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jaeyunnz · 29 days ago

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"Work Break Seduction."

ni-ki + f¡reader — ♡ 18+

WARNINGS — dom!ni-ki, sub¡reader, dirty talk, making out, cussing, rough sex, riki eats out reader, unprotected sex (stay safe dont do it.) pet names.

both characters are of age. (20+) not proofread, sorry if theres any errors. this is quite long but worth the read i promise!

Reader recently went into a new college and grew a school crush on Riki. Though he plays hard to get, your able to break his nonchalant demeanour.

Note : Riki was mostly requested, so enjoy. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Your parents recently moved to a different town, which meant transferring to a new college. It wasn’t as bad as you expected, though you didn’t really know anyone there—but that was fine. At least your childhood friend, Jess, was with you.

A few weeks passed, and you found yourself constantly drawn to a boy—Riki. Girls flocked to him, yet he always brushed them off or rejected their advances. No one seemed to know much about him. He was distant, only ever seen around small groups. But that only made him more intriguing. The mystery surrounding him pulled you in, making you want to learn more about him.

The problem? He avoided everyone—including you. The only times you ever spoke were during school projects, and even then, the conversations were brief or short talk.

This morning, once again, you found yourself paired with Riki. It didn’t bother you as much, but you could tell he wasn’t thrilled about the idea. “Alright, your partners have been chosen. Get to work, project’s due in two days,” the teacher announced. You scanned the room for Riki, and then your eyes landed on him. He was leaning back in his chair, his posture casual and almost lazy. You knew you had to make the first move and approach him, or he’d likely ignore you the entire time.

You hated that you always had to be the one to approach him—it made you feel almost desperate. Yet, here you were, getting up and walking toward him. He watched as you pulled out your chair and sat down beside him. “Hi,” you said, glancing at him for a brief moment. He responded with a small nod, his usual way of acknowledging you.

You settle into the seat, trying to ignore the awkwardness that always seemed to hang between you two. The silence stretched for a moment, neither of you making any effort to start the project. You glance at him, but he’s already looking at his phone, clearly disinterested. Then, you let out a soft sigh, wishing he’d at least pretend to care. Finally deciding to break the silence. “So, uh… how do you want to split this up?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

He shrugs without looking up. “You can do whatever,” he mutters. You bite back a small frustration. Damn, you knew he wasn’t one for much conversation, but it always felt like pulling teeth to get him to participate. Yet, there was something about his indifference that kept you intrigued, even if it was maddening. “I guess I’ll start with the research,” you say, hoping for a bit more input. He doesn’t respond, but you take that as your cue to begin.

The next hour passes in relative silence, except for the occasional rustling of papers and the tapping of his phone. You focus on your work, trying not to pay attention to how he barely acknowledges your presence. Though you’re starting to get irritated by how you’re doing all the work while he’s just sitting there—eyes glued to his phone, doing nothing at all, you can’t bring yourself to get truly mad. Not when he looks this… handsome.

Should you try to start another conversation, hoping he might actually respond? You really wanted to get to know him better, maybe even get him to show a little interest in you, too. Fuck it, might as well, you really like him. "Prom is coming soon, you going out with anyone?" Thats the first thing that came to mind, it was a bit personal, but your curious. Maybe you can shoot your shot?

He finally lifts his head up from his phone, placing it on the desk and locks eyecontact with you. "Nah. Not interested in that typa stuff." For the first time, he actually seemed engaged, and it left you a little thrown off balance. "Why not?" You say, he gives you a shrug. "Why are you asking anyway?" He raises an eyebrow, your slightly taken by surprise when he asks, trying to make yourself sound less interested. "I'm just trying to conversate with you, I mean your quiet as fuck."

He lets out a deep, small chuckle that sounds rich, causing you to snap your eyes at him. Shit, he's really talking to you? "Yeah, well you could've asked me anything," he taps the desk with his fingertips, "But that was apparently the first thing that came to mind?" He rests his arm over the head of the chair, scanning your body for a moment which causes a small faint redness appear on your cheeks. "A bit bold of you, I'll give you credit for that."

You slightly roll your eyes, "How was that bold? I simply asked if you had a prom date or not." He finally sits up straight in his seat, running his hand through his short black hair which catches your attention. "Really?" He chuckles a bit, looking around the classroom.

You raise your eyebrow in slight confusion before he meets your gaze again, "C'mon now. You don't think i've noticed you staring at me?" Your eyes widen, he leans in closer and suddenly your heart starts to pound unbelievably fast. "Every single time we have a class together, I see you." his cold fingertips trails up your thigh, "Your into me? Aren't you? I mean thats why you asked me such a question." Your body freezes, shivers running down your spine.

How the fuck did he know?

"Thats not..." unable to finish your sentence with his hand making contact with your thigh. "Not true?" He says, his hands creeping down to pull your chair closer to him, the both of your knees brushing against eachother. His eyes dart down to your lips, a teasing smirk appearing on his face. Before you can say anything, the bell rings, interrupting the intense moment.

