly awkward for you.

Sasaki nudges you though, not caring in the slightest at your visible distress. “Isn’t that Bachira-kun?”

“Yes,” You hiss, trying not to be obvious. “Let’s go the other way.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because—“

You turn around to leave but don’t really get a chance as you hear a voice shout your name.

You flinch as you turn around. Sasaki gives you an amused look that you elbow her for immediately, feeling yourself jolt. After she makes fun of you, she holds your hand with an affirming squeeze and comforts you in a way only betas can - a soft citrus scent washing over you. You squeeze her hand back sighing, thankful as the group of boys stalk over to you.

Bachira runs more than he walks, skidding to a halt in front of you. “Ehhh? What are you doing here?”

“Came to gossip and walk around with Sasaki-chan,” You say with a shrug, pointedly ignoring the three pairs of eyes on you as you talk. “And buy books.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t come,” Bachira pouts at you, giving you a pointed look. You smile lightly.

“I didn’t say that,” You reply softly. “I didn’t want to intrude, that’s all.”

“You’re not intruding! Even if you were, I wouldn’t really care.”

“But you should,” You insist, shaking your head. You turn to his friends, getting a better look at them. Two alphas and one beta if your nose is right. You look at them apologetically. “Sorry about interrupting your outing.”

The one of them with pink hair and the prettiest features you’ve ever seen talks first. You’re sure people mistake him for an omega, but his scent is too alpha like for that to be the case. It’s strong enough and distinct enough for you to identify from this distance. “Not at all. I’m Chigiri. This is Nagi,” He says, introducing the other alpha next to him. “And I figure you already know of Isagi,”

You smile a little at that. “Ah, yeah. I do, actually.” You glance at Isagi. He’s a beta in the way he feels like the pinnacle of peace and safety off the field. It’s a little funny how different he seems. They all seem, really.

“Stop getting so buddy-buddy with them,” Bachira bemoans. You frown at him.

“Sorry about him,” You introduce your name first, then Sasaki. “We’re all childhood friends. It’s nice to meet all of you. Sorry to disturb your day off.”

“You’re not disturbing us,” Isagi says serenely. You think he seems a touch smug but can’t tell if you’re imagining it.

“You’re welcome to hang out,” Chigiri says next. He and Isagi share an unreadable but obviously conspiratorial look. Your eyes widen at the offer, shaking your head with your hands up.

“Ah. No, we don’t want to intrude seriously.”

“Why are you deciding for me?” Sasaki cuts in, making you shoot her a very sharp glare. “Shouldn’t you at least ask?”

“You’re not intruding,” Chigiri assures, an incredibly disarming smile on his face. “We’d be bound to see each other again if we’re both here anyways. May as well, right?”

You feel yourself sink, glancing at a very Bachira and thinking of the complaints you’re going to receive as soon as the two of you are alone. Your shoulders slump as you reluctantly smile, lips pressed into a flat line.

‘That’s true. If you’re sure you don’t mind, then alright.

For alphas, you think Bachira’s friends are pretty nice.

Nagi barely speaks, but he’s weirdly been engaged in conversation for the entire duration of you knowing him. He’s got the imposing looks and vibe of an alpha but precisely none of the aggression - at least from where you’re standing. He’s been considerate of you in his own way, especially after Bachira had announced the general discomfort you had felt towards alphas over all.

Chigiri is similarly nice. You can tell he grew up around omegas and are not surprised at all when he informs you he has omega sisters in his house. He’s extremely friendly for an alpha, and you’re sure another omega would be foaming at the mouth at how polite he is.

Of his friends though, you still take preference to Isagi. He is a beta through and through. Adaptable, friendly, easy going while having a sort of snark you find incredibly entertaining. Him and Bachira get along like a house on fire, but not in way that’s entire negative. You do feel a little envious seeing how close they’ve gotten in such a short period of time, but you’re mostly happy for him. Their bond is obviously special.

The rest of your group left a few moments ago, leaving you and Isagi to a much bedgrudging Bachira. You’d gotten food from the food court but it wouldn’t require so many people to go wait so you and Isagi have been securing a spot. You aren’t sure how to be alone with him, never been all that good with strangers.

Isagi is good at making conversation though, so you haven’t had to do much leg work.

You end up at the topic of Bluelock and Isagi practically beams at the chance to talk about it. It’s kind of cute in it’s own right. You know some stuff about it, but the logistics have been lost on you. Bachira tends to talk about these things more with onomatopoeias than with words.

You fiddle with something on the end of your bag as you engage in conversation.

“How does the facility manage like… having omegas and stuff in there?” You wonder. You voiced the concern to Bachira before leaving too but he had assured you it’d be fine. You kind of feel nosy asking.

Isagi shoots you a confused look. “Hm? Bluelock doesn’t have any omegas. It sucks but they considered it too high risk so only betas and alphas were admitted.”

Your turn to look confused. “Sorry? But Bachira is enrolled in it no…?”

Isagi stares at you. “Uh,” He scratches the back of his neck. “Bachira is an alpha, though? Like, a pretty strong one too. It’s hard to tell from his scent from what I hear but he’s prescribed the really high dose medications that the other alphas take. Part of the rut management and everything.”

You blink.

“…That’s…” And then you look up, completely unsure of what to say. “..Are you sure? Like… really sure?”

Isagi looks at you sympathetically. His voice is soft and comforting. “Yeah. I’m sure. Sorry,”

You shake your head. “No it’s,” You feel your eyes start to well up, chest feeling especially tight. “It’s okay. It’s not like you did anything wrong.”

“You’re a nice girl, huh?” Isagi says, voice tender and easily sensing your sudden distress. It makes your lip wobble. You want to cry into a strangers arms even though you absolutely can’t. “I’ll scold him for you.”

You give him a thankful look. “I’m gonna uh,” You swallow. “Go to the bathroom. When Sasaki comes back tell her to text me. And Bachira, uhm. I guess just tell him I went home.”

Isagi smiles. “Sure.”

You thank him again picking up your few things hastily and bolting in the opposite direction.

You don’t really know what you’re supposed to do or how you’re so suppose to receive the information. It’s not a sense of betrayal you feel welling up inside of you, but something closer to a sudden deep remorse and regret. And so much shock you can barely make sense of anything. You feel the sorry in your bones, and you feel the paved memories of your entire lifetime begging to shake under your feet.

Bachira is still Bachira.

But he’s an alpha. An alpha who likes other alphas, in the same way you’re an omega who likes other omegas. He’s like you. You shared this your entire life, but you never knew not once. You didn’t even have any idea.

What kind of friend does that make you? What kind of friend have you been to him all this time? Was it bad enough that he couldn’t share it? When you’ve depended on him so much?

You don’t know how you end up in a bathroom. It’s in such a far away part of the mall. You feel out of body, moving on autopilot as you shuffle into the empty stall and sit on the toliet with your bag and your things.

You’re reminded of your first heat on the train back from middle school. An old memory but not old enough you easily forget. Hesitance turned to frustration and disgust towards alphas. You’d avoided after that for years and still do now. Was it then?

Despondent, you aren’t sure what to do with yourself. The echo of stalls, the noise of people loudly outside, the forceful beat of your heart. A reminder that you’re really living through this realization so late. It’s weird. It hurts so much you can barely think through your thoughts and come upon any answers on how to go on.

It’s not hard to understand why. Bachira is selfish but he’s also loyal. You’re sure that sometime ago, to protect the vulnerable version of you who was already so distrusting of alphas, Bachira had kept it from you as to break your perception any further. You can’t blame him for that, especially when that distrust towards alphas yet to dissolve completely. Of course he wouldn’t be comfortable telling you.

You can’t bring yourself to hate him over it and never would. You’d spend the rest of your life trying to unglue the fused parts of yourself with him, the memories and you’d never see the end of it if you attempted.

What hurts you is that he never told you. Not ever. Not even when you voiced your worries about his heats in Bluelock. Not even as you drank together. Not even when he kissed you.

Was he never going to tell you?

Did he never trust you enough to tell you?

That hurts most. You only have yourself to blame. The thought makes your heart wrench. Your eyes water as you focus in on the ground and try to breathe.

The door of the bathroom itself opens and shuts all of a sudden, familiar footfall making hundreds of alarm bells go off at once. You already know it’s Bachira, but for the first time you don’t know what you’re meant to say to him. The feeling is so complex you can barely put it in words for yourself. How were you meant to face him?

“Meguru,”

You can hear him whimper on the other side of the stall door, fists hitting it in a dull thud.

“I’m sorry,” He’s crying. You want to open the door and comfort him so badly but shame stops you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry - it’s all my fault. Don’t hate me, please don’t hate me.”

You hate hearing him cry. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to keep your voice steady. “I don’t hate you at all.”

“You’re lying. You won’t even open the door to look at me.”

“I just can’t,” You say, not really know how else to explain it. “But nothing could make me hate you.”

“But you hate alphas, don’t you? You’re uncomfortable with me now. We can’t be close anymore, right?”

You don’t say anything to that. You want to deny it. You want to tell him nothing could make you want to stop being his friend.

But then, you remember that Bachira is destined for unimaginable greatness. Bright like the sun and even more interesting, more talented, more cool than you could ever be. He’s an alpha to boot. You think of the future of your life and how you’ve always pictured it to be quiet and functional, because that’s who you’ve always been. Bachira is—was a star crash landing in your life, anyhow. You think of all of that, along with everything else - and all the ways you’ve betrayed him unintentionally.

You’ve used up all of your luck. Inevitably. Eventually, it was always going to end with a gradually forming distance. You knew that before he left just like you know it now. And nows as good a time as any to put it to rest.

“Meguru,” He’s your first friend. You’re sure that’s why he’s so shaken up. Distance would be better. “You have to focus on becoming the best in the world, right? I’ll uh,” You try to breathe. “I’ll be watching from a distance no matter what,”

“Please don’t leave me,” He whimpers. You wince.

“It’s not like that. There’s a lot of people who are beside you now.” You say warily, trying to comfort him. If you were a more selfish person, you would want to be friends. You love Bachira. You’ve loved him your entire life. You probably always will. But you think if he’s had to keep this secret from you so long - you don’t deserve any of that. “It’s fine. You’ll be fine,”

Without me. You’ll be fine without me. You want to tell him that, but can’t bring yourself to say it.

You won’t be, you don’t think. Not for a while. But this is the least you can do for your relationship. For your best friend who you haven’t paid enough attention too.

“I’ll stay with you until you stop crying,” You offer. “And when your eyes aren’t red, we can both just go home. Okay?”

Bachira sniffles on the other side of the door and doesn’t reply.

[ EIGHTEEN ]

On your eighteenth birthday, Bachira’s mom calls you at midnight.

Yu-san is like a third parent to you, so you pick regardless for the reason she calls. She sounds relieved when you answer despite the sleep in your voice. You’re up late studying for your driving license exam which you’ll finally be eligible to take starting now.

“Ah. Hello?”

“Hey, kid. Thanks for picking my call,” She sounds like she’s doing something. It’s a Sunday so she’s probably painting. “Don’t sound too confused. I just called to wish you happy birthday. Meguru always called you at midnight, didn’t he?”

You look down at the papers on your desk, twirling pen in fingers. “Yeah, he did.”

“You two still aren’t talking, right? But knowing Meguru, he’ll feel sad later on when he realizes he didn’t wish you because he was upset,” She hums, nonplussed. You smile a little. Yu-san is just like that, you think. Even after being aware of you and Bachira’s fights, the way she’s treated you hasn’t changed. “So I thought I’d do in his place.”

“It’s alright, Yu-san. But thank you,”

“Of course,” She says. You hear the faucet running and the familiar clicking of paint brushes on the other side of the line. “Come over when you have some time. I brought ingredients for your favorite. We can go pick up a cake together, too. I bet you’re too busy studying and forgot to make plans, right?”

You flush. “…I did.”

She laughs good-naturedly. “Right? I thought so. I know it’s just you in the house, but feel free to invite Sasaki and Miki-chan, alright? And don’t stay up too late studying.”

You feel tears well up in the corners of your eyes. “Thank you for always taking care of me, Yu-obasan,”

“Oh, don’t be silly. That’s a given right?”

“Right,” You sniffle. “But still, thanks.”

“Of course. Oh! And, happy birthday.”

#bachira x reader #bluelock x reader #bachira smut #bluelock smut #writing tag #fics for gaza #bllk x reader #bachira meguru x reader #omegaverse cw

829 notes · View notes

mandarinmoons · 1 month

Note

What about Reid with a ballerina spouse (gn or fem) I don’t really have any idea for it other than Spencer has kept the relationship a secret from the team but they’ve been kind of suspicious and find out some how? Maybe the kind of spy on him and see him going into one of her shows and at the end of the show they see him kissing her or something

“I gotta get going guys, see you all tomorrow!”

“Wait wait, hold on now. What’s got you in such a hurry?”

Derek watched as Spencer quickly put away the files on his desk and threw his satchel over his shoulder, he seemed awfully eager to leave.

“Oh uh… The library’s closing earlier than usual today and there’s this one book I really want to read, so gotta go before it closes. Bye!”

Spencer strode off leaving the rest of the team very confused. They noticed that Spencer’s been leaving earlier than usual and he always had a different excuse.

“I have a dentist appointment.”

“I have to go and get more postage stamps before the post office closes.”

He had used nearly every excuse in the book and knowing his brain capacity, he’d probably never run out of them.

“Penelope, can you-”

“Already on it my love and… it’s false, he’s definitely hiding something.”

“Anybody up for a stake out?”

Derek and Penelope turned their heads at Emily, both of their eyebrows knitted together at the suggestion thrown out.

“Prentiss, you’re serious?”

“C’mon, aren’t you curious? Reid’s never one to shy away from talking about something.”

“That is true.”

“Oh, c’mon Derek! We’ll be super discreet! We can even dress in all black and be like spies!”

Derek turned his head at Penelope and chuckled over the excitement he saw in Penelope’s eyes.

“Garcia, we're the FBI.”

“I know, but I’ve always loved those spy sequences in movies.”

Both Emily and Derek laughed at Penelope’s excitement over the idea of having a stakeout over one of their friends. It really wasn’t like Spencer to not tell them about something, everyone on the team was like a family and they were usually some of the first people on the know about big news.

A couple of hours later after Penelope managed to track down Spencer’s location through his phone, the team were surprised when they ended up at a theater.

Looking around the area, they spotted a poster for the upcoming show that was set to start in 10 minutes, the show in question? A performance of Swan Lake.

“Why would Spencer come to see a ballet performance?”

“I think I know why.”

Turning their heads, Emily and Derek look over to Penelope and see her motion to Spencer and an unfamiliar woman with him. The two of them seem to be talking and laughing, but not in just a friendly manner. Spencer’s hand held onto the woman’s lightly and his thumb brushed over her knuckles, a sign of something more than just friendship. The woman seemed to get called to get into her position, but before she turned to leave she pressed a quick kiss to Spencer’s lips and hurried off, leaving Spencer smiling like a fool.

“My man.”

Spencer jumped in his shoes when he heard Derek’s voice. He turned around and saw the grinning faces of his coworkers walking over to him.

“What’re you guys doing here?”

“We had some suspicions, so we bit the bullet and decided to check up on you.”

“And by “check up” you mean follow me?”

The three of them looked at each other, slightly embarrassed at their decision, but were met with Spencer chuckling a moment later.

“You guys are impossible.”

“So who was that pretty lady?”

“Y/N, we met at a coffee shop a few months ago and we’ve been on a few dates. It’s been going pretty well.”

“And she’s a ballerina?”

“Yeah, she’s amazing! I’ve seen her rehearse and this is the second show of hers I’m seeing.”

“If she’s really that good then we gotta see it.”

Penelope flew to buy the tickets, clearly very excited to see the new talent perform. As they all got to their seats and the lighting dimmed, everyone watched the performance with excitement, waiting for your turn.

When the performance ended, you were surprised to see a group of people following Spencer along. One of the ladies, who seemed very eager, walked up to you and gushed about the performance you put on.

“You were so graceful! I haven't seen such light movement in, well, ever!”

The woman’s compliments, who’s name turned out to be Penelope as you made out from the rest of the guests, went straight to your heart.

The other visitors, whose names were Emily and Derek, complimented you on your performance as well, but all your attention was on the man behind them who had an adoring smile on his face, one that was clearly directed at you.

“I wasn’t aware Spencer invited you along.”

“He didn’t. We got curious because he’s been a bit suspicious lately and had to see what was causing it.”

“I mean I knew you all worked for the FBI but I didn’t know you were that nosey.”

Everyone laughed at the comment which made you feel a bit more welcomed along with them.

“What can we say, some things you just can’t help but be curious about.”

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @kimm4710 @niktwazny303 @reidsdaisies @mindfullycriminal @cumulo-stratus @gayfor-rosadiaz @gubsbuubs @multifandomsimp69 @chyozai @deppfanatic @potatovoyager @indyvelazquez @nini123 @justlivinginadaydream @kers505 @dan-the-womans-blog

Notice: I am no longer adding people into my taglist and will be discontinuing it soon so if you'd like to be kept up to date with my future works then please follow me x

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid au #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid fluff

887 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 10 months

Text

Simple Math / Part Four

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Descriptions of past domestic violence, past abuse, past sexual assault, SANE exam. Death scene in relation to reader's job. Stalking. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Trauma. PTSD. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Comfort. Soft dads. Johnny is a shameless flirt.

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday sweet Penny-“

Their baby shrieks at the crest in the song, smile shoving her plump cheeks upwards, little fists banging on her highchair tray. She has no idea what’s going on, Johnny imagines, but he knows she’s excited that everyone is singing to her, looking at her, celebrating her. “happy birthday to you!” She swings a hand forward, plunging into the buttercream icing of the cupcake, fingers digging in as much as she can. Johnny can't help but give her the biggest kiss he can manage while trying to dodge the flying food, and Simon laughs over his shoulder.

“Atta girl.” Simon encourages, trying to peel the wrapper so she can get more in her mouth, icing and cake all over his fingers now too, and Johnny wanders for a second, imagining something certainly not appropriate for their daughter’s first birthday.