"We can uhm... finish this project later?" He leans back against his chair, acting totally careless about what just happened between you two. "Meet me at lunch." Is all he says before leaving the room. You know your face is beet red, but you dont even wanna see how you look right now. So then you start putting away the paper work into your bag, packing your stuff as he leaves the room, not looking back at you once. For a moment you just stand in the now empty class with a blank mind, trying to process everything that happened.

At lunch, you find yourself sitting at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria, just as he asked. Your heart races a little, unsure of what to expect. You glance around, half-expecting him to bail, but then you spot him walking toward you, looking as casual as ever.

"Hey," Riki says, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes briefly meet yours before he looks down at the table. "Hi," you reply, trying to sound casual even though your nerves are on edge. There’s a moment of silence between you two, the kind that always seemed to stretch on forever. You want to fill it with something, but words feel like they’re just out of reach.

Finally, he speaks again. "So, what’s your deal?" You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” He shrugs, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a split second before looking away again. "Like, why are you always tryna talk to me. You barely know me." His bluntness takes you by surprise, but somehow it doesn’t feel as cold as you thought it would. It’s almost… honest.

You take a deep breath. "I don’t know. You’re just different, you know? It’s hard to ignore." He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "I'll take that as a compliment I guess."

"I mean yeah, like you’re this whole mystery. I just want to figure you out." For a second, he looks like he’s about to say something, but instead, he leans back in his seat, his gaze lingering on you a little longer. You feel like he’s reading you, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s trying to figure you out too. Then, without warning, he leans forward, closing the space between you. His hand brushes against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

"Well," he says, voice low, "maybe you’ll find out soon." Before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours. It’s sudden, soft at first, but the intensity quickly builds, and everything else fades away. The warmth of his mouth against yours leaves you breathless, and for a moment, everything feels completely different, like this is where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls away, you’re left dazed, trying to catch your breath. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a hint of something—something you can’t quite place. "You okay?" he asks, his voice a little rough. You nod, still in shock, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah. I think I’m more than okay." You bite your lower lip slightly, blushing profusely.

You both sit there for a moment, the air thick with tension and a thousand unspoken words. Your heart is still racing, but now, it's not from nerves. It's from the overwhelming feeling that something has shifted between you two. He doesn't move away, instead, his eyes search yours, almost like he's waiting for something.

Your mind is swirling, but your body seems to take over, leaning in closer, lips barely brushing against his. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his presence pulling you in with a force you can't resist. Without thinking, you kiss him again— this time deeper, more urgent. His hand finds its way to your cheek, his thumb gently grazing the skin as he pulls you in, his other hand sliding to your waist. Your heart hammers in your chest as he kisses you back with a hunger you didn't expect.

It's nothing like the first kiss-this one is raw, a mix of desire and need. You feel his fingers trace the line of your jaw, his touch almost desperate, and it sends a rush of heat through you. Your hands instinctively find his shirt, tugging him closer, as if you can't get enough of him.

His lips move with yours, more demanding now, and you match his intensity, breathless and wanting more. You can't explain it, but everything about him feels right-how he holds you, how his lips mold against yours, like this was always meant to happen. His hand slides down your back, pulling you even closer, and you can feel the heat building between you two. The kiss deepens, and everything else disappears-there's only him, only this moment.

When Riki pulls away, both of you are panting, eyes locked, faces inches apart. "You sure about this?" he asks, his voice husky. You nod, trusting your voice.

You're sure. You want this. You want him.

Without saying another word, he tilts his head toward a washroom near by the cafeteria. Afterall you both can't do anything with people around, so that was the only option. You get up, your heart beating even faster as he follows behind you. He pushes you into one of the stalls, locking it behind you.

He slowly turns around, pushing your back against the wall and his lips are on yours again, and this time, it feels like the beginning of something that neither of you can pull away from. The kiss continues, deepening with each passing second. His hands move, exploring, pulling you closer as if he can't get enough of you either. The way he holds you makes everything else fade into the background-the noise of the cafeteria, the people walking by the washroom, it all feels distant and irrelevant.

You feel his breath against your lips, a slight tremor in his touch as his fingers trace the curve of your back. Your own hands slide into his hair, fingers threading through the strands as you pull him in even closer, wanting more of him. You can taste the faint trace of mint on his breath, and it only makes you crave him more.

Riki slowly pulls away from the kiss, the both of you breathless. Finally his hand slides down your thigh, inching under your skirt. "Can I?" He grunts out as you nod at him almost instantly. "Starting to think you've wanted this for a while now," he chuckles, slipping his hands underneath your skirt and groping your ass, a small moan escaping your lips. "S-shut up will you?" He smirks, his lips trail down, leaving wet kisses down your neck.

You press your lips tightly together, glaring at him playfully. You can't help but feel a surge of need. It's like you're both fighting the same battle, giving in to something that's been building up for weeks. Suddenly you find your hand guiding his further up your skirt.

Riki doesn't hesitate, immediately shoving your hand aside and tearing your panties apart with his hands. He gets down on his knees and buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking at your dripping folds without warning like a starved man. Your eyes roll back to the back of your head, looking down at him in slight surprise. "Fuck, you're so wet." He growls against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs.

He groans as he feels your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your delicious moans spurring him on. He alternates between long, teasing licks and quick flicks against your clit, savoring your sweet taste. His hands squeeze your ass, pulling you harder against his face. "F...fuck ah mmph.." Your back arches against the wall, clawing at it slightly as you try to keep quiet, not wanting anyone to hear.

He hooks his arms around your legs and throws them over his shoulders, opening you up even wider. He laps his tongue greedily around your clit, determined to make you come on his face before he allows himself to enter you. "Mmh." He groans against your pussy, your body shaking slightly from the vibration. "A-ah Riki..." The stall gets filled up with slurping sounds along with your quiet desperate moans.

He slightly pulls back, looking up at you with half closed eyes. Your breathing heavily, sweat dripping down your forehead. "Riki or daddy?" He licks his lower lip slightly, smirking a bit as he sees your widened eyes. "I..I am not calling you that weirdo." He tilts his head back, "Hey hey, it was just a suggestion."

"I'll think... about it." You whisper embarrassed, turning a light shade of red when he lets out a quiet chuckle. "Thats my good girl." Your legs slightly tremble at the name, butterflies forming in your stomach before he spreads your legs wider, feasting on your pussy like it's his last meal. He growls against your cunt when you reach down to grip his hair. Your about to reach your climax and he knows it.

"I-I'm gonna-" you whine out, the sound echoes around the empty washroom. Riki snaps his mouth against your clit, sucking hard. "Come on my face, baby." His tongue laps up your juices, going fast and hard against your sensitive nub. "Give it to me." His words are more than enough for you to reach your high, finding yourself cumming all over his face, your thighs shaking violently while you try your hardest not to scream from the pleasure.

He feels your body convulse with your climax. He spreads your legs wider, pushing them back almost painfully, allowing him deeper access. His tongue goes wild, licking and sucking every last bit of your juice. He growls softly against your pussy before pulling back, licking your release off his lips. You suck in a moan, looking down at him.

Riki's cock is aching against his jeans, begging to be free. "P-please." He hears your soft beg. He unbuckles his belt slowly, eyes darkening. "Do you want my dick?" His voice is deep, seeing you slowly nod your head. He pushes his pants and boxers down in one swift motion, freeing his throbbing cock. He strokes himself slowly, letting you admire his impressive size. A droplet of precum pearls at the tip as he grunts. You stare intently, gulping at his length, "You're..."

He steps forward, turning you around and lifting your ass up, rubbing the head against your sensitive entrance. "Yeah? Think you can take it?" His voice is thick with desire as he pushes the tip just slightly inside you, a loud gasp escaping your mouth. "So far for being quiet." Riki says teasingly as you glare up at him playfully, swallowing hard. "I-I'm trying my hardest," He chuckles while pushing in slightly more, filling you with just the tip. "Am I too big?" He grunts, your hands going up to grip his shoulders tightly.

"I-I can take it.." you whimper out. "You sure?" He feeds you another inch, making you wince slightly. He watches your face closely. "Tsk, you're only halfway there." He pulls back slightly then pushes in another inch, hitting a new spot inside you which causes your mouth to open wide. "You really can take my whole dick? Don't wanna hurt you." His voice drops lower.

You just nod, desperation taking over you. "Good girl." He praises darkly, then grips your hips tightly and slams his hips forward, impaling you completely on his massive length. For a second, your vision gets blurry, the pleasure overwhelming. "Fuck!" He roars as he bottoms out inside you, gripping on your hips tightly. You let out a loud straining moan before hearing someone walk into the washroom.

The both of you freeze, and Riki doesn't move inside you just yet. Your slightly panicking but he doesn't seem to care because he begins to grind his hips slowly, letting you feel every inch of him. Your mouth opens wide, but he quickly covers it with his hand, leaning down and whispers against your ear, "That pussy just swallowed every inch of my cock like such a good girl." His hands grip your thighs roughly, pulling you open wider. You swallow hard, whimpering against his palm. "Shh, don't wanna get caught do you?"

Finally that person seems to leave — and Riki's hand leaves your mouth. His thick shaft drags in and out of your tight, soaked pussy at a brutal pace. Each thrust makes you wince and whimper, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. He pounds into you relentlessly, the sound of his skin slapping against your ass filling the room. "F-fuck ah.. Riki-" You roll your eyes back, your mind becoming blank.

He can feel your gentle scratches against his back as he pounds into you, his hands tightening on your thighs. "Fuck, baby. This what you wanted? My dick destroying your insides?" You nod, opening your mouth to speak but words come out as moans instead. He pulls your hips further up to get deeper inside you. He leans forward, his mouth finding yours in a harsh, bruising kiss as he continues to rut into you.