“Can’t believe your kid is a year old.” Kyle says from behind him, two beers in his hand. “Feels like yesterday you were even tellin’ us she existed.”

“Time is movin’ too fast.” Johnny agrees, taking a long sip as Simon pulls Pen from the highchair, white and blue icing all over her face, arms, and hands. Kyle is right, it is hard to believe it’s been a year, hard to believe that their baby is already one, growing up right before their eyes, taking her first steps, saying her first words. He knows it won’t be long until she’s really talking, running, riding a bike, going to school… thoughts of the future forming a lump in the back of his throat that sticks like taffy.

Simon steps into his orbit with Penny in his arms, keeping her turned outwards away from his body, half tilted to avoid the sticky smear of icing that’s painted all over her.

“What is it?” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips against Johnny’s cheek, warm breath fanning over his skin.

“Nothin’ ah-“ Penny babbles, head tipped back, gazing at him with wide, pretty eyes, and Johnny rubs a knuckle across her messy cheek. “she’s gettin’ so big. Feel like ‘m missing it, sometimes. Like I should be here.” Simon sighs.

“Johnny-“

“I know, I know.” They made this decision, together. They chose what was best for their family, even though they both knew the distance, the time apart, would sting.

“The option is always there if you want to swap. Though I think we both know you’d lose your head behind a desk.” He nods, but the longing lingers, and Simon reads him right through to his heart, like always. “After this next op, let’s sit down and talk about it. Maybe we can make some adjustments for next year.”

“Ah love ye.”

“I love you too.” He shifts Pen into his side, inclining his head towards her grubby hands. “Can you wash her up?” She reaches for him, trying to latch around his neck, and he rubs her back, cooing into her hair.

“Whit happened to my precious bairn, eh? Where’d she go?” Pen giggles, fingers finding his nose, long strands of his hair with a tug, and he playfully lifts her, mouth against her tummy, blowing loud raspberries over her shirt that has her absolutely screaming with glee.

“Da. Dadadada-“ she babbles at him.

“C’mon wee lamb, let’s go get ye into some clean clothes.”

There’s an envelope shoved under your front door.

The shitty carpet in the hallway is too high, threads jagged, so it sits a little crumpled, half wedged beneath the bottom and the floor.

It’s manilla. Letter sized. Stepping over it to get inside, you immediately notice the lack of postage. Or addressing. Or anything at all, that would signify that it had been delivered by proper authorities.

It’s from him.

You know it is, even though you try to find any other rational reasoning, anything that could explain the mystery behind the envelope and how it got here.

You know. You know it’s probably a letter. Handwritten. Signed in perfect penmanship. You know it’s probably something foul, sick words twisted into terrifying sentences.

You kick it inside and let it sit there for a few minutes. You get changed, get into comfortable clothes, start your kettle. You wrap your sweater tight around your body and lean against your countertop, staring at the offensive tan-beige paper that lays in the middle of the floor.

It’s from him.

He knows where you are.

“That’s impossible.” You answer yourself aloud, fingers curled so tight into your palms that they make little crescent moon shapes in your skin.

Your illusion, delusion, of safety, anonymity, is easily washed away by the appearance of the envelope, and whatever lurks inside it.

It’s too soon.

You didn’t make it.

It’s not a letter inside the envelope at all.

It’s a photo.

A photo of you, taken in harsh hospital lighting, dated over two years ago. It’s taken from the shoulders up, skin bare and exposed, fresh impact bruising around your neck, eye starting to swell, lip crusted with blood.

You remember this photo. You remember the awful experience of the SANE exam, the drive to the hospital that took over two hours because you had to go to another state, just in case.

You hadn’t changed. Hadn’t showered. Your white eyelet blouse, one of your favorites, was splattered red, bright ruby dried a dark wine by the time you pulled into the little county hospital.

You remember the way it felt, to have your clothes put in a bag. To be handled by gloved fingers, with care and attention. The same way you had done for others before that day, and since.

“What’s your name?” your nurse had asked you, so cautiously, so kind. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.” She tried to promise, but you knew the truth. There was nowhere you could run, not a single place you could hide, where a shadow wouldn’t find you.

The girl, the woman, in the photo is the same person that looks back at you in the mirror every day, except now she’s buried beneath layers and layers of function, schedule, consistency. She’s silenced by distraction. By work.

By fear.

You flip it over with trembling hands, looking for the note or signature you know will be there. Like a greedy, starved pig; he cannot help himself.

Found you.

Bile rockets up your esophagus and into your mouth. How long will he toy with you this time?

“Hey, you okay?” Nia asks, frowning at you from her locker.

“Yeah, just slept like shit.” You roll your shoulders, emphasizing the half-truth. You really did sleep poorly, fragments of nightmares keeping you suspended in twilight sleep, clips of memories morphed into the snapping. bloodied jaw of a monster who reared their head every time your REM cycle started, and it shows. In your face, your posture, your skin. You look awful, the only thing really holding you together the resolve you have to push through, to get it together, to leave the envelope and its contents behind in your mind. You’re safer inside these walls above anywhere else, that you know is true. Your safety. Your sanctuary. Nothing can hurt you here. “You know how it is.” You add, and she chuckles.

“Tell me about it. Thought I was going to love overnights, but the sleep schedule is brutal.”

“You get used to it.” You assure her, the two of you making your way down the hall to the pit, and she shrugs.

“If you say so.”

You stand outside of two sixty-eight for too long. People pass you in the hallway, eyes curious, and you pretend to scroll through the tablet, decidedly trying to distract yourself from the dread that’s gathered like a sailor’s knot in the pit of your stomach.

You’re a professional. This behavior is definitely unprofessional. Get yourself together.

You try, filling your lungs with a deep breath, but you can’t shake the shame, the mortification that is curdling in your stomach at the idea of facing Simon and Johnny after the code black situation last week.

“Go sit with Johnny.”

“Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

Will they be angry that you were so rattled? Could they tell?

Your watch alarm beeps, and you uncurl your spine.

Buck up.

You’re both anxious, and relieved, that Johnny is asleep when you finally step inside. Simon sits in his usual spot, paperback book’s spine split in the palm of his hand, and at first… he doesn’t even look up. Not until you clear your throat, and he startles in the chair, eyes snapping up to find yours. “Hi.” He frowns.

“What day is it?”

“Uh, it’s Wednesday?”

“I thought you start your week on Thursdays.” That makes your eyebrows raise, uncontained surprise filtering through you. He knows your schedule? Butterflies thrash in your stomach at the notion, something hot flooding your veins as you blink at him.

“I’m on OT.” You drift towards the other side of the bed, eyeing Johnny’s monitor before lifting the blanket to peek at his elevated leg. “How is he?”

“Uncomfortable. The burn debridement has been… difficult.” You chew on the inside of your cheek. They better not be letting Simon even stand outside and watch that through the window, you think. You’ll have to follow up with whoever is on days.

“Healing burns can be a long and painful process.” You tell him, pulling back the blanket a little further. “I’ll be quick, try to let him get enough sleep as possible.”

“He’ll be sad he missed you.” Simon answers, still watching your every movement, eyes dark and focused above the black cloth mask. The intensity in them catches you off guard when you meet his gaze, hair on the back of your neck standing up straight, and you swallow.

“Well, I’ll still be here in the morning when he wakes so…” you trail off awkwardly, choosing to direct your attention to the scaffolding that’s supporting his femur and hip, checking his sutures for any redness or swelling.

“Do you work a lot of overtime?” Simon asks at the same as he leans forward to brush a stray lock of hair from Johnny’s forehead. The touch is so tender, so gentle, it makes your heart bleed inside your chest, blood warming beneath your skin, captivating your attention until he’s tearing his eyes away from Johnny, and latching onto yours with an expectant expression.

“Oh. Um. Sometimes?”

“Seems like a lot.” He comments, words lazily pulled from his lips, his tone soft, nearly a whisper. “Must make it difficult to spend time with your family, or partner.”

“Oh, I don’t have one of… those.” You immediately refute, pulling up short before the word those, embarrassment making your nose burn. Why are you telling him this? Why are you announcing to a stranger that you’re practically a recluse loner?

Simon’s head tilts, and he looks like he’s about to say something but your tablet chimes, insistent and loud, signaling a vitals issue in another room.

“E-excuse me.” You stumble, and he nods, turning his attention back towards Johnny.

One… two… three… four…One… two… three… four… One… two-

The count in your head is second nature at this point, turning over and over after four as your arms, back and core start to scream, your breaths coming in shorter. Where the fuck is he?

The count continues to roll on, lactic acid building up through your muscles, and you take another deep breath, as much as you can manage. The pain is familiar, it’s necessary, it’s a part of your job, but today, it’s burrowing itself beneath your skull, tugging and tearing at the memories that you’ve buried deep.

Pain. Gnarled and knotted strands of associations pull free from the confines of compartmentalization, stretching out across the front of your mind.

One… two… three… four…

You think about the photo. About being on your back, in a bed like this, lost inside the maze of a panic attack while the NP took photos between your legs. While they swabbed for DNA inside of you, under your fingernails, in your mouth. It’s funny how certain things can stick with you, the sound of the plastic bag crinkling as your bloodied clothes were shoved inside, how you can’t sleep on your back now, the way you counted the ceiling tiles over and over that day. One… two… three… four…

“How long has it been?” Nia asks from the other side of the bed, hand steadily squeezing the bag at the correct rate, still watching the monitor like a hawk.

“At least ten minutes.” You glance at the shade pulled over the window, grateful you remembered when you came running in here, the patient’s family standing just outside the door, holding their breath, hoping you’re in here bringing their beloved granny back, when in reality, you’re just traumatizing her body. You’ve already broken one of her ribs, and you’re worried if you keep going, her sternum will fracture too. It’s not fair. “Where the fuck is he?” you hiss between breaths, anger starting to heat your skin, irritation clear in your tone. This isn’t even your patient. Lazy, slacker, pompous ass, where the fu-

“How long has it been?” The nervous voice just inside the door calls, and your head snaps up.

Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.

“Eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds. Where is Marshall?”

“He- he sent me.” You shake your head. Nia sighs.

“Have you pronounced before?”

“Um. No.”

“And where is Marshall?” You ask again, just to clarify, and the resident swallows.

“I uh, don’t know.” Normally, a resident’s first pronouncement would be supervised by their attending. But since this one’s attending is Marshall, a grade A prick that you can’t stand, it looks like he’ll be on his own.

“Great. Okay.” You take a huge breath, trying to flex your wrists without losing your position. “It’s been twelve minutes now, and no response. Do you want to check?” He nods, and you chew on the inside of your cheek when he doesn’t verbally respond. “I need you to say it out loud.”

“You can stop compressions.” You immediately wilt, stepping away from the side of the bed, the motion of Nia’s hand also slowing until it stops, and she slumps. Marshall’s resident physically checks for a pulse, listens for breath sounds and then finally, does a sternum rub, to no avail.

“Sh-should I…” they trail off, looking back down at the elderly woman in the bed. The deceased woman, whose family is waiting, desperately. You nod.

“Yes.” You tell the resident gently. You can tell he’s unsure, nervous even, and for a moment, you’re transported back to your first code, when you were a baby nurse, a terrified, bumbling mess that needed help, just like he does. And since Marshall is a piece of shit… “No pulse?” You ask, and they nod. “No breath sounds? No sound of a heartbeat?”

“None.” They answer you confidently, and you manage an encouraging smile.

“No response to painful stimuli, no reaction to the sternum rub?”

“Right. No.”

“Okay. So normally, you could also use a thumbnail to press into their nailbed, if you feel like you need it, if you’re not comfortable with the sternum rub, but-“

“No, no. I’m. Yeah. Okay.” They too, take a deep breath, and check their watch. “Time of d-death… twenty one forty five.”

“Great job.” You tell him, pulling the blanket back up around her shoulders. “Do you feel comfortable speaking with the family?” He blanches, and Nia’s work phone dings, signaling another patient’s needs. You sigh for the eightieth time tonight. “Okay. Come on, we’ll do it together.”

The supply closet welcomes you with open arms. It hides you in the low light of it’s forgotten space, and when you fall into the chair, your face drops into your palms, pressing so hard into them that you start to see stars. The curtain falls. The walls of your sanctuary start to feel frail.

Found you, found you.

He found you.

Get it together. Get yourself together.

“Hey, there she is. Missed ye.” Johnny coos, eyes half shut, sleepy and sweet.

“Johnny.” Simon rumbles his name like a warning, one your patient doesn’t seem to heed, still blinking slowly at you with a sly look on his face.

“Had a dream about ye, pretty girl. Dreamt ye were at ho-“

“Alright.” Simon cuts him off, swiftly. Patients often have vivid, weird dreams when they’re all dosed up on medication, and it’s not the first time someone has slurred out some weird vision they’ve had of you in their sleep.

“Good morning to you too.” You quip, glancing at the catheter bag before putting your hands on your hips. “How are you feeling?”

“’m alright. Stomach hurts.” You frown.

“Can you tell me where the pain is?” He motions to his upper right, the area where his newly repaired liver is sitting, and you nod, pulling out your phone immediately to update his doctor. Could be nothing. Could be something. Not for you to determine, but you won’t let it go unnoticed, and you’ll make sure it’s top of mind during shift report. “Can I check your side?” You motion to where his burn is lightly wrapped, and he nods with a sheepish smile.

“Aye, sure can. Ye can take my clothes off anytime.” You roll your eyes, unbuttoning his gown at the shoulder, peeling the gauze away very slowly. The wound looks better than you were expecting, if you’re being honest, and it relieves some of the anxiety that curled up in the pit of your stomach after his admission of upper right quadrant pain. “Yer hands are warm, bun. Feels nice.” Bun? You opt to ignore it. Probably still a little floaty.

“Good, that’s… good. Better than them being icicles.” Your hand brushes across the center of his abdomen when you pull the rest of the dressing away, and he tenses, ab muscles becoming clearly defined, enough that you stall out for a second before turning away to grab fresh gauze for his wound care, hands just a little unsteady. “Oh, fuck.” You mutter when the pack slips, sliding halfway under the little table that’s along the wall, and you sigh, whirling away from both of them and bending at the waist to tiptoe your fingers across the floor until you feel the corner of crinkly plastic. “Gotcha!” When you straighten, turning back towards the bed, Johnny and Simon are staring at you, and there’s a glee filled smile on Johnny’s face, it’s presence both mischievous and beguiling, fingers of his good hand slowly rubbing circles into the inside of Simon’s forearm. “What?”

“Nothing. Ignore him.” Simon deadpans, and then shoots his partner a very serious look, one that nearly has you straightening like you’re in trouble.

“Ach.” Johnny huffs, stroking a gentle touch upwards across Simon’s jaw as you start to reapply his dressing, taking your time to ensure everything looks good and he’s comfortable. You smooth over it once you’re satisfied, checking for any precarious pieces of tape. “Ye take such good care o’ me.” Johnny murmurs, accent soft and scratchy. It’s decadent the way his voice sounds sometimes, enough to make your throat dry and the room feel too hot. “Got lucky, didnae we, Si?”

“Well, it’s m-my job.” You answer, trying not to look down at where his chest and stomach are still exposed, or get caught in the cerulean blue waves of his eyes. They’re such a stark contrast to the intense, velvety hue of Simon’s, the pointed focus of his gaze that’s able to stun you, throw you off kilter the same time Johnny’s makes you feel overheated, and lightheaded. Both of them together could drown you. Overwhelm you.

Balanced. A yin and a yang.

Get it together. This is your patient and his partner, for gods sake. What is wrong with you?

Something warms brushes along the skin of your knuckles, a fleeting touch, and when you look down, you see Johnny’s hand, two fingers barely stroking yours, the lightest touch catching your breath in your chest like time is slowing to a crawl, and you’re freezing along with it.

Everything goes quiet in your head.

Simon’s watching you, methodically studying you like he’s trying to decipher every twitch in your expression as Johnny’s fingertips move over your knuckles to the back of your hand, thumb slipping into your palm, blazing heat sparking beneath it.

What… what is happening?

A phone vibrates. The noise snaps you free from your near statuesque state, and they both divert their attention to its screen.

“They’re here.” Simon tells him, glancing at you before looking back to his partner. “Be good.” He warns, and Johnny rolls his eyes in response, but he looks almost… desperate now, eyes wide and anxious.

“Hurry?” he asks, hopefully, Simon leaning down to press mask covered lips to his forehead, his eyes shuttering closed, deep breath passing between their two bodies.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’m really concerned about the pain in his upper right quadrant. I already sent a text, but if his doctor isn’t on this floor in the next hour, page him again.” The dayshifter nods, tapping a note into her phone. “And Marshall’s resident is practically unsupervised, so keep an eye out.”

“Okay, sounds good.” You mention a few other things, details you noticed throughout your day, and she thanks you for the extra eye, sending you off with a parting wave into the cold, crisp morning, your mind already skipping over your commute to when you’ll be able to sink into your bed one last time.

You’re busy compiling a list as you wait for the elevator. Necessities, things you’ll need indefinitely as you bounce back and forth between a rotation of hotels and on-call rooms, all the usual stuff, clothes, toiletries, and all the important things that can’t be left behind, your birth certificate, passport, other things that could make or break you if lost.

Deep breath. You can do this. It’s not the first time. You’ve done it before, and you can do it again.

The elevator dings. You take a step forward, not paying attention, and then pull up short when you see who’s getting out.

It’s Simon stepping towards you, with a baby girl in his arms. She’s situated on his hip, nestled into his side and for a second, you falter because… you recognize her. Or at least you think you do... she looks just like the little girl you saw last week.

“Um. Hi.” You blurt, failing to notice at first that he’s not alone, the man from the first night you met them, the one with the mustache standing behind the width of Simon’s body, his arm curled around the woman you saw last week. They step into view, and you give them all a polite smile, one you really hope doesn’t betray your confusion.

“Hi,” he says your name next, says it so softly it feels tender, and then takes another step closer. “This is Penelope. Our daughter.” Oh. Oh.

They have a baby. A girl. They have a little girl. You don’t know why, but something inside you stumbles, melting into a frazzled, awkward mess, heart thumping in your chest. They have a baby, and Johnny almost died. They have a kid and he’s been trapped in this hospital, miserable in pain, missing his kid. “Pen, this is your Da’s favorite nurse.”

“Bunny.” The baby, Penelope, says, little finger stretching out towards your badge, which is facing outwards with the giant sparkly sticker. Simon chuckles, genuinely, masked lips pressing to her cheek, and you see a glimpse of a father, a protector, a provider. It makes you feel dizzy.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, and you nod like a robot, unable to really form a word with your tongue. “Alright baby girl. Let’s go see your Da, yeah?”

#simple math #peaches writes #ghost x soap x reader #female reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader x soap

2K notes · View notes

rebelfell · 2 months

Text

I could tell you this is *really* it, but you’d never believe me… 18+, MDNI 1.7k

older!fem!Harrington!reader x eddie munson

cw: pregnancy/fertility discussions

continued from here, index here

“Did you want one?”

Eddie’s voice barely manages to break through the fog your mind had slipped into.

Tangled up with him in the softness of your sheets, cast in the scarlet glow of your scarf-covered lamp, body shiny with a sheen of sweat and your legs still trembling with the effects of the last few hours, it was a miracle your floaty, dopamine-addled brain had even heard.

“Huh?” you asked, lifting your head the full two inches you were able.

He lifts himself from his place between your thighs, where he’s been the last…twenty minutes? Thirty? It’s hard to say. Time has a tendency to stretch and expand when he’s in this mood.

When all he wants to do is live down there—not even actively trying to get you off, just letting his tongue glide through your folds and play with your clit. Unhurried and engrossed.

Like he has all the time in the world.

Because at last he does.

It was hardly an ideal time to ask, Eddie knew that. But he hadn’t been able to get the question out of his head since earlier that afternoon. Even now, when he was smack dab in his version of heaven, he couldn’t put off the question he’d been wanting to ask any longer.

So he didn’t.

“Did you want one?” he asks again. And then, when your brow furrowed and your head started to shake in confusion, he adds, “A baby.”

“A…baby?” You repeat it slowly, pushing up on your elbows to look at him.

The doe eyes come out in full force as he looks up at you and nods. Round and open and so, so vulnerable it made your chest ache. Even with all the efforts he’d put into making himself look older—the glasses he’d been wearing more and more often, the beard that he was letting grow in—those eyes always gave it away that deep down he was still that scared, eager little twenty-something puppy come to life.

“Why?” you snicker. “You got a friend who can get one wholesale?”

“No,” he snickers back, smoothing his hand over your stomach. A little higher than where a baby would go, but you don’t tell him that. “I was just wondering if you, you know…wanted one.”

“Eddie, I…” You trail off, not quite sure how to answer. Because you’re slowly but surely starting to realize he’s not joking. With a hard swallow, you ask, “Is this about what you found?”

He doesn’t need to nod for you to know it is.

In the midst of clearing out the closet, making room for him to start bringing his stuff over and slowly move in with you over the last few months of his lease, he’d unearthed something.

It was just a shoe box, something that would typically be totally inconsequential. Something you’d stowed on the top shelf in the far corner the first night you spent in this house. Something that only came out for short intervals during particularly heart wrenching bouts of nostalgia.

You hadn’t labeled or decorated it. Hadn’t put anything on it to indicate just how precious its contents were. Nothing more than a tiny “E” in ballpoint ink on the bottom corner of the lid.

Small enough to miss easily. But Eddie didn’t.

Inside, he found all his notes from that summer folded back up into triangles. A bottle cap from his favorite beer. A guitar pick he’d left out on the patio table one night you’d sat outside looking at the stars while he strummed “Going to California” on his acoustic. He’d had it stuck in his head for days, ever since you told him how Robert Plant and Jimmy Page wrote it for Joni Mitchell.

All the things you felt compelled to keep without fully understanding why.

Near the top were the more recent additions—the blood-stained rag you’d used to bind his hand the day he helped you move. Then the postcard from Berlin Steve sent you that mentioned his name. The envelope with the foreign postage he’d sent your bear in, a copy of Corroded Coffin’s CD.

And the outer packaging of a pregnancy test.

You hadn’t kept the stick itself. That had struck you as a bit too gross. But the box had lain in your wastebasket for weeks, staring at you from atop a pillow of used tissues and make-up wipes and q-tips and emptied toilet paper rolls. And when it finally came time to empty the basket, you found you couldn’t quite bring yourself to tie off the bag with it still sitting inside.

So into the shoebox it went.

And when you came back up from downstairs, concerned by the sudden lack of thumping that had been near-constant all day, you found him sitting silently on the bed holding it in his hands.

You assured him it had been a false alarm. That the test was negative and that you promptly got your period just a few days after. That you opted not to tell him because you didn’t want him to worry, as you knew he would. That you knew he would have come running without a second thought. And as much as you wished he was there, you didn’t want to do that to him.

And he could understand all that. He really could.

But it doesn’t make him feel any less guilty that he wasn’t here. That he didn’t have a clue it was happening. And it doesn’t make him wonder any less what might have happened if the result had been different. Would you have told him then? Would you have wanted to keep it? Would you have asked his opinion, even knowing he would support whatever decision you made?

You could see his head was swimming with all these questions, getting lost in the whirlpool of them, and grabbed his face with your hands to pull his eyes to yours.

Stop it, you told him solidly. You don’t need to feel bad about decisions we never had to make.

And you were right. He knew you were right. He didn’t need to worry about doing the right thing, because he could see it in your eyes that you knew he would have no matter what.

So the package went back in the box and the box went back in the closet. And you spent the rest of the day packing and sorting things into piles—toss, donate, storage—until half (okay, a little less than half) of the closet and drawer space was empty and ready for him.

You figured that was that. He didn’t mention it again or act remotely different as you sorted and talked and cleaned. Or when you finally showered and washed the layers of grime and sweat from your bodies only to crawl into the haven of your bed and fall into that easy and tempered, sort of languid lovemaking you both found you liked just as much as the urgent, desperate, carnivorous, animalistic kind of fucking you were prone to.

It wasn’t until he stopped to ask his question that you realized he was still thinking about it.

“Come up here,” you tell him, tugging loosely on a lock of hair by his ear.

And he does.

He slides up to lay beside you, head nestled in the crook of your neck, his breath fanning across your chest as he nuzzles his face against your chin.

You let your nails skim his back, trying to trace the shapes of tattoos you can’t see but know are there. The broadsword on his spine, the barbed vines that wrapped around his bicep, the D20 above his elbow and the bats beneath it.

“Do you want one?” you ask him after a long moment. Muted and wary.

He doesn’t respond right away, taking a beat to chew on his response. And you feel certain he can hear your heartbeat jump to an uneasy rhythm as you wait for his answer. Because what if he does? What if this is it? The moment you come to a real reason this can’t work—that he has dreamt his whole life of a family only to wind up with the person who can’t give him one?

“Honestly, I don’t know…but I’d love to give you one,” he answers solidly, “if that’s what you want. And I’d love there to be more of you in the world.”

“Ed,” you sigh, “I don’t even know if I can get—”

“What if we tried?” he asks, going on before you can dissuade it. “We don’t have to tell anyone we are, we can just…see if it happens. If it does, it does. And if it doesn’t, then…”

“Then what?” you ask quietly.

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. “Then I’d still have you.”

He rolls onto his elbow and looks up to see the tears just starting to burgeon in your eyes. His hand comes up to brush your temple, following the curve of your jaw that is clenched in thought. The touch of his hand seemingly melts all the tension there, almost like magic, and you feel yourself similarly melting—looking back at this man who loves you so deeply and definitively.

Because you would love nothing more than for there to be more of him in the world.

“So, when are we gonna start…seeing,” you asked with a shy smile. “Right now?”

Eddie’s eyes widened, the corners of his mouth twitching he was trying so hard not to break out in a stupid-big, beaming smile.

“Maybe not just yet,” he said, the mirth in his voice shining through.

“No?” you ask, your brows lifting in surprise. “How long are we waiting, then?”

“Well, that all depends…” He ducked back down and returned to nuzzling your neck, lowering his voice to a husky murmur in your ear. “...on when you wanna get married.”

You let out breathy chuckles in between the quick, zealous kisses he began to drop on your skin, the ends of his hair tickling as they brushed the side of your face and fell across your chest.

“Ohh,” you laughed, reaching to lace your fingers with his. “Are you gonna marry me, then?”

Eddie pulled back once more and grinned down at you, the skin around his eyes crinkling his smile was so wide, his expression alight and filled with the purest form of mischief.

“Baby, I thought you’d never ask.”

prev┃

Standin’ on a hill in the mountain of dreams, tellin’ myself it’s not as hard, hard, hard as it seems…

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfiction #TSITA

367 notes · View notes

chick-it-out · 2 months

Text

everything 2 know about sendin a SASE 🐥📬

what you will need: if you live in the US: two envelopes and two first-class stamps if you live somewhere other than USA: two envelopes and one global stamp

instructions: 1.) Write your address on the first envelope. You will be the recipient of this envelope, so make sure it's going to you at your preferred location! Don't seal the envelope. leave it open so I can put stuff in :v Domestic/US mailers: Use a forever stamp or stamps that equal the current postage (73 cents as of August 2024!) International mailers: Do not stamp this interior envelope; I will cover return postage. Just make sure that the stamp(s) you use will cover global shipping - so your mail can go international! (These cost a lil more so i'll cover half. Also the US postal service only likes their own stamps lol) 2.) Fold the stamped/addressed envelope in a way that's going to fit inside your second envelope. 3.) Then tuck that first envelope in there! (You can put whatever else in there-- words, requests, good vibes, whispers and dreams, etc. etc. anything you want to send to me-- just make sure it weighs less than 1 ounce [28g]!) Also, mail needs to be flat. Please make sure the combined situation is no thicker than 1/4 inch (0.6cm)! 4.) Seal the second envelope. 5.) Write Flockin Together's address on the second envelope. Stamp this envelope!

(if you are outside of the USA, please add "USA" after this address!)

6.) Once you got an envelope inside a stamped envelope and it's all sealed up and ready - go ahead and mail it!

7.) I'll send goodies back - stickers, bookmark, temp tats, whatever's flat enough for da mail :) as my schedule allows (1-2 weeks + more if you live farther from me)

if there is anything else that'd be handy to know, just msg/ask! 🐔

#flockintogether #info #mail #SASE

398 notes · View notes

netherworldpost · 1 year

Text

With the various rumors and releases of Tumblr possibly changing how they do things... (gestures to the vague rumor mill)...

Zines.

I really think we as Folks Who Make Things and Folks Who Like Art Writing Poetry Music Comics Other Things need to explore zines. And I mean ZINES. Nothing glossy. Nothing fancy.

Very. Cheap. Zines.

I've been threatening mentioning I was going to create a guide on how I'm going to approach this -- and I'm going to -- but I am also realizing in the writing I Do Things Highfalutin because I am who I am + had a career in graphic design.

Let's talk about how you can make a zine very cheaply and very pretty.

STEP ONE: SUPPLIES

Very bright paper. I like "Astrobrights" because they are absurdly bright. Here is a link in a store I like. I buy a lot of paper and envelopes from them. You can generally find Astrobrights in big box office stores. It prints on laser printers and ink jet and photocopiers.

Very bright envelopes. What's that? Astrobrights has envelopes?! AM I SOLVING PROBLEMS let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Letter paper is 8.5" x 11" and is the most common size in the united states (overseas folk will have to use this advice with a grain o'sea salt and search yer own waters).

A9 envelopes are a letter sheet folded in half.

A2 envelopes are a letter sheet folded in half, then folded in half.

#10 envelopes are your common long envelopes, letter paper folded in thirds.

Pick the size you like.

If you want to get big and fancy, Tabloid is 17" x 11" -- so double a letter sheet. This gets tricky to work with but is neat in sizing.

STEP TWO: ZINE CONTENT

Do you know how to use InDesign or similar program? Use that.

No? Use Google Docs or Word or whatever other program and ramble.

Want something special? Write out some or part with a sharpee or pen.

Mix and match both.

If you are feeling fancy, design it like a booklet -- mock up a sheet of blank paper as if it were a brochure. If not, just design it straight up and down like a letter. There are no zine laws.

STEP THREE: ZINE PRINTING

Print at home on your home printer.

Don't have a printer at home? Print it at work (don't get fired)

Can't? Your local library may be able to help.

You need 1 copy on white paper.

FedEx Office has photocopiers. Your local library may too. Or your job.

Print 1 copy of your zine on white paper and then photocopy the rest onto colorful paper (or white paper, it be yer zine seadog).

Or print everything on the color paper if you have access to free printing, that's fine too.

The photocopy setup is purely "printing tends to cost more than photocopying."

If you want to slash prices, print 2 per sheet and have FedEx office cut them for you, this will cost $1 - $5 depending on how many sheets you are dealing with. This is for when you're doing a LOT of zines at once.

Or use their manual paper cutter yourself for free.

STEP FOUR: ZINE STAPLING

"Long reach stapler" is what I recommend. There are a few varieties. They tend to be $20 - $30.

Or just use 1 sheet!

STEP FOUR: ZINE POSTAGE

A single first class stamp for 1-2 pages. If you get up to 3+, go to the post office and ask them to weigh a comp you have assembled.

This is a guideline.

It's a really good idea to check at least once how much your zine weighs just in general. Post offices have scales. And are pretty. And have stamps.

OKAY ENOUGH LUSTING FOR THE POST OFFICE FROM THE GHOTS POST OFFICE BLOG BACK TO WORK

STEP FIVE: ZINE MAILING

This is actually the most difficult part. Label printers exist with various costs -- if you're starting out? Go with printable labels.

Your office supply shop will have them and they'll have templates you can drop in the customer addresses.

Save yourself time by using this label as the thing that seals the envelope -- don't lick envelopes.

A key tenet to staying in business is constantly reviewing physical (and mental) labor and stressors and reducing them as much as possible.

Return address labels are intensely cheap in literally every online printer, google "return address labels." Make sure you have this because at least a few of your shipments will come back to you.

STEP SIX: ZINE PRICING

Okay here is where we get uncomfortable because we're talkin' coins.

Prices are based on above links. You can get whatever paper you want, so this is guidelines. All numbers rounded up.

Payment processing ($0.30) + $0.05 sheet + $0.15 envelope + $0.66 first class postage = $1.16 base cost

$1.16 + 2.9% of $1.16 payment processing = $1.20

Plus taxes. I'm not getting into tax figures YOU DO THAT (just say 30% for easy math, this is not saying "your taxes are 30% or that mine are" I am saying "I am going to factor 30% for this equation to complete this guide".)

I did not include the mailing label (it will be $0.01 - $0.05 depending on how fancy and how many you buy) because you have the option to just write things and also it fits into the rounding of the above.

If you use Patreon, include your fees. Probably replace the above processing fees with your patreon processing... fees? I don't use patreon I don't know how it works.

Retail option 01: $1.50 - 1.20 = $0.80 gross - 30% = $0.09 / net / zine.

Retail option 02: $2 - 1.20 = $0.80 gross - 30% = $0.56 / net / zine.

Retail option 03: $3 - 1.20 = $1.80 gross - 30% = $1.26 / net / zine.

Should it be $1.50? Should it be $3.00? MORE? LESS?! That is for you to decide. Base it on what your zine contains, how long it takes you to write/draw/etc. it and how you want your flow to be.

STEP SEVEN: ZINE FREQUENCY

When my shop launches, it'll have a zine once a month. We are going to offer a subscription option + a "I just want 1" option.

You can do a zine monthly, or every few months, or whatever.

Keep in mind that the purpose of doing this is to break the dependency on social media marketing.

KEEP IN MIND AS AN AUDIENCE MEMBER TO A CREATOR YOU LIKE THAT THEY ARE DOING THIS TO BREAK THEIR DEPENDENCY ON SOCIAL MEDIA MARKETING.

If you have a lot of energy and an audience that comes to your shop a lot? Consider doing a zine monthly.

If you do not have a lot of energy and/or your audience is tapped for cash frequently? Considering doing 1 zine per season.

Consider 2 zines a year if that works better for you!

NO RULES ONLY JOY

Not sure? Experiment! Be upfront! "This is new. I'm figuring this out. Billionaires are tinkering with these things and we gotta figure something else out."

BONUS STEP: NETHERWORLDPOST.COM

so hi I'm atty and I'm your loud long rambler today

Netherworld Post Office used to be @evilsupplyco and now we are rebranding in prep of relaunching. Same person behind the rambles and comics, new name with a more focus (mail instead of mail + seemingly everything else in experiment)

if you enjoyed this ramble and/or like ghosts, monsters, witches, mermaids, and fun stories and projects focused on cozy Halloween, you may like us when we finish the rebranding and relaunching in autumn 2023.

email sign up (the zine will come when we are open)

WHETHER YOU JOIN MY LIST OR NOT

I really, really, really hope you consider doing a regular, or irregular, zine. Something outside of email, something outside of social media, something that connects I MADE A WEIRD THING and the people who say I LOVE THIS WEIRD THING YOU MADE.

The walls are closing in on free social media as a platform for people who make weird things to build audiences for free or very cheap.

And with that...

netherworldpost.com as one final hat pass

good luck folks

thanks for listenin' to the ol' ghost

#small business #small business marketing #small business fun #zines #zine #making zines

2K notes · View notes

chososdiscordkitten · 9 months

Text

Obsessive!Choso♡ pt 7

artist: @/drakyutown on twt

pt 6 here

content: lots of lingering touches, more mentions of kidnapping, brief manipulation, Choso reads ur diary, he STEALLLSSSS, mentions of wine, Choso has various piercings, mention of a tattoo (a.n)...... I had to step away multiple times because I kept blushing taglist: @eristi @sunaumei @ex-ria @just-pure-trash @kha-0s @iluvreinah @iamboredowo @integers @waytootiredforthisss @broccocrab @ziklope @tojicvmslut @mochipip @tojisworm-5 @animechick555 @makingtimemine @keepghostly

Obsessive!Choso who saw you yawn as he spoke. “You tired?” He asked, picking up the two plates from the table.