He groans loudly into the kiss as he feels your pussy clench tightly around his throbbing shaft before breaking the kiss, panting heavily. "Shit, you're squeezing me so fucking tight." He adjusts his angle, deliberately targeting your G-spot with every powerful thrust.

Your trying to grip on the walls, but your fingers slip. "G-gonna cum..." His eyes darken with lust at your words, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. "Cum for me, baby. Milk my dick with that tight cunt." He reaches down and circles his thumb over your clit, applying pressure in time with his thrusts.

And with that, He feels your release bathe his length, making him groan loudly. Your pussy pulses around him tightly, almost painfully. He pumps into you erratically, losing his rhythm. He lowers his head and watches as your fluids coat his shaft, making it glide easily in and out of your body.

He pants heavily, finally unleashing his pent up load deep inside of your wet cunt. Your back arches against him as he does so, the both of you letting out loud moans from the feeling. Then he pulls out slowly, his cock glistening with your juices. "Fuck." He holds your waist and you tremble, putting your whole body weight on him since your struggling to stand.

The bathroom stall feels too small now, the air thick with the weight of what just happened. You’re both still breathing heavily, and there’s a quiet, almost uncomfortable stillness between you.

He leans back against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to process everything. You do the same, your mind racing a little. It’s strange how quickly things shifted, how in the span of just a few minutes, everything between you changed. You glance over at him. He’s still looking at you, his eyes soft, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You’re both just sitting there in the aftermath, unsure of what to say next.

"So… that happened," you murmur, trying to break the silence. He lets out a small laugh, but it’s low, more to himself than anything. “Yeah. Guess it did.” His voice sounds different now, less guarded, but there’s still that underlying tension. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or nervous. A mix of both. "I didn’t expect it to happen like this, especially here." He looks around the cramped stall, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Neither did I. But… it’s not the worst place, I guess."

You roll your eyes, half-smiling. “So… what now?” you ask, the question hanging in the air between you. He pauses, clearly thinking it over. Finally, he looks at you, his gaze steady. "I don’t know. But I don’t want it to be a one-time thing." You can’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through you. "Neither do I."

💘: thank you so much for all your support on my storiesss!! i didnt expect anyone to like them, so thank youu!!!🥹💕💕 ill get to the rest of the requests soon, im currently busy w school so itll take some time, thanks for your patience🫶

#enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #niki smut #niki x reader #enhypen fanfic #niki hard hours #niki hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #niki fanfic

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mygnolia · 6 months ago

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YOU MAKE ME GO CRAZY OVER YOU !!

୨୧ -› hey, that boy over there..isn't he the most popular student athlete on campus? how did you two meet, anyway?

pair -› jock/athlete! enhypen x fem! reader | wc -› 3.5k (700 per member) | no warnings! | library

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ LEE HEESEUNG

im gonna sigh dreamily when i say he’s most DEF basketball captain.

yes ik i wrote about this in wrong number i dont CARE i will say it with my whole chest

DORK DORK DORK but cute dork with lethal face card. smirks after making yet another basket and winks at you

age old question how tf did yall meet!!!

you pass by the gym and some guy on the way stops to talk to you

like “hey i know you from somewhere”

“yes heeseung we were partners from a project two weeks ago how do you not remember..”

he’s embarrassed asf especially because he remembers a lot of people’s names

after that he wants to be in your good graces and be friends

totally not because he remembered how you did a lot of the work for said project no complaints!!

and he doesn’t want you to rat him out to the teacher… or tell other people he’s not friendly

‘hey y/n, come to my game? i’ll do better if you’re there :)”

you go only because you needed to complete an assignment while you were there at school anyways

but sometimes you’d see him laughing with his friends, or how serious he is on court and woah, heeseung looks cool for once

you wait for him after because you figured he needed you for something

“awh, you wanted for me?” “i could be doing much better things.” “awh, come on y/n let’s get some ice cream! my treat since we get to spend time together”

he’s annoying but you let him tag around because he doesn’t bother you LOL

more under the cut!

drags you along when he practices alone so he can have some company

you like the company and the white noise too

you definitely doubt if he likes you because he is SUCH A FLIRT but no he DOES! he writes a confession on a basketball and ‘misses’ so you can catch it

you pass it back without seeing the message

but heeseung keeps missing and it almost hits you on the head and you’re like ‘dude you SUCK hello??” he says ‘oh lol maybe it’s the ball” byee why was he smooth with it!!!!

you check the message and roll your eyes

“if i make this you have to kiss me” you tell him and you’re about to shoot but he picks you up and brings you right next o the next to let you throw it in and then kisses u!!!!

not to be like oh im writing an smau on basketball captain heeseung but.. *tucks hair behind ear*

most definitely tries to be mysterious and cool when you’re dating

dribbles in front of you, trick shots, runs up to you when you’re alone, gives you one kiss between ever basket he makes

teaches you how to play!!!!