“Yeah-” your fingers rubbing your temple. “I haven't been able to sleep all that great these past few days.” you smiled, remembering what happened. Making the uneasy feeling form in your stomach again. Seeing him place the dishes into the sink.

You stood up, walking to the living room coffee table. Picking up the yellow envelope and placing it onto the table, seeing Choso back in his chair again.

“I got home the other day to this on the door mat.” You exhaled, sitting back down in your chair. Looking over at you as his hands reached for it. Almost asking if he could pick it up. Nodding your head yes, opening the top flap of the envelope. Pulling out the stack of photos, individually scanning each one.

Raising his eyebrows in fake surprisement. Looking over at you when you recited what he had written. “Be careful who you let into your life.” His eyes snapped to you, “He told me his wife died. And how he was always busy with work. But the time stamps on the pictures-” You defended, feeling goosebumps form on your arms.

“And I've been terrified to leave my house- I feel like I'm constantly being watched.” You smiled, trying to make it sound like no big deal. Choso’s face feigning concern. “I'm scared- that if I leave. Someone will hurt me.” you continued, ‘Someone. But not me. That's why I'm here, to protect you from the potential stalkers you could have.’ he thought, placing the photos down onto the table.

“I mean- this has to be someone close to me or to him. Close enough that they know my address and what school I go to.” you rambled, seeing his face go unchanged from the concern he plastered onto it.

“And I know it's someone nearby. This-” you picked up the yellow envelope. “It has no postage, or return address. Someone came to my house to deliver this in person.” You finished, sighing as you opened your mouth to speak again.

“I sound like a paranoid crazy person-” you laughed, seeing him crack a smile. “All I'm missing is the foil hat and I'm set.” You joked, shrinking into your seat, seeing his eyebrows furrow in thought.

‘Intelligent, aren't you? I didn’t think you'd catch onto such small details.’ he thought, opening his mouth to speak, “No- No, you have a point.” He started, spreading the photos onto the table.

“The fact that someone-” mentally he was smiling. “Someone watched you with him.” he started, looking over at you as your face churned with anxiety.

”Watched you close enough to see your relationship with him-” his mouth let out words that made you shiver at the thought. “Someone who knows where you live, when you're not home.” confirming the thoughts you had tried so hard to push to the back of your head.

Obsessive!Choso who hoped you remembered when he told you he worried about you getting kidnapped. You laughed, “This is like one of my worst fears.” rubbing your forehead.

“I have no idea how I'm gonna leave my house-” You smiled. Choso struggled to keep his face stern. A small grin threatened to form onto his lips when he saw you cover your head in your hands. Pulling them from your face and pressing prayer hands against your lips. Looking over at him, a smile forming on your lips in disbelief, scoffing before speaking.

“You were right.” raising your eyebrow and dropping your hands flat onto the table. “I'm going to get kidnapped and sold-” you started, half joking but trying to hide how scared you really were. “You won’t get kidnapped.” He promised, smiling and taking one of your hands into his. Looking down and seeing how large it was compared to yours, eyes catching on his chipped nail polish.

Choso’s eyes widened, pulling away from yours and apologizing. “M’sorry- I shouldn't have-” he mumbled, feeling you reach your hand back to his. “No-” you smiled, “It's fine.” feeling his hand rest beneath yours.

“I was just looking at how your nail polish is always chipping.” His eyes looked down at his hand, squinting when he saw the polish. Feeling your fingertips drag down the top of his, gulping when you picked his hand up and examined his fingers closer. Making Choso’s cheeks flush, brushing your thumb against the nail of his pointer finger.

“It’s c-cheap-” he stuttered, feeling you brush against each finger. “It was a dollar i think-” he kept going, hearing you hum. The ridges of the chipped polish against the pads of your thumb and index finger. Grin on your face when you heard him. “I can tell.” You laughed, letting his hand go and looking at him. Now he was the one looking away from your gaze so you wouldn't see the warmth on his face. “I could redo them if you want?” you asked, seeing him pull his hands below the table.

“I just don't wanna be alone right now.” all smiles as you saw his ears turn pink.

“You're not tired?” he asked, looking to meet your gaze, seeing you nod no with a closed mouth smile. “If you want-” he murmured, seeing you exhale through your nose. Sliding the chair back and going upstairs quickly.

Obsessive!Choso who saw a gold halo around you when you came downstairs, cotton balls, small bottle of acetone and black polish in hand. Smiling when you set everything onto the table, rolling your shoulders back when you looked at him.

Raising your eyebrows, waiting for him to present his hands. Damp cotton ball in your fingers, the other holding the palm of his hand as you rubbed the acetone in gently. Choso’s eyes going from seeing your hand hold his, to your face. Noticing how cute you looked when focusing, accidently letting his thoughts fall from his lips, quiet enough to not understand what he said, but evident enough to hear he said something.

Looking at him through your eyelashes, ‘Hm?’ you asked, stopping your motions. “Nothing.” He replied quickly, making you smile and look back down to his hand. Wincing when you reached his thumb, seeing a deep hangnail on the side.

“What happened here?” You asked, hissing as you examined it. “I get nervous sometimes-” he started, seeing you look into his eyes, “It's practically instinct now.” He smiled.

“It's gonna hurt.” You warned, holding the blackened cotton ball in your hand. “It’s okay- I’ll live.” he joked, seeing your hand hesitate to press the cotton to his thumb, eyes looking up to see if it did hurt. His face went unchanged, feeling you swipe away the cheap polish from his nail. Blowing gently onto it in hopes it wouldn't sting too much.

For the first time in a long time, Choso didn’t think about what he'd say to you. Not conversing with you mentally, his eyes looking at you with pupils in the shape of saucers. Seeing you open the small bottle of black polish, painting it on one stroke at a time. Making sure not to get any on his skin.

Letting go of his pinkie and looking up at him, seeing he was staring. “Choso?” You murmured, eyes on his ring finger as you delicately held his hand. Hearing him hum in response. You didn't know if it was exhaustion making you speak or you just wanted to tease, “You're staring.” you hummed, not looking up from his hands but feeling him tense up.

“Sorry.” he mumbled, seeing you look up at him. His eyes unmoved from your comment. Letting go of his ring finger and dipping the brush into the bottle again.

Moving to his middle finger, a small smile on your lips as you hid the warmth that rose to your cheeks. Painting his index finger slowly as he felt your knuckles brush against the center of his palm, brushing off the excess polish into the bottle before moving onto his raw thumb.

Painting gently, making sure not to cause him any unnecessary pain. Choso let out a sharp wince, making you flinch and look up at him. “You okay?” you worried, face full of fear making him let out a stifled laugh. Your face fell when you realized he was messing with you. Mumbling a quiet, ‘jerk’ before finishing his thumb and blowing gently onto the tips of his fingers making him grin.

Moving to his other hand, picking up his pinkie before speaking, “When you told me you've seen me walking home-” you started, making Choso look at your face, to see if your expression changed.

If you were interrogating him or just trying to make conversation. Finishing his pinkie and dipping the brush once again, “It really made me think.” You hummed, coating his ring finger and moving to his middle.

“About?” he asked, gulping his nerves as he felt your breath against his hand. Smiling as you swiped down his nail, “Made me rethink walking home alone.” You grinned, playing coy to what you were insinuating. “Oh?” he hummed, seeing you flash a toothy grin, ‘Mhm’ You smiled, looking at him and pursing your lips as you waited for him to say something.

Obsessive!Choso who felt like he'd stutter if he asked you what you wanted to hear. “How dangerous it is-” you smiled, painting his pointer finger.

“You-” he started, feeling his heart thump in his chest, “You want me to walk you home?” He asked, making you look at his face. He let out his internal monologue for the first time.

Letting out a stifled sigh, looking back down to avoid the eyes he was looking at you with. “Only if you want to.” Making sure to keep a playful tone, painting his thumb before looking back up to see him. Blowing at them gently while he struggled to find the words to use, dark circles under your eyes as you fought off the need to go to sleep.

Knowing that when you woke up you could blame your insistent flirting on how tired you were. Placing his hand flat on the table, mouthing a quiet, ‘All done.’ keeping your eyes on him while you waited for him to reply.

“If it makes you feel safer-” he started, “And if you'll let me. I will.” Seeing his bottom lip tremble the tiniest bit, cheeks flushed and his hands turning clammy against the table. Thankful you weren’t holding them anymore.

Batting your eyelashes at him, smiling before telling him ‘thank you’. The fatigue eating away at you, feeling your brain pound in your skull. Not knowing if it was from how hard you were blushing or if it was from how nervous you were asking that of him.

“Why are you so nice to me?” You asked your voice daring to slur the words, resting your head in your hand and seeing him blink rapidly.

“Cause you're nice to me.” He smiled, feeling like he could die at any moment from how hard his heart was beating.

“No- I mean.” You started, scanning his face. “Anyone else wouldn't have come here. And I don't know anyone who would cook me something to make me feel better.” you smiled, seeing him scoff playfully, trying to look away from you.

You laughed, realizing what you were saying aloud, “I don't know- What I'm trying to say is- you're different.” You smiled, seeing him nod his head and grin as he heard you slur your words. “In a- in a good way-” you sighed, noticing your eyelids suddenly felt very heavy.

“I don’t even know what I’m sayin'- please say something.” You smiled, feeling like you had just confessed your feelings to him even if you didn't know what feelings you were confessing.

“I think- you're exhausted. And you need to sleep.” He smiled, making you sigh at his words. Nodding your head slowly, knowing if you had to sleep it would mean being home alone again.

“I don't wanna be alone.” you hummed, sounding like you were already half asleep.

“I could stay. If you want.” Choso started, hearing you exhale in relief. “I'll clean up.” He continued, seeing you nod your head.

“You don't have to-” You started, feeling embarrassed.

“I want to.” He retorted, reaching for your hand. Making you sigh as you felt more at ease, mouthing a quiet, ‘Thank you.’ before standing.

“Wake me when you wanna leave- okay?” You asked, walking towards the stairs, hearing him mumble a small ‘Mhm’, seeing you left the nail polish at the table. Smiling before standing up and walking to the kitchen sink.

Choso wasn't going to make you wake up simply because he wanted to leave. He would stay here for as long as you'd let him. ‘I will be here when you wake,’ he smiled to himself, washing the dirty dishes. Picturing a future where this was your life. He was your life.

Obsessive!Choso who finished washing the dishes, walked around your house to see if there was anything he could find.

Pocketing the black nail polish on the table, finding himself standing at the end of the staircase that led up to you. Debating on whether or not he should go up there. Thinking up excuses if you caught him snooping.

Before he knew it, he was taking quiet steps up the stairs. Noticing most of the doors were closed, walking to the one that was slightly cracked open.

Pushing the door handle slightly. Seeing you in your bed, sleeping.

‘You feel so safe around me that you leave your door open. So comfortable that you let yourself be vulnerable.’

Quietly taking a step inside. Eyes scanning the walls of your room, finally being able to see the bedroom he's pictured you in for so long. His eyes noticed you left your curtain open- again.

Closing it quickly, mentally scolding you for that bad habit. His eyes trailing down at your desk. All your small trinkets.

Taking his freshly painted fingers and moving the curtain slightly to look outside, seeing the usual spot he'd stand at when he would come see you. Smiling at how if you ever did look outside, you wouldn't see him from this view.

Looking to the wall where your bed was. A large painting hangs above it. Noticing it was crooked, taking a step closer and seeing it was slightly pushed off of the wall.

Looking down to see you sleeping soundly, taking a minute to look at your sleeping form. The urge to brush the hair from your face was strong, but the regret he'd feel if he invaded your personal space, and you woke from it; was too great. S

canning your wrist that was adorned by the bracelet he had given you earlier, almost clutching his heart at the sight. Eyes looking back to the painting, scanning the side of it and seeing the spine of a notebook. ‘A diary? I didn't take you for a person who had a diary.’ he thought, gently lifting the side of it and taking the notebook. Opening the first page and seeing the date, two years ago.

First day of college. Reading how excited you were- the first few entries were like that. Full of excitement and passion for going to school. Standing above you as he flipped the pages, finding one 5 months after starting school. ‘

I left home to start over.- but I could stand in a room filled with these so-called ‘friends’ and feel more alone than I've ever felt in my entire life-’

He read, looking down at your face, ‘I understand. I know how hard living the life you live must be’ Spending the next 20 minutes silently skimming through the pages.

Eyes snapping to you anytime you sighed in your sleep. His fingers grazed on the small wrinkled circles of smeared ink. Showing him you were crying whilst writing.

Seeing the date of the day when he first saw you, scanning your messy writing trying to find himself in your words. ‘

There was only one person who looked interesting.’ He read, with a smile on his face when he read that you were describing what he wore that day.

‘This is fate. I know it is. Love at first sight.’ he thought, turning the page and seeing you continue to mention him more often. The last entry you wrote was a week after they had paired you together.

The words he read almost made him jump in excitement. ‘I've never met anyone like him, he's different. I think we met for a reason.’ Choso wanted to desperately take your notebook, scan each and every page before returning it to you.

He wondered why you hadn't written in so long- thinking that his friendship was so important to you, you didn't need to write anymore. That you already knew you could talk to him about anything. No judgements or need for embarrassment.

Obsessive!Choso who got caught up in his own string of delusions that he began to mumble to himself, letting out the questions he thinks of when you'd talk.

Almost carrying out a conversation with you. Seeing you start to shift under a throw blanket, freezing still when you turned to face away from him. Closing the notebook and sliding it back behind the large canvas, making sure to straighten the painting before he left.

He was one step away from the door when he heard you stir awake, mumbling his name when you cracked your eyes open to see a Choso shaped blob at your door.

Freezing when you asked him what he was doing, “I came to see if you were sleeping; I know you told me to wake you.” He smiled, seeing you rest back into the pillows with a small sigh.

“You leavin?” you asked, voice groggy as you tried not to fall asleep again.

“Nope. It's okay. Go back to sleep.” he whispered, hearing you hum in response. He was mentally scolding himself for almost being caught. Stepping out of your bedroom and silently closing the door. Feeling like his search wasn't enough, he walked down the hall to the door at the end. Wanting to see who you lived with.

Opening the door knowing there wouldn't be anyone behind it. Scanning the bedroom, seeing their photos of their families. ‘Boring.’ he thought, his eyes catching a frame of you, and what he assumed was the rest of your roommates.

Smiling at how you stood out in the photo. How everyone looked so fucking boring next to you. His fingers grazed against your face as he admired the photo behind the glass.

Placing the frame face down onto their desk. Closing the door to the bedroom before making his way to the other rooms, not finding anything of interest.

But in the last bedroom he checked, Choso found they had a huge frame on their wall filled with polaroids. Scanning each row trying to find you.

His eyes catching a photo of you, smile on your face as someone kissed your cheek. Written at the bottom was ‘New Years 2021’ in red ink.

He felt a certain pain in his heart when he saw how happy your face was. Remembering back to every time he's made you laugh- not once making you smile as hard as you were in that photo.

Not being able to see this person's face clearly, the flash from the camera hid their identity well. ‘You haven't brought this person up. And they're not on your social media.’ He thought, scanning the other photos to see if they had any more of you.

But not seeing any, turning around and looking at their tv stand, a small stack of multicolored polaroids wrapped in rope sat at the corner. Thinking how this was fate, picking up the hefty stack and untying the bow that held them together. Noticing the tops of them were dusty, showing him that they didn't go through them recently.

Obsessive!Choso who slowly went through them; mostly photos that were taken with the wrong exposure or blurry ones.

But he saw how there were 5 of you. On your birthday, of you in your pajamas in the morning, of you petting a stray cat. He smiled looking at them, thinking of how destiny put these photos in his hands.

Taking out all 5 photos of you and wrapping up the stack again, placing it in the same corner he found them in.

Taking out his wallet and sliding in the polaroids into one of the card holders. Smiling knowing he'd have actual polaroids of you to show off to his brothers the next time he saw them again.

Walking back downstairs and seeing that the sun had fully set. Opening your fridge to see what you had, nothing but an old rotisserie chicken and ketchup.

Opening the freezer and seeing the pizza you had told him about previously. All he found were just frozen meals, scolding your roommates for not leaving you decent ingredients to cook for yourself.

Sitting down on the sofa, not wanting to turn the tv on incase he woke you. So he sat in silence, thinking about all the times you had interacted with him, replaying them in his mind.

Watching every smile, every word you mispronounced, everytime you muted yourself on FaceTime- like a movie.

You know in those movies where the spouse dies and they remember them laughing the whole time, in white bedsheets or at the beach? Yeah, that's how he was thinking of you. If anyone peeked inside the window they'd just see him sitting on the couch in dim lighting, hands on his knees as he waited for you to wake up.

Trying to remember what he'd do in his spare time before he met you. Furrowing his eyebrows when he realized he genuinely couldn't remember, ‘Study? No that's not it.’ he thought.

Hearing light footsteps above him, signaling you were awake. Smile on his face when he heard you close the door to your bedroom. Straightening his back when he saw you come down the stairs, grinning when he saw you.

Lips puffy and eyes squinty when you laid eyes on him. “Hiii” you croaked, walking to the opposite end of the couch he was sitting on. “What were you doin?” you asked, seeing him look over to you and think of his answer.

“Nothing…?” he asked, his face grimacing as he looked at you. Causing you to let out a stifled laugh.

“Totally not suspicious at all.” you joked, folding your legs onto the couch to face him.

Obsessive!Choso who felt the need to actually tell you about what he was thinking. “I was trying to remember what I used to do with my spare time.” he murmured, so quiet you could hear crickets outside.

“What do you mean?” You asked, brain still muddy from your sleepy state.

“Before I-” he started, knowing he was saying too much. “Never mind.” he murmured, leaning back into the couch.

“No, tell me.” You smiled, scooching over the tiniest bit to convince him. Seeing him nod his head no, “Before you…?” The tone you took made Choso crack a smile.

“Before we were friends.” he mumbled, looking away from you in hopes you didn't see the blushy look on his face. Making you laugh,

Choso knew what he did before he was friends with you. He'd watch you, and scroll through your social media. Find old middle school pictures of you. Scroll through the abandoned twitter account from sophmore year of highschool.

What he was referring to was what he did before he saw you, what he did before he fell in love with you.

“I didn't think I took so much of your time-” you joked, seeing him turn back to you with a smile.

“No- that's not what I meant.” he laughed, seeing you smile at him. “I mean I don't think I have any hobbies or anything like that.” seeing your smile fall.

“Any? At all?” you furrowed your eyebrows. “Not even like regular guy stuff?” you laughed, seeing him exhale with a smile.

“What is ‘regular guy stuff’?” he turned his head seeing you laugh through your nose.

“I don’t know-” you looked away from him, looking up trying to think about it. “Video games, sports, parties, pot…” You started, looking back at him. “A partner.” seeing his face go unchanged.

“Well let's see-” he started holding five fingers in front of him, “I don't like games-” putting down his thumb, “i'm not a jock- parties are stupid- “ putting down two fingers looking over at you smiling.

“-and pot makes me anxious.” He smiled, seeing you look down to see he still had his pinkie out.

“And… ?” You smiled, seeing his eyes flicker back down to his hand.

“Nope. Not that either.” he let out, almost making you fall back against the couch in relief.

“I'd be a little concerned if you did have a partner and you were here with me-” you grinned, “It being so late and all.” seeing his eyebrows wriggle at your words.

Looking away from you to face the black tv in front of the couch, silence filling the air as his hands fiddled with each other, seeing his pointer finger pick at the already raw gash on his thumb, “You wanna watch a movie..? Or something?” you asked, trying to make him less nervous. Not knowing this would only make his heart beat faster. Seeing him nod his head yes and let out a small ‘Mhm’

Now standing in the kitchen waiting for popcorn to finish popping, leaning against the counter as he stared at you.

“Wine?” he asked, seeing you walk to a specific cupboard above the stove, “You read my mind.” You mumbled, standing on your tiptoes and opening the cabinet door.

Seeing the tips of your fingers barely reach the dark green bottle. Hearing him take a step to help you but mumbling a quick, “I got it-” with a sigh when your hand wrapped around the bottom of it. Holding it in both your hands in triumph with a smile on your face. Placing two glasses onto the counter and telling him to say when. Seeing him open the bag of popcorn and dump them into a light blue bowl, taking a sip from your glass.

“What do you wanna watch?” you asked, tossing popcorn into your mouth.

“I don't know- action?” he asked, seeing you nod your head no.

“Horror?” you asked, seeing him nod his head no quickly.

Obsessive!Choso knew that if you put a horror movie on; you'd see just how much he hated them. He knew the whole ‘watch a horror movie to comfort you when you're scared’ wouldn't work. In the end he'd be the one asking you to tell him when the scary part is over.

“Comedy?” he asked, seeing you grimace.

“So called ‘comedy’ films are never funny.” You smiled, looking up to think.

“You into superhero movies?” you asked, seeing him look down with a smirk.

“God no-” he laughed.

“Oh I know-” You smiled, making him look back up at you. “Ratatouille!” You smiled, making him laugh.

“Phenomenal movie-” he started, making you grin. “One of my-” he said, placing his hand on his chest. “Personal favorite movies.” His tone was full of sarcasm as you picked up your glass, muttering ‘Shut up-’ with a smile with the bowl in hand.

Walking back to the couch. Sitting at the end, turning the tv on and scrolling to find the streaming service. Seeing Choso eye the couch before sitting. Looking at the opposite end and over to you, looking up at his face.

“What?” you asked, seeing indecision smeared on his face.

“Nothin.” he smiled, sitting at the opposite end and feeling how tense his shoulders were. Hearing you let out a laugh before taking a sip from your glass. Placing the popcorn bowl between you, knowing you’d have to reach over quite far if you wanted to get a handful. Pressing play onto the movie and feeling his eyes flicker to you.

It didn't take long for you to pause the movie to tell him about a memory you remembered from your childhood.

Wine in hand seeing him take in every word you spoke with a smile. Soon the film became annoying background noise as you heard him speak about how the red haired guy reminded him of his brother, his glass becoming more and more empty with every time he spoke.

Telling you stories of how he would have to pry them from each other growing up, and much they'd fight with each other. Soon the tv dimmed, eventually turning off from how long it had been paused. Showing you a scar one of his brothers made on his forearm.

“Growing up- Kechizu was a biter.” He smiled, seeing you move the bowl onto the coffee table and scooch closer to him. Noticing the light veins on his arm as you scanned the scar.

“And this one?” you asked, seeing a light scratch between his knuckles, “I was trying to break up a fight- and they dragged me into it. I don't even know who scratched me. But from then on I made sure that they all had short nails.” he smiled, noticing every time you asked him about another one you'd scooch closer to him.

Now sitting a few inches away from him, smiling while you reached your fingers out, grazing the light scars that littered his upper forearm, Choso’s cheeks now light pink as he watched you.

Both wine glasses now empty as your eyes flickered up to look at him. His short sleeve rose, making you notice the bottom of a tattoo on his bicep. Sliding the tips of your fingers up slightly, pushing the hem of the sleeve up. Making a chill run down his spine.

“Did it hurt?” you asked, looking at the tattoo on his pale skin. Looking up to his face, eyes half lidded as he nodded no.

Pushing his hair behind his ears with his other hand, your eyes now scanning his heavily pierced ears.

“And your ears?” you whispered, “Those hurt a little more.” He whispered back, seeing your hand hesitate to rise to his ear before pulling it back down.

Eyes locked onto each other as Choso felt his brain empty. Moving your eyes to look at his eyebrow.

“Did the ones on your face hurt?” you whispered. Scanning his face piercings.

“Some of them.” he whispered back.

Taking his free hand and grazing the barbell on his eyebrow. “This one hurt a lot-” he mumbled, his lips curling into a small smile. Dragging the tips of his fingers down to the hoop on his nostril, “And this one felt like a pinch-” he whispered, seeing your eyes follow his unchipped nails.

Dragging his middle and ring finger down to his snake bites, “And these only hurt after.” he smiled, seeing you look at his bottom lip. Humming in response, eyes blinking back up to look into his.

“I never noticed you had a scar there.” you whispered.

Looking at two small bumps on either side of his nose bridge. “That one-” he started, “Felt like I combined every piercing and every tattoo ive ever gotten, into one.” he smiled, seeing how dilated your pupils were.

“Why’d you take it out?” you whispered, your thumb rubbing circles on his forearm made his brain fuzzy and found it difficult to think of what he was saying.

Obsessive!Choso who thought you were leaning in closer to him, thinking he was going crazy. “I didn't like it as much as I thought I would.” he breathed. Feeling his cheeks tingle at how close you were. Dragging your hand down to the top of his.

“Scary huh?” he asked, making you exhale and lean back. Nodding your head no and smile.

“Nope. Not at all.” you grinned, fingers grazing the bumps of his knuckles. Inhaling sharply when he felt your fingers brush against his palm.

“Wh-” he started, seeing you look to him with a tilted head, “Where do we meet on monday?” He asked, referring to walking you home.

Hearing you hum, “Coffee shop?” you asked, pulling your hand away from him, making his heart break.

“Okay.” he whispered sternly, trying his hardest to not sound pathetic.

Seeing you rest your hand on your knee, “Okay.” you mimicked his tone with a smile.

pt 8 here

this was like 5.5k words Jesus Christ. lmk if u wanna be tagged continuously!!!!

#jjk #choso kamo #choso my beloved #jjk choso #choso x reader #jjk x reader #choso x you #jujutsu kaisen #college au #emo choso #Non curse au #sfw jjk

467 notes · View notes

spookwyrdie · 5 months

Text

Use Your Words

sub!Seungmin x dom!reader

word count: 7.8k

summary: When a secret about your former life is revealed during a game of 'Never Have I Ever' at a house party, Seungmin has a whole identity crisis in the bathroom. He's never been submissive before…but maybe you can help him out with that.

genre: smut, college AU, gentle femdom

warnings: alcohol, adult dialogue, sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, gentle femdom, a little hurt/comfort, oral (reader receiving), bathroom sex

a/n: this is my first ever fic and I'm a big nervous baby about it!

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

Another bottle clinks onto your kitchen counter as Seungmin finishes off his third beer of the evening. He hasn’t even been in your small apartment for an hour and he’s already three drinks in, trying to submerge his foul mood with alcohol. He stands in your small kitchen, staring blankly into your living room. It’s a postage stamp of an apartment, so the few bodies that occupy it felt overwhelming with you glowing in the middle. God, she looks good, Seungmin thinks to himself and his expression sours. He couldn’t take his eyes off you if he tried - and oh, how he has tried.

Chan and Minho flank you during some sort of banter Seungmin can’t hear, but he’s aware of your every move. The way you place a hand on Chan’s arm, the way you swat at Minho’s shoulder, the way your face lights up when Felix joins the conversation - you’re so animated! The buzz in the room is charged with a comfortable charm you seem to bring with you everywhere you go. Watching you flit around the room, chatting and checking on everyone at your own party makes Seungmin feel so invisible standing here like a potted plant by your kitchen sink.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in her if you keep staring like that,” a voice whispers into his ear.

Seungmin jolts and snaps back into the present to find Changbin at his shoulder with a smirk on his face.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Changbin shrugs his thick shoulders, muscles straining against the material of his black shirt, “Staring daggers at someone at their own house party is considered a dick move, that’s all.”

“Whatever,” Seungmin mutters as he opens the fridge again to grab yet another drink. The cold of the refrigerator helps soothe the strange hot sensation he’s feeling in the pit of his stomach.

At that moment you bounce your way into the kitchen. “Everything okay? Do you guys need anything?”

“Only your presence, y/n,” Changbin grins and flutters his eyelashes at you like a princess.

“Aww, Binnie you’re so sweet!” You pinch his cheek and coo at him like a baby. Seungmin buries himself in the fridge, shielded from this exchange. The last thing he needs is to witness you being cute and touchy with the other guys in front of him - he hates it. He’s been aware of your talent for captivating anyone within 15 feet of you since he first laid eyes on you in your shared lecture hall. That day the air hummed with electricity when you got up to introduce yourself - your voice, your humor, your smile, made everything light up in Seungmin when he first saw you. It was effortless and he hated that he was drawn in so easily.

“How about you Minnie, searching for Narnia in my fridge?”

You’re suddenly next to him, gently place your hand on his shoulder as you turn all your attention to him. The warmth of your hand through his shirt sends a zing down his spine. He grabs the first bottle he sees and turns to look at you. You’re so close to him he starts to feel crowded. Your eyes are sparkling in the low warm light and the mild herbal scent of your perfume renders him mute. The weight of your eye contact presses into him, a look of delight tinged with concern on your face. There’s no way all that attention is directed towards him, yet here he is, cemented to the floor by your eyes.

Just then, the front door bursts open - thank god for the distraction. Seungmin doesn’t know how long that silence would’ve been otherwise.

“The party is finally here, y’all!” Jisung’s voice rings out. He’s got his classic smug smile on his face and a huge glass bottle of amber liquid. “I brought some whiskey, so it’s time to get down to business!”

“What sort of business did you have in mind, Ji?” you ask as you meet him at the door and drape your arm around his shoulders. Jisung beams at you, his unoccupied hand finds your waist, easily tugging you to his side.

“Obviously the party game kind, duh. Never have I ever! Y/n, we’re gonna need all the shot glasses you own,” Jisung pecks you on the forehead and you giggle. It’s enough to make all of the muscles in Seungmin’s stomach lurch.

~~~

It started off innocently enough, a couple of “never have I ever gotten a tattoo” “given a fake number to someone” “flirted with a teacher” so everyone in the room was glazed in the warmth of liquor. It had been a while since you had let yourself drink like this, and it felt nice to feel safe around everyone enough to let your guard down a little. The only sore spot was Seungmin across the room - silent, avoiding your eye contact when you refilled his glass after every time he took a drink. His cheeks were starting to get rosy under his dark hair, but he seemed a bit too sullen for your taste. You really wondered if he even enjoyed being here, maybe he was dragged along by one of the other guys.

“This is boring, I don’t need to know if any of you have ever worn your underwear two days in a row, Jeongin,” said Hyunjin. “Gross, by the way.”

“That was one time, and I didn’t have a choice, fuck off!” Jeongin spluttered next to you.

“Whatever, I wanna get to the spicy shit. Never have I everrr…” Hyunjin paused, looking around the circle with the devil in his eyes, “choked someone during sex.”

Everyone froze in place for a split second while Hyunjin scanned the room with a sly grin on his face. Damn it. You had skated by for a while now without anything kinky coming up in conversations, so it wasn’t like you needed to talk about it. Were you really about to open up about that aspect of your life with these guys? They still didn’t know you that well, you had no idea how they’d react. Taking a steadying breath, you reached for your drink - at the same time Han and Changbin grabbed theirs. All eyes were on you though as you lifted your small glass in the air to clink it with the two other degenerates taking a shot with you. Your eyes flitted nervously around the room trying to gauge the reaction. Most eyebrows were raised, Changbin smirked with his little downturned smile, Han winked at you, but the one face that you landed on was Seungmin - mouth agape, eyes glazed over, frowning off into space. Oh no… Is he judging you?

“Well, I’ve never been the one doing the choking,” Felix says, breaking your concentration on Seungmin’s gobsmacked expression. “I never pegged you as someone who’d be into that, y/n!”

“Speaking of pegging,” Minho interjected, “Never have I ever been pegged!”

A groan went around the room as Chan, Felix, Hyunjin, and Han all downed another shot.

“He always uses that one when we play, it’s unfair!” Felix pouts.

“It’s not my fault that I can tell who’s a pervert just by looking at them.”

“I want to know more about y/n and the choking thing though,” Han says, his eyes roam your body. “What other sort of stuff have you gotten into?”

“Ah-ah, that’s not how the game is played,” Chan says. “You have to say a ‘never have I ever’ if you want answers.”

“Fine! Never have I ever…gone to a BDSM club.” Han narrows his eyes as if challenging you. You cock an eyebrow at him as you grab your glass. Your old instincts kick in to emanate a cool confidence even though your heart rate skyrocketed. You may be anxious but you’re not one to back down from a silly little power play like Han was throwing out there.

You reach for the bottle to refill it, but a hand snatches it away, tilting it into your glass to fill it for you. You find Seungmin, eyes downcast, bottle in hand.

“You were gonna spill…” he mumbles.

There’s that feeling of electricity running through the room again, a low buzz that vibrates under your skin and runs down to your lower belly. Seungmin and his attitude have a way of bringing out the dominant energy you used to wield - a possessive hunger bubbles through you.

“Never have I ever done anything with rope bondage!” Hyunjin blurts out, eyes locked onto your face.

A nervous giggle escapes you again as your old lifestyle is apparently in the spotlight right now. You’re about to move to grab the bottle from Seungmin to pour yourself yet another shot but stop - Seungmin seemed really eager to do this for you. Who are you to pass up the opportunity to mess with him a little?

You make sure your eyes catch his, your gaze hooded yet intense - you tap your shot glass with your finger, gesturing for him to pour. His grip tightens around the bottle, cheeks redder than before as more of that amber liquid flows into your small cup. It’s like time slows down for a moment and you feel yourself entering that old headspace, exhilarated by being bossy and making someone squirm just by looking at them. His eyes flit back and forth between you and your drink, conflict tinges his features. He’s got a wrinkle between his eyebrows nearly hidden by his hair that you want to smooth out with your thumb. Your face feels hot as you raise the glass to your lips and toss back yet another shot.

Hyunjin lunges at you after you down your shot, grabbing your shoulders and accidentally knocking over a few empty glasses on the table, “Tell me everything! Where did you learn? What sort of rope do you use? Are you a rope top or bottom? Can you show me?!” He’s so excited, he ends up shaking your shoulders as you laugh.

“I’ve been doing it for a few years! I mostly use natural jute or hemp! And I only top!” you manage to get out between giggles.

“Oh, do we have a domme in our midst?” Changbin says, a lecherous look in his eye. The rest of the room seems to wait on edge for your reply.

“I mean, sort of. I haven’t done it in a long time, especially since I moved away from the old studio I would work at sometimes,” you sheepishly admit. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat at this admission. Opening up to people about this could go vastly different directions - either everyone would embrace it or they would cast you aside. Bringing up not only your kink experience but your history of dabbling in sex work wasn’t exactly conventional. The whiskey in your belly would soften the landing for you either way.

“Work at?”

“So like…professionally?”

“What sort of stuff did you do?”

“What kind of domme are you?!”

“Can you tie me up sometime?!”

The voices overlap and swirl around you, you’re comfortably tipsy and beaming with the new trust you feel towards this group of beautiful idiots. They’re all shouting their questions at you in rapt attention - everyone except Seungmin, who looks like he’s been slapped in the face. You hush them all with a finger to your lips.

“I was semi-professional, but like I said, I don’t really do it anymore. Things got a little…complicated at the end there. Emotionally, I mean.” you say. The boys are all fascinated by your revelation. The din of chatter swells up again and you do your best to answer all their questions. You get crowded as you laugh your way through explanations of safety, how you kept your professional and private lives separate, what sort of gear did you own. They’re rabid for answers. As the chat bounces around the circle, you look over to check on Seungmin. But between the noise and the kink jokes and the questions, there’s an empty spot in the circle.

Seungmin isn’t there.

~~~

Fuck.

Seungmin grips the edge of the sink with white knuckles. What was he even doing back there? Why did he want to pour your drinks? What are these weird feelings stirring in his stomach right now? That stupid drinking game - he’s gonna kill Han for even suggesting it. The way everyone fawned over you already made him sick to his stomach but finding out that you do all those things, have all this in depth experience with choking, bondage, domming….

Finding out that you have done all the things that Seungmin has only ever let himself dream of late at night, all those ideas about kneeling in front of someone who takes charge, he’s never felt so exposed! The way you looked at him when he poured you that drink, he felt like he was strung up and writhing in front of you like your next meal – and he liked it. He hated that he liked it. Hot tears welled up in his eyes over the fact that it was so easy for you to just unravel him like that in a matter of seconds. He had felt his cock twitch just from sitting across from you during the game and all he did was pour you a drink and look at you in silence.