ABSOLUTELY lights up when someones mentions you when you two date

“oh yeah my partner in math is ___”

“omg ___?? the love of my life ___??”

you lowk have to drag him away i fear

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ PARK JONGSEONG

baseball captain *faints*

enhypen x mariners and him speaking in english…so you want me DECEASED

baseball captain jay and you who attends his games because jake aka ur friend on the team knows you have nothing better to do

“i bet you won’t make it even to five games before buying cotton candy” jake says because you have a MASSIVE sweet tooth

you tried really hard because $15 and a burger was on the line

and you kept coming because…well there was a cute captain who always knew how to rally his teammates and get them excited

also great sportsmanship and was super friendly to everyone!

definitely got mad when the umpire makes a wrong call

sharp reaction times. EVEN SHARPER JAW.

of course you stared! of course you were not paying attention to whatever jake was saying about his test after their game..how could you when jay was doing his lopsided smile as his friend pats him on the shoulder from ten feet away??

one time you come early because they’re practicing on the field and you see jay and jake passing to each other

jay just so effortlessly throwing the ball…oh my god

he’s just so perfect and jake cheers from the sidelines because he knows his captain pays attention to every single person who has stepped foot on the baseball field iNCLUDING YOU

you come up to jake after the fourth game, showing him you still had your $5 and your tongue wasn’t stained with any blue or pink

jay comes over, arm thrown around jake’s shoulder as he waves and smiles to you

dark hair with a twinge of sweat as he runs a hand through it, pulling it back to place on his cap

JAY IN A BASEBALL CAP *faints again*

he walks you out to the parking lot and asks what the $5 in your pocket is for because he keeps seeing you pull it out

you explain your whole bet to him and he nods

next game. before it starts. he gets you cotton candy and makes sure it gets to you somehow

you smile and you’re all giddy when you eat it because there’s a p.j. on the cap and he’s just so cute

jake doesn’t say anything he already knows it’s happening between you two.

jay finally writes on a baseball and tells you to catch, and it says ‘let’s date’ and you grab a sharpie and scribble ‘kiss me first’

OH YEAH HE WALKS OVER AND KISSES YOU.

soon every game instead of cotton candy it’s his baseball cap when it’s sunny, his jacket when you’re cold, baseballs with notes on them, and roses for his girlfriend aka youuuuu

jay is such a romantic and he is not afraid to show it

he orders custom jerseys that say jay/n on the back with the day you got together!!!!!

BEST BOYFRIEND EVERRRRRR

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ SIM JAEYUN

rugby player jake but he has dark long hair let that settle in

campus flirt campus playboy but in reality he doesn’t go on dates and nothing really happens past the smiles, he’s just super popular

you are also pretty well known! a little flirty but super sweet and your charm and how expressive and open you are with other people is what people like!

and he sees you cheering with your friend who he remembers is dating someone from the team

rugby has no gear so he just runs like no tomorrow

smiling in the sun or determined stare as he talks to his team, you never know

he yells either in frustration, victory, or defeat, literally will never be silent

so after a game you follow your friend down to the railing and she has her little moments with her boyfriend

and you and jake kind of awkwardly stand there for a moment

he wipes his sweat off with a towel and smiles at you, cracking the ice

“how long have you had to deal with that?” he points over to them

you shrug and tell him “however long you’ve been dealing with it” he laughs

oh wow his smile when he’s right in front of you is just so pretty

and his little chuckle as he shakes his head and looks back up at you

‘who do you watch on the field?’ he asks, with a little smirk because he likes you

‘whoever catches my attention’ you tell him also smiling

oh its a CHALLENGE. he will make sure to run on the side of the field you’re watching from, winking at you on the field, ugh just everything

you come to a party at the end of the season to celebrate and he sees you

“you came!!” super happy and makes sure you are next to him all the time

“y/n you know the teammates, yeah?” you smile and congratulate them

he leaves to get you a soda/water and jungwon leans in

“jake LOVES to talk about you by the way”

“yeah he always says how pretty you are in the library or in class, he likes when your friend comes because that means you come with her”

heeseung nods, “super into you, no joke”

jake comes back trying to play it off “who’s into y/n?”

you poke at his shoulder and smile, “you” and he’s all bashful and giggly

loves to call himself ‘y/n’s girlfriend’

‘sorry, i can’t i have to buy flowers for y/n’ ‘sorry y/n needs me to help her study’ ‘sorry y/n needs a ride here’ STUCK TO YOUR HIP

ofc he doesn’t abandon his friends but he loves spending time with you :3

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon’s reputation proceeds him—cold on the court and just as reserved off of it

ugh he’s so annoying, he always has his bag in the same spot as yours and he always is at the water filling station with hos annoying 32oz bottle before you

also hogs that automatic tennis ball throwing machine like how are YOU supposed to practice tennis too

‘hey i need that’ he furrows his eyebrows and shrugs

‘i was here first’ ‘what are you twelve????’ sunghoon tells you ‘get here earlier next time then

oh yeah. for the next week you ran to the courts everytime to get it before him

one day he sees you and races you to the gates and you beat him

sulky after as if his career is over

definitely varsity and one of the best, but he never approaches girls after his games

one time you go to a men’s game because it’s one of the most anticipated of the season

its neck to neck, third set with 40-adv, sunghoon’s serve

he chases after that ball and sends it over, it barely hits the net and tumbles over, AND HE WINSSSS BRAHHHHH

even if you hate him you will admit that he made the game extremely interesting

you see his friends congratulate him and you notice that he never gets his clothes dirty

always wears white to practice—pristine asf

secretly he loves watching you too

even if you hate him for getting on your nerves some days and almost never doing more than bare minimum, you cannot lie and say sunghoon isn’t a huge inspiration

just as you are to him

sunghoon thinks your tenacity and passion for tennis is what makes you so fun to watch

so even if he has homework, he goes to a game of yours and comes down to the court after the game

bumps your shoulder after, ‘good game, y/n’ and you’re like ?? ‘you’re here?’ and he’s sooo nonchalant when he says ‘of course, i can’t miss a fun game can i?’

there’s a fun mixed doubles tournament for a whole gift basket of things and you come up to him

‘hey let’s pair up’ and he grins

you two play each other for practice and you’ve tied the score so many times you’ve lost count

and sunghoon’s a little annoying but oh lord he’s so attrative??? so maybe he wasn’t THAT annoying…

mixed doubles tourney rolls around and oh yeah. you two win.

you know much he likes natto and you say ‘here you take the natto’ he shakes his head ‘no you eat it all the time’

you two bicker and you say ‘fine lets just share it!’ and to your surprise..he opens the package and just mixes it all in

you two sit and share the natto, then he tells you he thinks you’re pretty cool on court

you raise your eyebrow cuz where is this coming from!! and he rolls his eyes

‘nevermind maybe you’re only bright on the court’

‘hey what’s that supposed to mean!!!’ you take the natto and eat all of it LMFAO and then he pouts because noo his natto!!!

you kiss his cheek. it’s ok everything is ok now he is a happy boy

“you’re my match” you write on a tennis ball pin and he keeps it on his bag like his life DEPENDS on it

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ KIM SUNOO

THE CUTEST VOLLEYBALL SETTER EVER

i hate to be like oh you’ve had the fattest crush on him for like two months BUT ITS TRUE

you’re on yearbook and you make an excuse to go see sunoo play!!

you two met when you were at a volleyball game and you told him to smile, but he’s one of those guys who says “wait delete that take another one!!”

and ofc you agree, snapping a few cute photos of him

he posts to his social media, tagging you with a cute song saying ‘thanks photographer :3”

and so you it begins, your small little crush on him..

he loves seeing you at his games, always makes sure to wave to you on the court

hey so setter sunoo is insanely good at what he does

so graceful when he places a NASTY setter dump on the other team, a glare shot at one of the other team’s members bad-mouthing him, but a glowing smile as he high-fives all his teammates!

super supportive, and you loveee that about him!! he cares so much about everyone it makes your heart warm

“here, let’s eat together,” you tell him, and you bring him some noodles you made because he said he was craving some

he smiles at you and sits down, beginning to slurp slurp slurp and SCOREEE he loves it

“thanks y/n, let me treat you some time :)” UGH DEAD DEAD

KIM SUNOO KING OF FLOAT SERVES

huge smile on his face when it lands where it needs to, he loves that feeling of satisfaction and soaks up all of your praise after his games are over

he slips out of practice sometimes to see what you’re doing in yearbook, and he’ll take your camera to tell you to smile as he takes pics

someone in your class tells you too to look overfor a photo , so he loops an arm around your shoulders to pull you close and smile

AND OH EM GEE UR LIKE TOTALLY GEEKING OUT OVER IT HELLO??????/

you ask her to print you a copy of it to save in your scrapbook, but sunoo cuts in and asks for another one

“i like seeing you” DEAD IN A DITCH esp when he smiles at you and then runs off to practice before he gets in trouble

so competitive on the court and it makes him a little sulky when he loses

“argh i did so bad today” he’d tell you, but in your eyes hello kim sunoo could do no wrong!! and you share your snacks while reassuring him

he swears tho, “nooo, i had to look cool for you!” and you’re tired of hearing him say and do all of these sweet things and straight up

“why?” “what do you mean, y/n?” “why do you want to look cool for me?” “well i liked you duh!”

but sunoo never wanted to confess, he was too scared he wasn’t good yet at showing you all of his perfect bf traits

WELL HE THOUGHT WRONG!! he’s been perfect from d1 so now he just sneaks in like 40 kisses before every game

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ YANG JUNGWON

see so jungwon, he’s been a little FLIRTY as of recently.