He slides down the wall in your small bathroom, rubbing his eyes furiously. He wanted you so much in that moment while shame and desire curled around his ribs. A person having this much control over him makes him so nervous, and what was worse is he wanted to throw himself head first into it. The way you made him feel, the fierce concentration you had on him in those few seconds, was enough to toss himself at your feet and grovel.

He feels trapped within himself, like he’s being forced to confront what he really wants. He wants to be held, told what to do, made to cry, brought to the brink over and over again until he’s delirious. He wants to fall and know that there is someone strong enough to catch him. Putting that sort of faith in someone is terrifying.

That’s why he hates being around you. You have this way of exposing all the sensitive little things within him until he can’t ignore it anymore. Seungmin usually ignores this submissive feeling, it’s so fucking embarrassing. He knows how others would see him, so he tends to stay quiet to avoid it. Many find him intimidating given his streak for brutal honesty. The people he’s dated in the past have all been attracted to him for his sharp wit and cutting tongue. Many have wanted him to take charge and he happily obliged them at the time - at the cost of his own desires. If he didn’t bring them up then he wouldn’t feel vulnerable - problem solved, right? But all that has come tumbling down because of you and your eye contact. It’s like you melt all his icy defenses with just your gaze. He can’t imagine what it would be like to actually have you towering over him, directing him, binding him. It’s almost too overwhelming to consider. Even thinking about this, he feels himself growing hard at the thought of you being in control.

Watching you have the time of your life with the group has a way of making Seungmin so small. You’re the newest addition to this dynamic and he doesn’t know how to place you yet, so he keeps you at a comfortable arm's length. His defensiveness has gotten more pronounced lately and it’s starting to fuck with his friendships with the other guys. His jokes have gotten a little meaner, his tone has come out a little too harsh. He can’t keep feeling bitter because you’re so sweet with them, but he’s filled with vivid envy any time you so much as look at one of them.

These past few months he’s watched you seep into his solid circle of friends, naturally slotting yourself firmly in as a charmer in the group. Seungmin has been watching you as you get closer with the other guys, openly affectionate, doting on them, giving attention freely to any of them that asks. You show your care to the others so easily and Seungmin feels forgotten. To you, he’s just an afterthought. Tears prick at his eyes yet again as he buries his head in his arms.

A knock on the door shakes him out of his spiral.

~~~

The chaos of your domme confession has ebbed. You sneak out of the living room as the boys got distracted by other things - Chan and Changbin hover in the corner over the music selection, Hyunjin showing Felix and Jeongin pictures he’s saved on his phone of shibari suspensions, Han leaning on Minho’s shoulder as they bicker about who’s cuter in a drunken affection war. You tip-toe your way to the hallway and knock on the bathroom door that’s been closed for a while now.

“You okay Minnie?”

You don’t get an answer, but you hear some shuffling noises, so you try again. “Are you in there? Can I come in?”

After a pause, you hear a muffled “yeah” in response. You slide into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind you. Seungmin is sitting on the floor, knees drawn up towards his chest, staring off into the distance. You step over to him, gingerly placing your hand on his head, stroking his hair lightly.

“Feeling alright? You look like shit.”

He jerks his head away from your touch, his face crumpling into a frown.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“You’re not fine, you’ve been in here for ages. Did you get sick?”

“No, just needed to splash some water on my face,” he says, not looking in your direction.

“Me and the guys miss you out there.”

He scoffs “you and the guys? Yeah, of course. Always you and the guys.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! Forget it. I’m being stupid,” His voice trembles. “Just leave me alone, y/n.”

He doesn’t move and you kneel down beside him.

“I brought you some water.”

“Don’t want it.”

You sigh, annoyed by the pout that’s on his face. “Come on, baby. You can either tell me what’s wrong or drink this water. Which do you choose?”

He says nothing, only shrugging his shoulders.

“You’ve been crying.”

Silence.

“You should always drink some water after you cry. You’ll get dehydrated if you don’t.”

He turns towards you then, defiance infused in his gaze.

“Make me.”

Make me.

It’s like a trigger word for a sleeper agent. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, fueled by the alcohol still thrumming through your system. You uncap the water bottle and cautiously grab his chin. You pause, eyes locked on his, giving him ample time to push your hand away, to deny you. Instead, he gives you the smallest nod. Your thumb grazes over his bottom lip as you lift his chin and bring the bottle to his lips. Your other hand snakes to the back of his head, gently grasping the hair at his nape. Tilting his head back, his eyes burn through you as he sips the cold water. He blinks back the tears in his wide eyes as his face tinges pink. Seungmin slowly leans into the hand cupping his jaw. He leans his head forward slightly when he’s done. Your thumb ghosts over the wet spot on his lip and he sighs.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“I just…-” he starts, as a tear slips down his cheek. “I just wish you liked me like you like them. It’s fine that you don’t, I know I’m…not easy to be around.”

Confusion sets in as you tenderly wipe the tears from his face, both hands cupping his face like handling something fragile.

“That’s not true, I like you, Minnie.”

“You don’t have to lie to me. I see the way you look at them.”

You frown at that. “What way do I look at them?”

“Like you enjoy being around them.”

“I enjoy being around you, too. I bet you’d enjoy me more if you let me in a little.” Your hands leave his face, trailing down his arms to grasp at his hands, almost pleading. The desire to be close to him has always been there. With his soft hair, sharp eyes, his acerbic sense of humor, how could you not? But any time he looks at you, he goes blank. You’ve been in his orbit for long enough to know how to encompass him, but you don’t know how to close the distance between the two of you.

But something happened tonight, something made him get up and leave while you were being bombarded by questions about your past. Was it all the talk about kink that made him run?

It’s quiet for a moment. He studies your hands as you gently run your thumbs over his knuckles. You break the silence with the only question on your mind.

“What made you leave earlier?”

~~~

He never imagined how soft your hands would be on his. The little circles you were rubbing over his knuckles could drive him insane. Holding your hands like this gives him a great excuse not to look into your eyes, because when he had done it earlier and you said all those nice things about him to his face, his brain short circuited. You have him tethered by the hands, the one thing keeping him grounded while the rest of him floats out of his body.

“I-” he croaks out, but he couldn’t get the words to form. He doesn’t even know what to say. Images of you as a domme - his domme - spin around in his head. You just told him that you enjoyed being around him and he was supposed to be normal about that? Guilt drips into his stomach at that, knowing how he has pushed you away every chance he got to protect himself. But here you are, checking in on him, doting on him, holding his hands even when he has offered you nothing but a cold shoulder for so long. The silence stretches out the longer he lets his thoughts spiral.

You start to move, to pull away, and panic roars to life in his chest. You are finally so close to him, he can’t let that go! He snatches your fingers, pulling you back down towards him. “Wait! Don’t go yet!”

Your expression flows from surprise to confusion to…wary? He can’t let you leave. Your voice is a low murmur, and your eyes drop to your entwined fingers.

“Be honest with me Minnie… Does the domme thing scare you?”

“No!” he blurts out. “I mean, it doesn’t scare me in the way you think.”

“How does it scare you then?” Terse and authoritative, your demeanor shifts in an instant. “Elaborate.”

Seungmin feels like his chest is about to burst open. He has two choices. He can either cover up his desires and hide them like he’s done for so long - push you away, and continue being miserable in the familiar way he has gotten so used to. Or, he can crack his shell for you, open up, do a trust fall and hope you catch him.

He decides to fall.

“It scared me because it’s something I’ve wanted for so long. I’ve been scared to talk to anyone about it.”

“Wanted what? Use your words.”

The dam inside him finally bursts.

“I want to… I want to let someone else be in charge. I want somebody to tell me what to do, hold me down, fuck me, make me cry, tie me up, ANYTHING! I want to be praised, I want to be punished, I want it all! Finding out you have a past with that scared me because you’re already so beautiful, it’s intimidating. I’ve been watching you for so long and knowing now that you are a domme means I can’t... I can’t-” he chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. A blush stains his cheeks, this confession burning through his entire body.

“Can’t what?” Your voice is softer now, almost a purr. He finds you so close when he opens his eyes, he’d only have to lean up a little bit to kiss you. He starts to move towards your lips, but you pull back at the last second before he’s able to connect. You place two fingers on his chin and tenderly push him back. “Use. Your. Words.”

“I can’t ignore how you make me feel.”

~~~

You want to devour him. He looks so pathetic in the exact way you love a man to look beneath you. His nose and cheeks are pink, his eyes are wet and bright, and he looks so desperate for you. If this is how riled up you can get him without even touching him, imagine what it must be like when he’s tied down and overstimulated. You want to see him messier than he is now, begging for it. You want to see if his cock gets as red as his crying face does when he’s been edged for an hour or two. Even now, he’s leaning up towards you, hungry for a kiss - you hover just out of the way. That’s something that he’ll have to earn.

“So, you want to submit to me?” you croon at him. “You want me to take control, make all the decisions?”

He nods with his big wet eyes. Your hand slowly slides from his chin to the back of his head, cradling for a sweet moment before you grip onto his hair and give a quick tug. The moan that drops out of his mouth when his jaw slackens from your grasp is melodic. “What did I say about using your words?”

“Y-yes please,” he stutters out. Your eyes appraise him, slowly raking over his form. You see the outline of his cock straining against the denim of his jeans.

Your feelings are beating around inside your chest erratically. You haven’t indulged in your dominant disposition in such a long time, it shakes through you. The way your body reacts to him as you steer his movements speeds up your heart rate. Does he know how much you want this and how nervous you are? He’s obviously turned on, sure. But you’ve both been drinking, and this is the longest direct conversation you’ve ever had with him.

Wait…. Is he making fun of you? You’ve watched him mess with the other guys, he’s a natural at playing the long game when it comes to the way he fucks with them. Sometimes his jokes leave a sting for others that’s hard to see coming.

Abruptly, you lean back, disconnecting your body from his completely. He whines at the loss of you and your warmth, a panic stricken look on his face.

“I haven’t done that in a long time, Seungmin. I don’t take this lightly and I don’t do this with just anyone. If this is a joke, tell me now.” You stand and try to calm the nerves roiling through you.

He scrambles to his knees, catching your wrist. “N-no! Y/n, I’ve wanted this for so long.” He looks up frantically at you, grasping at you fiercely. “I would do anything for you to show me what being a submissive is really like…”

You stare down at him, on his knees in front of you, a wide eyed yearning painted on his face. You hold his cheek again, thumb grazing over his skin as his eyes flutter closed. His lips slightly parted, he sighs into the touch. Kneeling, he’s like a sinner accepting salvation merely by your hand holding his face. A silent devotion blossoms on his face in this moment of intimacy.

You revel in him like this, trying to burn this image into your memory. Your thumb trails over his lips, barely making contact. He turns tentatively, mouth open, and envelops your thumb in the warmth of his mouth. Rooted to the very spot, a sensual weight blooms in you, settling somewhere deep in between your thighs. His hands clutch the backs of your legs as his eyes open and find yours, eager but careful. You gasp as you feel him draw your thumb further in, sucking it into the hot velvet of his mouth, rolling his tongue around it. His eyes lock on yours, molten desire jolts down your body, heating you up from the inside. You feel like a live wire, glowing. He’s open for the taking, a gift of service and sacrifice waiting for you to grasp. His eyes narrow in a wicked grin, watching how he affects you.

Mine.

The thought slams through you as your thumb curls into his cheek, hooking the flesh there and gently stretching his mouth open to one side, exposing the edge of his teeth. From here, your thumb slides back into his mouth further. This subtle gesture of control - a sort of test to see how you two mesh. To your delight, Seungmin is happy to oblige, taking the digit in as far as he can into his mouth, laving his tongue on the pad on your thumb. His hands start to roam around your lower body, traveling up from your thighs and around to rest directly beneath your ass. You realize in this position that his mouth is at the exact same height as your cunt, and you clench at the thought of his tongue on you.

“Wait - before we do anything, do you know the stoplight system?”

He nods vigorously.

“Yeth,” he says, remembering to use his words with your thumb still in his mouth.

“Good.” You pop your thumb from his mouth and cradle his face in your hand. You lean into him and whisper against his lips, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, y/n,” he pants. “I trust you.”

You hang there, poised above him, listening to his little whine of impatience. Watching him struggle to control himself is a marvel, you feel him start to grip your legs tighter. Those big sparkling wet eyes bore into you - you almost miss what he whispers.

“Please, y/n-”

~~~

Physically, he’s on his knees, face in your hand, captivated by how your simple gestures have him on the edge so quickly. He hasn’t gotten hard this quickly in years, he can feel his heartbeat throb between his legs. You haven’t even kissed him yet! Mentally, he is on fire, all his thoughts are both screaming and silent at the same time. You are the one thing keeping him in his body, so he feels every touch tenfold, every pull, every breath. The way you’re suspended above him now has him holding his breath, anticipating your next move. He’s never been so nervous and so ready for the unknown.

Your lips collide with his, a tidal wave of feeling, sensual, overwhelming. Your lips are soft yet demanding, your hand in his hair guiding his head to the position you want it. There’s an ebb and flow between you two. He matches your speed, your movements, your direction. He gets lost in the feeling, letting his body react to yours, falling into that trust naturally. You’re so good at coaxing the little noises out of him that normally he’d be embarrassed by - the kind of noises that would make him clamp his hand over his mouth when he’s all alone with his fantasies. He feels himself rocking his hips back and forth, rutting against nothing, seeking any sort of friction.

The material of your jeans slips under his fingers as his hands begin to move around your form again, trying to learn your shape. They come to rest on your waistband, hooking his fingers under to drag them down. Your hands find his, pulling them together in front of him. “If you want my pants off, you have to do it with no hands.”

Seungmin clenches his fists and places them on the tops of his thighs, determined to keep them there. You straighten above him, hands in his hair, raking your fingers against his scalp. His shudders and his head lolls back, absolutely drunk on the bliss of your fingers. He snaps forward when he realizes there’s something he wants more - he wants you on his face, in his mouth, coming undone on his tongue.

His mouth finds the button on your jeans, teeth and tongue fumbling to undo it. After a few attempts and one savage tug, the metal button clacks against his teeth, free from its holding. He’s quick to find the zipper next, biting down and dragging slowly, grunting with effort. This is much harder than he thought, especially without the help of his hands. The zipper finally hits the bottom, and your waistband loosens.

One of your belt loops is the best way he can think of to pull off the main obstacle separating him from what he wants. He grabs it with his teeth and tries to tug it down, but the position he sits in makes it difficult. He tries a few more times, determined to get your pants off with his teeth, growling with frustration. You chuckle above him, watching him struggle.

“Here, let me help,” you say, and you slide your jeans down your thighs at an excruciatingly slow pace. Seungmin trembles watching you, transfixed by your black panties. After you finally step out of your jeans and toss them to the side, you stand in front of him again. He automatically leans forward, wanting nothing more than to bury his face between your thighs.

You place a hand on his forehead, forcing him to sit still. He whines, pressing against your hand and you laugh. Your hand trails down to his chin and you lift his face up as you swoop down for another long kiss. This one is sweeter, Seungmin can feel it wash over his whole body, all the way down to his toes. When you straighten this time, he leans forward cautiously, waiting for your command. You look down at him expectantly, and he closes the distance between his face and your cunt.

At first, he just sits there, running his nose through the arousal that’s seeped through your panties. He’s elated to find you dripping, just as turned on as he is from all of this. He feels his cock jump in his pants, and it rubs against the seam of his jeans. Mouthing over your clothed cunt is ecstasy, Seungmin’s eyes roll to the back of his head at a taste of your essence. He can’t take it anymore, his instincts take over and he hugs your thighs. His body lifts you up as he turns to press you against the bathroom wall, his face never leaving your center. You squeak at the surprise of being handled in this way so suddenly, Seungmin is worried he messed up. He flicks his eyes up to meet yours and you’ve got a tongue in cheek grin on your face.