“you like older guys? but im a younger guy with rhythm” WHAT THE FKSCNHDJFD

whatever. anyways jungwon focuses on badminton like it’s a lifeline

hitting birdies in his sleep would be smth he would do if he could, he loves how aggressive he can be in the sport without moving too much, lots of strategy involved

you come to one of his games because your friend is on the other team, and you want to cheer him on

but jungwon notices you’re literally from his school??

isn’t it weird you’re going to a game for someone on the other team…

so he sets off a plan

he goes to you after the game before your friend can

“hey, how come you don’t support anyone on our team” so straight to the point help

and you tilt your head in confusion because “well i don’t know anyone from the team and you’re all scary”

scary??? jungwon makes it his personal mission to debunk that cuz no one is SCARY

maybe sunghoon but that’s because he’s varsity 1 and the best player within 150 miles but whatever

he makes it his mission to wave to you when he sees you and when he’s sat next to you in one of your classes he’s like yay perf

“you’re the guy from that badminton game huh?” “is that a good or bad thing”

you shrug “whatever you want it to be”

and he asks you to go to his next game but if he wins, you have to support the team and if he loses

and you stare at him like “wtf do i get out of it”

jungwon did NOT think about that

he promises to buy you a snack after

and it’s free food so you can’t complain

you two talk more and he finds out you used to play badminton before you hurt your ankle and wanted to focus on school

so he takes you to practice and gives you one of his expensive rackets

lowk falling in love everytime you laugh and chase the birdie

jungwon pretends to hate chasing after it but he’ll still hit it back even if it’s out of bounds because he doesn’t want to waste your time picking it up

you two sit down and you tell him how fun it was to be able to play, and how much you missed it from your childhood

your school holds a small festival where other school athletes go against your team modified lighting rounds

paired with vendors and fun carnival stands, but the main attractions are always the variety of sports to watch

jungwon is one of the representatives from your school but so is your friend from the other school, so it’s heated when they play

you tie a ribbon around his racket (curtesy of sunghoon for helping you out) and write a note saying “if you do good ill cheer for you”

AND HE WINS. so you keep your end of the bargain and cheer for him after the game is over, giving him a high five and a hug

he walks with you and asks about what you two are BECAUSE THIS IS A DATE this is date behavior

“of course i like you won who wouldn’t”

let’s just say he gives u little kisses all over when you two are alone sigh so cute

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ NISHIMURA RIKI

he’s been on the soccer team ever since he was a freshman and even before, retaining his cute features and mischievous personality

when you became assistant manager you were scared but your brother heeseung was on the team and your mom told you to look after him at school

and riki takes after heeseung a LOT when they play and heeseung even goes as far as inviting riki over

so riki’s super good at soccer by the time heeseung leaves, but he also has this small crush on you that heeseung’s told you about

you just never said anything because you never had a reason to nor were you uncomfortable with it

but junior year hits and riki comes back from winter break with pitch black hair all styled

also…a lot taller than you. and no more baby fat

and you paid attention to some of it because you saw him for practice, but the hair really did it

during practice he loves to mess with you saying things like “can you fill up my water y/n pleaseeee” “no you have two feet” “ill win the next game against ____ if you get me water” “i’ll kick you off the team if you don’t win”

he sighs and gets up, glaring down at you and you try not to let his playful stare affect you, but SOMETHING was different something was in the air

if riki doesn’t play good, it’s because his team manager aka you is NOT there

you come back the next day to find out he was sulking and didn’t play super well because you weren’t encouraging him

“go run a lap, riki” and HE DOES JUST THAT “go practice on the field by yourself”

“how about you ask me to date you next” he grumbles

and you HEAR him. loud and clear.

but you’re like agh what if he doesn’t mean it what if he’s just joking

at the next game he does super well and you congratulate the whole team

yas team hybe eats

you two are getting ready to go home when he finally brings it up

“you heard what i said on tuesday” and you know exactly what he means

“yep.” “so why didn’t you say anything back” “i didn’t know if you were being serious”

he scoffs “y/n when have i ever not been serious about you”

he opens your door even if he’s passenger princess

makes fun of you for how much closer you need the wheel to be to drive

YAYYYY Y/NKI IS REAL

he loves to drape an arm around your shoulder walking around school

acts as if he’s older when you two are literally the same age HELP

reblogs/interactions are appreciated always!

have some shameless self promo for my spiderman!riki fic!

and my upcoming jake fic!

2K notes · View notes

foreveia · 21 days ago

Text

director’s cut ⤨ tsukishima kei

⨭ genre; college!au, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst like its there if u squint

⨭ pairing; tsukishima kei x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 17.3k

⨭ description; when you convince your best friend into being the male lead of your film project, you don't expect for it to make you question your whole relationship.

⨭ warnings; profanity, alcohol, smoking

⨭ a/n; this has been in the works for quite a while now and it is defff the longest fic ive ever written (not saying will ever write yet bc who knows), but i think i like it. i am a sucker for best friends to lovers, ESPECIALLY childhood best friends to lovers, so i hope u guys like it :)

song i listened to writing this: 'being your friend' by katherine li

one.