“I’ll allow it this time, Minnie, but you’ll pay for that,” you lovingly threaten. He smirks up at you from between your legs.

~~~

You are caught between the wall and Seungmin, making a mental note of his sudden bratty turn. He looks up at you from below, pure euphoria on his face, before clawing at the elastic of your panties, yanking them down and tearing them slightly. You swat him on the arm.

“Whoops,” he says, not a speck of apology in his voice.

“You’re going to have to replace those, they were some of my fav- '' but your words are cut off as he dives into your bare pussy, tongue first. This man doesn’t give you a chance to finish what you were saying - you couldn’t form a coherent sentence if you tried. The sharp tongue that he has in his conversations can be put to use in other ways given the way he’s stroking over your clit with fervor.

His hands on your hips press you back into the wall. You whimper, urging him on as your hand grips his hair again and you rest more of your weight on his face. He looks up at you, locking eyes with you as his hand reaches behind one of your legs to lift it over his shoulder. At this angle, he gets better leverage, swirling his tongue over your clit, dipping down to your entrance to gather more of your wetness, and you start to feel an orgasm build in your lower belly. You grind into his face, sliding your cunt over his mouth, bucking your hips as the coil tightens. He cants his hips up, chasing any friction that his suffocated cock can find in his jeans, and he groans into your pussy. The vibrations of his groan resonate through the very center of you.

You cry out as your orgasm snaps through you, the electric jolt making your muscles convulse as you ride Seungmin’s face. His eyes shoot open in shock, fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he moans into your cunt, his hips stuttering beneath you. He’s relentless as you ride out your high on his tongue, pulling your body towards him and scrunching up his eyes as his whines reverberate into you. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking and pushing his head away, too sensitive for any more or you’ll pass out.

Breathless, you carefully lift your leg down from his shoulder and lean back against the wall, an exhausted smile plastered on your lips. After catching your breath, you look down.

Seungmin has his head in his hands. He looks so defeated and you drop to your knees at once, panic pounding in your chest. He’s doubled over, hands twisting up in his hair in distress.

“Minnie, what’s happening? Talk to me,” you keep your voice level like you learned, even though you have dread creeping into your stomach. Did you go too hard on him? Is he regretting this? Oh god, did you push him to do something he didn’t want to do? A million thoughts whizz around in your head as your anxiety builds.

“I-” he sniffles, looking up at you slowly, red in the face and eyes welling up. “I came.”

The bathroom is filled with a silent confusion for a split second before you say, “You came? From eating me out?”

“I came in my pants like a fucking teenager! You didn’t even touch me!” His embarrassment is crashing through him. You gently take his hands in yours and wait until he looks at you.

“Aw, baby, that’s okay,” you push a strand of his hair out of his eyes. “Actually, I think that’s really hot to be honest.”

“Huh?” He looks dumbfounded. “You… think it’s hot?”

“I mean, yeah. You were so riled up that going down on me and grinding against your jeans was enough to get you off?” You grin, a flirty edge in your voice. “You must really like me.”

“Oh my god…” he groans.

You pull him towards you and kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He melts into you, soothed a little by your response even though his face is still bright red. You are glowing with the knowledge that he was so turned on that you riding his face overwhelmed him so much that he couldn’t stop himself from cumming right in his jeans, pride swells in your chest.

“I think you should stay the night. We’ll sleep and then talk tomorrow.”

Seungmin nods, still sniffling a little.

“I’m gonna go kick the other guys out. You stay here and get cleaned up.”

After disposing of your ripped panties and putting your jeans back on, you quietly head back out to the living room. All heads turn towards you with amused looks, waiting with bated breath.

“Hey guys, Seungmin isn’t feeling very good, so he’s going to stay the night here. Basically, the party is over,” you can’t hide your blush as you feel every gaze take in your fucked out appearance. Your hair is a mess, your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are a little too bright for a normal conversation.

“I don’t know, Minnie sounded like he was feeling pretty good there a few minutes ago,” Changbin says with a smug smile.

“Yeah, and it didn’t sound like he was the only one either,” Han leers at you, looking you up and down.

“Fucking FINALLY,” says Felix. “I couldn’t stand how mopey he was getting about you. I’m glad you banged it out in the bathroom.”

You’ve learned over the years to keep some composure when it comes to these kinds of situations, but your jaw still drops at Felix’s blunt comment. It’s also nice to know that Seungmin’s been thinking about you for a while. You grin sheepishly at the boys, hushing them up and gesturing to leave.

They all start to stand and gather up their stuff, quietly snickering about what they heard.

“Y/n, you gotta tell me…” Hyunjin comes up to you to whisper, “who was it that was making the most noise in there? Someone was having the time of their life, was it you or him?”

You smack him lightly on the arm and laugh. “Get the fuck out of my house, Hyunjin,” you say, and toss a wink at him for good measure.

Everyone says their goodbyes and pokes a little more fun at you. They’re all good natured and maybe you’ll spill about it later, but first you have to go take care of the fragile man sitting in your bathroom.

~~~

Seungmin has never felt so happy and so awful at the same time. This was a night of firsts for him - first submissive experience, first time having someone ride his face like that, first time cumming in his pants as a full grown adult. He’s never been wound that tight during any sort of sex before, which is throwing him through a loop. The strange shame bubbling in his blood right now from premature ejaculation is hard to bear right now. What’s even more confusing is your reaction to it. You look genuinely flattered by it. He was expecting you to degrade him (not in the sexy way) and kick him out. His head was still swimming with a little inebriation, but he felt solid in all the decisions he made tonight, especially making you lose control on his face like you did. The sense of pride from that swells in his chest as the shame takes a back seat.

He focuses on cleaning himself up for the time being. Once he hears the rest of the guys shuffle out of your apartment, he sneaks out of your bathroom and into your bedroom. It, like the rest of your place, is pretty small but comfortable. You have a queen bed in the middle of the room and there’s a nice cozy vibe to your decor.

You knock lightly on the door before coming in.

“Hey,” you murmur. Seungmin can sense your nerves by the way you’re standing in your own doorway.

“Hey,” he replies.

After a moment, you close the distance between you and Seungmin, grabbing his hands and looking up into his eyes shyly. The way you’ve switched from controlling, sexy domme to bashful and quiet makes Seungmin swoon a little. It’s nice to know that he’s not the only one reeling from your encounter and he wants to stay by you as long as you’ll let him.

You interrupt his dreamy gaze. “I have an extra pair of shorts that will probably fit you, if you’d like.”

“Huh? Oh, yes please.”

“I can also throw your clothes in the wash, if you wanted to stay over.”

He nods, not able to string more than a few words together in your presence at the moment. After he changes, he sits on your bed, waiting for you to come back and the anxiety begins to creep back in. Maybe you’re just being nice, trying to let him down easy after this one-time thing. Maybe you’re trying to cover up the fact that you actually find it embarrassing that he’s so sensitive he couldn’t control himself. He doesn’t notice when you sneak back into the room, his eyes are glued to the floor while his thoughts bounce around the place.

You sneak up on him slowly as you move to stand in front of him as he looks up at you. Subtly, you shift to stand between his legs, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. His arms wrap around your middle gently, almost politely. You search his face, gaze darting back and forth between his eyes since he’s so close.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” you say in a soft voice.

Seungmin feels warmer with you so close, wrapped up in you and your scent. He tilts his head back, revealing the smooth column of his neck as he looks away. “You made me feel so good without even touching me, but the fact that it happened so fast is still mortifying.” Fuck, he can feel tears pricking in his eyes again.

“Sweetie, look at me.” You say it with such soft authority that he can’t help but meet your eyes. “I loved making you feel good, regardless of how and when. You made me feel amazing too. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Your hands travel up to card through his hair, his eyes fluttering closed. “If it’s something you’re worried about, we can always work on your stamina next time.”

His eyes open again, a renewed hope blazing in them. “Next time? There’s gonna be a next time?

You smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “We can have as many ‘next times’ as you want.”

His heart thuds in his chest as his brain catches up to what you’re implying. He leans up and captures your lips. You deepen the kiss, tongue sliding along his as your hand grips onto the back of his neck. His back finds the mattress as you lean over him, caging him in with your arms. Seungmin’s hands roam around your body, trying to learn your shape. When his hands rest your ass with a light squeeze, you slowly roll off of him.

“For now, let’s just sleep. We can talk tomorrow about what we need for next time.” You pull him towards your body, snuggling close, hand drifting up his shirt possessively. He shivers at your touch and melts into your embrace. He drifts off with you enveloping him, physically and emotionally, and dreams of what next time will be like.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n #stray kids #seungmin #seungmin smut #he's not even my bias but i couldn't get this out of my head tbh

226 notes · View notes

floodkiss · 11 months

Text

Say "NO" to Genocide - Call, email, mail your reps (Canada)

Me and my friend spent some time today writing letters to the House of Commons, plus we have been calling MPs daily. I haven't seen too many resources for this floating around on tumblr, so here's a lengthy guide on how to do this plus some sample scripts! Long post ahead since I think it will be most helpful to dump everything in one spot to reference. On desktop, use CTR F/CMD F to search for the topic -> Phone / Email / Letter Mail / Contacts / Demands / Scripts / Fax

Update 1 - Nov 23: Updated emails with "mailto" hyperlinks, edited demands, added fax section, added scotiabank pres fax number.

On the PHONE / General Tips

Introduce yourself and identify yourself as a constituent by providing your postal code or address.

Ask to speak to the MP directly, but do not be surprised if you must speak to the MP’s staff instead. Staff can help move your issue forward.

Give the reason for your call and explain your concern.

Focus on one or two main concerns per phone call. Do not unload on the MP or their staff with all of your political concerns at one time.

Ask clear and pointed questions that require some explanation.

Ask for a commitment to action.

KEEP IN MIND Tips for Calling MPs:

Tell the MP that this issue will matter to you in the next election.

Avoid revealing party affiliation or sympathies. If you show that your vote is already cast for a certain party, the MP may not have the incentive to respond to your requests.

Be as brief as possible while outlining concerns. Show that you respect their time.

Remain calm and respectful in dialogue. Be willing to work with them.

Follow up: Find out what actions were taken as a result of your call, and respond appropriately.

(Source: CPJ.ca)

CJPME Call Tool - Fill in the form, there will be suggested talking point. The tool will call your phone and then patch you through to your MP. If voicemail, state your concerns in 30 seconds. No address input will default you to call Foreign Affairs Minister Melanie Joly.

Be sure you sign your email with your name and mailing address so they know you are a part of their riding.

You will most likely receive a PR-type response or no response at all, but please still send these. It disrupts operations, and it still contributes to pressuring your MP to act on behalf of your riding.

LETTER MAIL

Mail may be sent postage-free to any member of Parliament at the House of Commons address. You just need to use an MP's full title if they are Cabinet members. Cabinet mebers have "The Honourable" attached to their names.

Postcards are efficient in that they are small pieces of card stock and can be a short message plus demands, no need to get use envelopes.

The Right Honourable Justin Trudeau House of Commons Ottawa, Ontario, Canada K1A 0A6

CONTACTS

Find your MP - ourcommons.ca - Contact the MP of your riding, any of the contacts below, as well as any cabinet members in your city or province.

Prime Minister (613) 992-4211 / [email protected] *FAX: 613-941-6900 /*If faxes are closed at the House of Commons line, try their local offices! (See below under "FAX" for fax guide!)

Deputy Prime Minister - Chrystia Freeland (613) 992-5254 / [email protected] FAX: 416-928-2377

Minister of Foreign Affairs - Mélanie Joly (613) 992-0983 / [email protected] FAX: 613-992-1932

Minister of International Development - Ahmed Hussein (613) 995-0777 / [email protected] FAX: 613-995-0777

Minister of National Defence - Bill Blair (416) 261-8613 / [email protected] FAX: 416-261-5286

Canada-Israel Interparliamentary Group (CAIL) Stéphane Bergeron (*he's not a chair or vice chair of this group, but i want to warn that stephane WILL argue with you, so call after hours if you are scared of confrontation 😭☠️) (450) 922-2562 / [email protected] Anthony House-father (Chair) (514) 283-0171 / [email protected] Randall Garrison (VC) (250) 405-6550 / [email protected] Marty Morantz (VC) (204) 984-6432 / [email protected] The Honourable Ya’ara Saks (VC) (416) 638-3700 / [email protected]

Embassy of Israel (613)567-6450 / FAX: 613-750-7555

DEMANDS

Summarized from resistance groups such as H/mas, H/zbollah, PFLP (Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine), DFLP (Marxist Democratic Front got the Liberation of Palestine), CJPME (Canadians for justice and peace in the middle east), and other anti-war, anti-imperialist, IRL Palestinians.

Canada needs to...

Call an immediate PERMANENT ceasefire to end bloodshed

Send humanitarian aid to Gaza.

Institute embargo on all military exports to Israel

Close the embassies, and sanction Israel diplomatically and economically.

SCRIPTS

Use these as scripts for calling, emailing, and mailing. I suggest adding some of your own sentences and changing the subject lines (for email) so they don't end up in spam.

Example from Canada: Stop Arming Israel - World BEYOND War

As we mourn the thousands of people in Israel and Palestine who have been killed in the past few weeks we refuse to stand by and allow the only true winners in war — the weapons manufacturers — to continue to arm and profit off of it.

Canada exported over $21 million in military goods to Israel in 2022, including over $3 million in bombs, torpedoes, missiles, and other explosives. - 2022 Exports of Military Goods

Weapons companies across Canada are making a fortune off of the carnage in Gaza and the occupation of Palestine.

This is a call to action. It's time to stop letting these weapons companies profit off of the massacre of thousands of Palestinians. Find a location near you, get friends and allies together, and interrupt their business as usual to demand they stop selling arms and military technology to Israel.

Send an urgent message to demand Canada stop arming Israel and push for an immediate ceasefire to your Member of Parliament, the Prime Minister, and the Ministers of Foreign Affairs, International Trade, and Defense.

Dear [recipient's full name goes here], We are witnessing genocidal violence playing out in Gaza right now. Thousands of Palestinians have been killed, nearly half of them children. With a blockade on water, electricity, fuel and food, a quarter of all buildings razed to the ground, and over a million people displaced, UN experts have denounced Israel's actions as crimes against humanity. Meanwhile, weapons companies across Canada are arming -- and making a fortune off of -- the carnage in Gaza and the massacre of thousands of Palestinians by selling weapons and military technology to Israel. I am calling on you to do two things: to take immediate action to institute an arms embargo on Israel and to ensure Canada pushes for de-escalation and a ceasefire in Gaza. Sincerely,

Script Sample 2 from Palestinian Youth Movement

^This will open up a pre-written email in your chosen email app or site. Fill in the recipient line with the emails of MPs you wish to contact.

Script Sample 3 from CJPME's Email Campaign

^Complete the form to send an email to Prime Minister Trudeau, your local MP, and the leaders of the NDP, Convervatives and Greens. Canada must OPPOSE A SECOND NAKBA and dispossession of the Palestinians in Gaza by pushing for a ceasefire.

Script Sample 3 for mail:

(a mix of mine and a friend's)

I am writing to ask you to take immediate action to stop the genocide Israel is committing against Palestinians in Gaza as well as the onslaught of those in West Bank.

There is blockade on food, water, electricity, fuel, and the use of internationally banned white phosphorus to exterminate Palestinians. Aid is not able to enter Gaza because of this blockade. UN experts have named Israel’s actions as genocide citing numerous war crimes they continually commit.

While over 10k civilians have been martyr’d (4.2k of which are children), Canada has not even been able to NAME such crimes as genocide or call for an official ceasefire. This is not enough.

Canada needs to:

Call an immediate ceasefire to end bloodshed

Send humanitarian aid to Gaza.

Institute embargo on all military exports to Israel

Close the embassies, and sanction Israel diplomatically and economically.

FAX (NEW!)

Using faxzero.com is simple, just follow up the steps on the website. No fax machine required! Tell officials your demands and customize your letter by noting their complicity based on their role as a politician or gov official. Or keep it brief and simple, in large legible letters.

Demands could include:

That you are a “Canadian” constituent That you are demanding an IMMEDIATE AND PERMANENT CEASEFIRE IN GAZA; That you demand a total withdrawal of financial (taxpayer) and commercial support and arms for continued occupation in Israel’s 70+ year occupation in Palestine; That it is shameful that [X] is choosing not to speak up for the deaths of more than 11,000 Palestinians, half of whom are children and thousands of others displaced; That Palestinians like all people, deserve life, dignity and justice; That Israel is breaking multiple international laws daily and Canada MUST meet its international commitment to promote and defend human rights under the Geneva Convention; That not putting these actions in place will harm constituents and undo acts of reconciliation with Indigenous peoples and other marginalized communities in Canada by not protecting the Indigenous peoples of Palestine; That unless there is concrete and everlasting action taken place, that there will be no peace until Palestine is free, and subsequently that you will not be voting for them (if applicable) in the next election.

Sign off with your name, address and postal code (if applicable, furthering that you are a resident on the stolen Indigenous lands otherwise known as “Canada”) Extended fax list: Scott thomson (president of scotiabank) - 416-866-5929 joe biden / whitehouse - 202-456-2461

(source: @/harlo.gif on IG)

#canadian politics #palestine #canada #canada stop arming israel

514 notes · View notes

attapullman · 6 months

Text

Stupid White Car | Neighbor!Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Pretty trees and cozy fire pit nights are all you expected when Robert mentioned wanting to landscape his backyard. And then the architect in the slutty white Benz shows up.

Word Count: 810

Warnings: none except sorry if your name is Alyssa 😬

A Note From Mo: The world's biggest shoutout to my favourite Bradshaw Baddie @roosterforme for coming up with this delicious idea and beta-ing this sake-written, jealousy-fueled oneshot for the neighbor!Bob anthology. Hope this satisfies everyone's appetite until Part III graces your screens.

The project was supposed to be done a week ago. No more white Mercedes in his driveway, no more lemonade on the back patio, no more mulch deliveries outside business hours. No more her.

When Robert announced he was finally landscaping his boring grass lawn while on leave, you had encouraged him. Dreams of sitting out there with him by a fire pit under some string lights danced before your eyes. But now you’re wishing he had kept his patchy lawn that turned into a mud pit at the slightest chance of rain.

Then she showed up.

You were working in your home office, deep into a spreadsheet, when you heard a female voice in the yard next door. Face pressed into the window, turning just so, a tiny postage stamp of his yard visible from your vantage point. Your sweet boyfriend walking around his desolate lawn, pointing out problems, while the most stunning woman followed him, smiling and nodding and jotting down notes.

It should be illegal for him to look so good in faded jeans with grass stains. Or for her to pull off work boots so well.

You missed your three o’clock meeting observing them from your hideout, having moved to the laundry room where you could see his yard better. Watched them sit at the little finicky table he needed to replace and go over pages in her catalog, pointing out the design features he liked and what she recommended.

You didn’t know words like drip irrigation and concept plan could sound so…intimate.

Now it’s been weeks, and that annoying little car is always in his driveway. When she’s not “supervising” the subcontractor, she’s delivering supplies or needing to go over the plans one last time. The 15th has come and gone, and yet she’s still here. And you’re not sure whether it’s your imagination or not that her blouses suddenly have one less button done.

It’s a beautiful spring day outside, and you wish you were out there instead of holed up trying to make sense of this budget. The window is open to allow a soft breeze, tickling the skin not covered by your thin tshirt. An hour ago you shot Robert a text asking if he wanted to have dinner out tonight, try out that new bistro with the cute patio and enjoy the sunshine and some tiramisu.

Maybe add in an evening walk along the beach? Ending with a night cap and him wrapped in your overstuffed comforter, enjoying his last night of leave blissfully unaware of the rest of the world.

Checking your quiet phone again, you settle down to your computer. And then you hear a perfect twinkle of a laugh.

You abandon your computer and race down to the laundry, face pressed against the glass as emerald green jealousy licks along your skin.

No wonder you haven’t heard from Robert, his full attention is on his landscape architect as she has him choose between gravels for the stepping stones they’re finally installing. He’s brought out lemonade. Innocent blue eyes trained on her and laughing good-naturedly as she makes a joke about mortar. A joke a little too sultry for your taste.

You didn’t even hear her car pull in. When you talked to him last night he acted like all decisions had been made, one more full day of work and his backyard would be summer ready. It’s not a surprise she has weaseled herself into another visit.

Their hands accidentally brush as they flip between sample pages. Your entire being is rigid, the world in front of you an ominous red. How dare she touch what’s yours!

Before reasoning can interfere, you’re slipping on sandals and racing to the back fence. Pupils wild, heart racing, the green-eyed monster hot on your heels.

The latch on his fence, newly installed, nearly pulverized in your jealousy-fueled mission. The gate swings open and there they sit, too close for your liking, her manicured fingers gliding along his forearm as she explains costs.

Robert stands from his chair, shock and surprise written all over his face. He’s never seen this look in your eyes, this possession written all over your features. The woman raises her eyebrows to you, mildly shocked, mildly irritated you’ve interrupted her meeting with her favorite client.

“Alyssa, this is my, uh, neighbor next door…” he trails off awkwardly, realizing he’s never had to introduce you since that fateful night in your kitchen.

You see her smirk. Her revealing blouse. Her eyes that pity you. And from the corner of your eye, you see that stupid white Mercedes.

Rounding the rickety table, Robert’s eyes are filled with nothing but affection. A gentle reminder that she’s had his time, but you have his heart.

Your shoulders relax, returning her smug smile as you complete his sentence. “Neighbor…and girlfriend.”

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @erospecies @hangmanapologist @hauntedduckdefendor @hiireadstuff @himbos-on-ice @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @livingoutsidethetardis @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @melsunshine @midnightmagpiemama @petersunderoos96 @pinkdaisies9285 @primroseluna @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @sydsommersss @topherwrites @unpretty-reader @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

join the taglist for any fic

#neighbor!bob #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd fic #bob floyd fic #top gun: maverick fic #bob floyd fan fiction #robert bob floyd fan fiction #top gun: maverick fan fiction

253 notes · View notes

fuck-customers · 7 months

Note

"I bought this ball of embroidery floss online and it's tiny! I wanted it to be bigger!"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but the specifications and yardage are in the product description. You can return it if it isn't used but the refund for a $5 item likely won't cover your return postage."

"This isn't enough I want bigger balls!"

"We don't have any other size put-up for that brand unfortunately, that's all we carry."

"Do you have bigger ones? This is tiny!"

"... no, we don't, I'm sorry."

"Do they make bigger balls?"

"I don't know, all I know is that if they do we don't carry it."

"Where can I get bigger balls of this?"

"... I don't know, I only know what we carry."

"This is a ripoff! This ball is tiny!"

"It's three times the yardage of a usual skein of embroidery floss ma'am, and the yardage is clearly listed in the product description."

"How many yards are in the bigger ball?"

"... this is the only size we carry, we don't have a bigger ball."

"OK well I won't be shopping with YOU again!"

*click*

Me staring at the phone: I'm trying to decide if I would rather have responded "good!" or "please say you want bigger balls one more time"

Posted by admin Rodney.

226 notes · View notes

emeritusemeritus · 9 months

Text

No Good Deed. [George Weasley x Reader]

Title: No Good Deed. Part 1.

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. Tags will be updated with each chapter.

"How dare they! It's all I have left of him! I've already lost him once and now I have to lose him all over again?!"

You'd never seen George so angry as he stepped into the office, kicking a cardboard restore box under the table that stored this quarter's paperwork in sheer frustration. He tugged off his tie and ran his fingers through his flame red hair, trying to calm himself, his face downcast despite his anger. You silently stood in the doorway of the office, just observing him, not quite knowing what to say or how to comfort him after what had happened earlier that day in the meeting you'd both attended.

"Mr Weasley, there is one final notion on the mandate which must be discussed," the balding, sour-faced man says from the other side of the table, briefly looking up from his typed paperwork as he strains his neck once again, a habit you'd noticed him doing frequently during your hour long meeting which was thankfully coming to a close.

You'd accompanied George to a meeting with his investors in London, notetaking for him and assisting him with the figures that the investors required to see periodically throughout the year as per their contract. You'd always had an affinity for bookkeeping and had found your skills utilised upon employment at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes just after you left Hogwarts, immediately taken onboard by your childhood best friends Fred and George Weasley.

After Fred's death and the end of the war, funds had been low due to the long store closure despite their best efforts at an owl postage service and once George was ready to reopen the shop, he had needed to take on investors in order to get the money to replenish products and reopen the store, giving them shares in the company and the overall profits. Fortunately, the business had immediately boomed once again when the store reopened, only increasing in popularity and therefore profit when Hogwarts reopened and Diagon Alley bloomed with old and new shops opening seemingly every day. The investors were largely silent, providing money without any input to the business, proud to be associated with the more popular store in Diagon Alley, at least until today.

"It has come to our attention that you are providing services under a false pretence which we must discuss," another man says, much harder in his expression.

Your eyes flick to George who looks rightly offended and confused at the vague notion, seeing him shift in his seat somewhat uncomfortably.

"As there are no longer two of you, the name 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' is redundant, incorrect and therefore unmarketable as it stands. We propose that changes must be made to change the name to 'Weasley's', moving the apostrophe so that it denotes the true ownership. Mr Weasley, you have 30 days to make the necessary change or else our shares will be pulled and we will no longer be investing in your business."

The meeting had come to an abrupt end as the investors exited, leaving you with a seething George who had surprisingly held it together until you both apparated to the outside of the shop. You'd struggled to keep up with George as he bounded up the stairs towards the office, completely ignoring Ron and a few regular customers who had greeted him. You shot them apologetic smiles, wordlessly trying to excuse his uncharacteristic behaviour as you followed him to the office.

He threw down his jacket onto your chair as you entered behind him and immediately began tugging at his tie in frustration.

"I can't change the name! It was always me and Fred, I've already lost him once I can't lose him again, not like this," his tone was no longer filled with anger or rage but rather deep sadness and heartbreak at the thought. You closed your eyes for a moment, unable to watch any longer as his words hit you like a freight train, the pain overwhelming you not only at the mention of Fred but of George's evident sadness.

You hear him throw himself down into his chair and you open your eyes again to see him looking completely defeated as he clearly plays out his options in his mind to prevent this from happening.

"Ginny's about to become a Potter, Bill and Charlie aren't in the bloody country, Percy's… well, Percy and Ron can't join in as a co-owner, the deeds are in mine and Fred's name. Six, well, five siblings and not one of them can help. Unless there's a way of bringing Fred back through the bloody veil, which I've exhausted all options in my bloody mind believe me, then I'm fucked. Everything Fred and I built is ruined."

You watch as his long fingers run over his face, rubbing his eyes which you suspect are brimming with unshed tears judging by his emotion filled voice.

Your words flew out of you before you could even comprehend what you were saying, surprising even yourself for a moment.

"I'll marry you."

George looks utterly astounded by your words as his eyes shoot up to yours, confusion evident over every single one of his features as your words sink in.

"Eh?" His brief reply conveys every inch of perplexity that his features show and at any other time the look on his face would have made you double over with laughter.

"Angel, I don't think now's the time," he says with a gentle frown, clearly treading carefully with his words despite his confusion. You fight to get the words out to explain yourself, knowing that somewhere before your unexpected outburst there was solid reasoning in your mind.

"You need another Weasley and the only way you can override the shared deed is by entitlement, like by marriage," you say, moving forward to stand in front of him before taking a seat on his wooden desk. Your leg brushes against his as you hop up and you don't miss how his eyes briefly flicker to the point where your legs touched just for a second.

"I've seen it with my parents, when my mum and dad divorced she was entitled to the interest of his business as a matrimonial asset. We'd have to check if there's a time limit on that but with Fred gone, it's the only way you'd be able to get another shareholder in his place."

You were trying to keep your explanation simple, pulling from your firsthand experience in similar matters but as you fought to explain yourself, you found yourself rambling a little under George's intense gaze.

"If we got married you wouldn't have to change the name, I'd take your name and we'd both be Weasley by law, cancelling out their demands. You'd have to put me on the business documents but we could draw up some sort of contract that doesn't actually entitle me to any money or profit from the business, but they don't need to know that."

Your words hang in the air for a few moments, tense silence lingering between you as your words replay over and over in your mind, wondering if you'd gone too far and made things too awkward.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," George says quietly, averting his eyes.

"Georgie I'd do it for you without a second thought, it might be the only way you could keep the business exactly as it is," you say, reaching out to touch his shoulder, trying to urge him to listen to you.

He fell silent again for a few more tense moments and you could see the conflict on his face as he considered his options, allowing your proposal to sink in. He's quiet again when he replies and if anything he looks a little timid as he speaks.

"But you and Fred," he weakly argues, his words making your stomach lurch painfully. You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. You hadn't considered this part, the mental and emotional conflict of your proposal. You and Fred had been something throughout your later school years and a little while after, but had never wanted to make anything official, a secret shared between you both that never allowed you to commit to each other.

"Are in the past," you unwillingly admit with a sad sigh, "Fred's gone, it's taken me a really long time to mostly accept it, but if this means keeping his memory alive just as it is then I'd do anything, for him and for you."

Things were a little awkward for a couple of days following your outburst and each time you saw or crossed paths with George you inwardly cringed. You'd shut yourself in the office most of the time, trying only to see him before store opening and packing up and rushing off just before close, ensuring you wouldn't have to spend any prolonged time together.

"I know you're avoiding me," A familiar voice behind you says as you gather your bag and mug off the desk just before the end of the day, 3 days after your outburst. You turn slowly and see him leaning on the door frame with a little knowing smirk on his face, though his eyes look sad. You bite your lip, knowing you'd been caught out and flick your eyes to your bag, to the clock on the wall and then back to George, not really knowing how to respond.

"It's okay, I understand," he says, taking a slow step into the office, "but there's no need to feel awkward, not with me, I don't take it personally that you regret offering."

"I don't regret it," you reply quickly with a frown, effectively cutting him off. Your words make his eyebrows shoot you a little in surprise, or maybe it was the conviction in your voice that surprised him. "I've been avoiding you because it's been painfully awkward to offer yourself like that and be rejected."

"I didn't reject you," he replies quickly but with a gentle tone, now cutting you off. Your eyes widen a little at the quickness of the reply and you can't help but look into his eyes, seeing his tongue poke out and wet his lip as he looks nervously back at you.

You both look at each other for a moment as a little tense silence falls and you both breathe out a chuckle at the awkwardness in the room.

"So to make it clear, I could still marry you?" He asks, walking forwards towards you.

"I think the agreement was that I'd marry you," you teased, smirk tugging at your lips which earned you a roll of his eyes. "But yes," you said, now with a more serious and honest tone. "My offer to get married is still very much open, for the sake of the business."

He stands before you and you crane your neck upwards towards his familiar height and there's an intimacy that passes between you both that had never existed before as you look at each other, communicating only with your eyes.

"Then I accept your proposal," George says, taking your hand mockingly and you gasp at him, pulling your hand away to smack his arm lightly.

"I didn't propose to you!"

"That's not what I'm going to tell our grandkids," he jokes, pulling you into a hug. You can't deny that even though his words were mocking, your tummy did a little nervous and excited flip at his words.

"Thank you, so much," he says as you pull apart, completely serious as he looks at you with such intensity if makes your knees a little weak. "This means so much to me."

"And me."

It was Saturday night and you'd invited George around to your flat after work, to talk over your agreement. You'd opened a bottle of wine and ordered a takeaway, a benefit of living in muggle London that you loved, and started writing out some plans to your agreement as you both sat on the sofa beside eachother, the coffee table littered with notebooks and paper.

"We should move in together, make it believable," George says, taking a sip of his wine. You look at him in surprise, not having expected those words to fall from his lips.

"Who are we trying to convince?" You ask, a little confused at how deep this was going.

"Oh yeah, right," he says, looking away, taking another sip of wine. You immediately felt a little bad seeing his apparent negative reaction to your words and considered his idea for a moment, thinking of the implications.

"Unless the investors ask for character references," you said, picking up your own glass. "I suppose it's possible, we'd have to tell your family wouldn't we."

George nods slowly, on the same wavelength as you.

"Would your family be able to lie if they were questioned?" You ask, looking up at George.

George snorts into his glass and shakes his head in reply, "About hiding Harry, yeah, about this? No way."

"Then we'll have to convince your family that we're actually married," you say, feeling a little uneasy at the thought of lying to the family you cared very deeply for. George made a vague noise of agreement and placed his empty glass down onto the coaster on the coffee table, smoothing the creases in his trousers out with his long fingers.

"How long would we have to be married for?" George asks with a frown and you can't help but feel a little stab in your chest at his words, as silly as it was.

"Oh I don't know, until the investors drop the demand? Or maybe get new investors?" You ask, placing a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen into your face. George watches your every move and you can't help but stare back at him, seeing him paying close attention to you.

"How far away would we be from being able to do away with the investors? Business is good right, maybe I could cash in their shares and become sole owner," he says, flicking his eyes down to your work bag by the door, knowing that there's his accounting documents in there.

"Good idea," you say, placing down your glass and moving over to reach for your bag. You begin calculating the investors shares against the profits of the business and try and work out a timeline for how long it would take for George to earn the money to buy out the investors, assuming business stayed as good as it was now.

"Looks like two years, based on the projections," you say, placing down your pen. "If business stays at the rate it is, you'd be clear from all investors in just under two years."

"Is that, is that okay with you?" George says, looking up into your eyes, his voice suddenly quieter and a little more timid.

You smile at him and nod in reply, genuinely okay with that. "What about you?"

"Of course," he smiles, chuckling to himself a little as he picks at the tweed of his trousers, "you're doing me the biggest favour imaginable, I have the easy deal."

"You have to be married to me, I'd say that's not easy," you tease, picking up your glass and drinking the last sip of wine left.

"I don't know, I can think of many worse things than being married to you," he says with a grin, reaching out to refill both of your glasses. Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest as you bite back a smile.

"I have to admit," George says, handing you back your glass, "I feel as if I'm treading on Fred's toes a little, he'd probably be conspiring to turn my eyebrows purple if he knew I was stealing his woman, that or he'd shave them off whilst I slept," he says with a laugh. You chuckle, picturing the scene in your mind but it doesn't stop the little pang of sadness running through you. You wanted to tell George the whole truth but you couldn't, especially not now and so you simply allowed yourself to laugh and took another sip of wine.

"He'd understand," you say, perhaps a little quietly as you try to tell yourself that it was the truth, trying to justify your actions in your mind. George makes a sound of agreement and just as his glass reaches his lips, the buzzer rings out alerting you that the food had arrived.

"So, we have to convince your family that we're getting married, without dating beforehand?" You say, both of you still chatting as you eat your Chinese food. At this point you were feeling a little buzzed from the wine and everything felt a little easier to get out, the hesitation and trepidation of your words no longer bothering you.

"Good point, though we've always been really close so I don't think they'd think it was too out of the ordinary," George says, taking a huge bite of fried rice. "Did anyone know about you and Fred?"

"I don't think so," you replied, thinking of all the time you'd spent at the Burrow and of each family member, "I think Ginny had her suspicions but she never asked me about it. Thank god you were identical, we could always lie and say it was you if anyone did notice something," you chuckled, earning an enthusiastic laugh from George.

"How do we explain the divorce though?" You asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence, your thoughts drifting into all possible outcomes. "I don't want to lose your family because I become your horrible ex-wife," you say, feeling sad about the potential of that.

"You'd never be horrible, not to me and not to them," George says, reaching out to touch your hand. "We could always say we were just better off as friends? That marriage was too constricting for both of us? That way no ones to blame."

"Yeah that could work," you say, feeling a weird sense of sadness at the concept of divorcing George.

"On a serious note though," he says, temporarily placing down his cutlery as he looks at you, his eyes staring intensely into yours. "If you don't want to do this, I completely understand. It's asking too much of you and I'm very aware of that. It would mean no open dating or seeing anyone else until everything was over," he says carefully. You hadn't really considered that but it was a price you were willing to pay. The fact that George had said no open dating had made you feel a little off, knowing he intended to still date even though you were married, which of course was normal in the circumstances but it still made you feel a little funny.

"You'd still want to date?" You asked, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them, immediately mentally cursing the wine you'd drank that had apparently released your filter.

"Merlin no," he says with a little self deprecating chuckle, "I meant for you."

"I don't want to," you said, perhaps a little too quickly as it earned you a confused flicker of a look from George. "I mean, everyone would think I was cheating on you and I couldn't do that, not to you."

He seems to understand as he nods his head, once again picking up his fork and loading it up with the food.

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," he says, with a determination in his voice that seemed to settle your anxious thoughts. "So, I suppose we really should move in together."

Taglist Requests

@that-lame-ghoul9000

@sleepiemocha

@wtvbabes

@the-mrs-malik-styles

@cedslover

@ghostlytv

@nerdymesss

@costheticbabe

@cliffburtonscig

@lildrunkjkk

@levylovegood

@jewelsrules

@jphxnix

@asuperconfusedgirl

@staceys-moms-thighs

@nighttimewrites

@egghasnoleg

@angelrioter

@comicgollum20

@moonieseyelash

@marisimps

@xslashers

@70s-chic

@shadyunknowncreation

@jimmywoosimp

@soulessfictionaddict

@twistedlaces1909

@in-the-middle-of-the-sadness

@rk-ceres

@kisses4fred

@apolloleprince

@slytherinambitious

@screamingoverfiction

@rhunew

@tomhockstetter7-111

@hagridshaircare

@ellouisa17

@fonderaura

@murderisfunlol

@satansdarlin

@smartoneamia

@victorylr

@nanamisfootrest

@nulixity

@03michi01

@hjpbiggestdrider

@wzardweasley

@catarinemirandax

@moon-shu

@bob1234567908

@tommysaxes

@hayleygray08

@skivingsnackbox

@slashersimpshadow

@smholbrook

@bbybunnyxxx

@thatonepersonwhocantwrite

@heyareyoulistening

@buskuitsssss

@now-that-we-dontalk

@xluanstuff

@lunacurlclaw

@jelloangela

@distortedfrog888

@justromaaa

@maeganme

@havenater1920

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #george weasley masterlist #George Weasley #George Weasley x you #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley smut

402 notes · View notes