The universe has a top-tier sadism kink, and its living proof is Tsukishima Kei.

You know this to be a fact because 1) aside from his bachelor of science in anthropology, he’s pursuing a PhD in sarcasm and uses his learnings primarily to eviscerate your self-esteem, 2) The Umbrella Academy doesn’t come out with another season for another few months so your life choices have become the pinnacle of his entertainment, and 3) despite being your Bestie™ of twelve years, he still makes you beg for his benevolence, even if he does have the annoying habit of showing up when you need him most.

It’s deeply unfortunate that he’s all you’ve got, universe be damned.

“Name your price. Cake? Head? Money? C’mon, just tell me what you want!”

Tsukishima peers at you over his laptop with disdain, the blue glow of his pirated PDF of The Communist Manifesto reflected in his glasses as he squints at you. His lips are pursed in annoyance, face scrunched up as he seemingly contemplates whether to put himself out of his misery or squash you to little smithereens. “What I want is for you to go away.”

True love, honestly. The golden standard for kindness and affection. A picturesque image of camaraderie. Lo and behold, everyone, your best friend.

“Oh my god, Kei, please,” you whine, hands clasped together as you look up at him through batted lashes. He doesn’t even flinch, looking completely unimpressed—how pretentious of him. “I’ll literally pay you whatever you want.”

The blond rolls his eyes, looking back down at his laptop screen as he briskly retorts, “I’m not a prostitute, idiot. You can’t pay me to star in your stupid movie.”

He ignores the several judgmental stares that turn in your direction at his response. You, on the other hand, are praying the library’s studious occupants don’t assume you’re a pimp preying on broke college students.

In all honesty, you probably should’ve chosen a less populated spot than the library’s first floor seats in front of Crow’s Coffee, especially if you actually had any intentions to get work done. But with just a few months left until the end of second semester, you have way too many dining dollars left and not enough places to spend them; in this capitalist world, you refuse to let more money simply be pocketed by the greedy hands of the school. It’s how you managed to tempt Tsukishima out of the comfort of his apartment in the first place—with promises of free coffee and shortcake, courtesy of your four-star meal plan.

“Technically, that’s a pornstar,” Yamaguchi supplies unhelpfully from his spot buried amongst stacks of math and science textbooks. He’s the only one of you who’s effectively completing his assignments because he won’t pass his classes unless he’s in constant fight-or-flight mode (you thank every deity you can think of that you weren’t born to be a STEM girlie). “You know you’ve got the time to, Tsukki.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to,” he shrugs. You promptly deliver a swift kick to his shins. “Ow—well, now I really don’t want to.”

“Be honest, do you hate me?” you sniff dramatically, letting your head hit the table with a soft thud; Yamaguchi pats your head tantalizingly, as if you’re a fuckin’ child, and you want to scream at them both.

“Yes,” Tsukishima snorts, not even bothering to glance up. “It’s your own fault for being a film major.”

You shoot him a glare, but no threats come to mind because he’s sadly right.

Being a film major is basically being in a perpetual state of begging: begging your friends to star in your work, begging your professors for an extension because your lead decided to quit the night before shooting, and begging your parents for forgiveness because they didn’t send you to college to become a “professional movie watcher.”

Sure, you get to watch artsy film-bro movies for homework, but you also spend half your time pulling all-nighters to finish scripts and survive solely off a diet of Shin Ramyun and its complimentary mushroom flakes. Tsukishima likes to tell you how you reek of constant desperation; you concur because no one has a real penchant for the arts these days. In a world where everyone dreams of being the next Spielberg, nothing is truly original, and you’re just barely holding on with the kind of boundless optimism that can only be fueled by sheer willpower.

So here you are, offering bribes of cake, coffee, and cold hard cash, trying to convince your best friend—who has the emotional range of a teaspoon and the patience of a sleep-deprived toddler—to star in your magnum opus so you can pass the semester. You’d ask Yamaguchi, but he’s got civil engineering exams and an actual promising future to worry about. Meanwhile, your future, desperation and all, hinges on whether Tsukishima will stop being a pain in the ass for ten minutes and agree to be your leading man.

Luckily, because you’ve been #pairbonded for twelve years, you know exactly what buttons to push. You let out a sorrowful sigh, before loudly declaring, “Fine. I’ll just ask Shoyo then.”

That does it. Tsukishima’s jaw twitches, his fingers pausing over the keyboard; you know him too well because the mere thought of the red-head starring in your movie is enough to make Tsukishima reconsider his stance. You never did understand their beef, but Yamaguchi tells you that they’re just inverse idiots, which seems pretty likely considering they’re actually both easily provoked and highly competitive. He looks up from his laptop, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Absolutely not,” he says flatly, closing the lid of his computer with a decisive click.

Yamaguchi snickers, clearly sensing victory in the air. You, on the other hand, suppress your triumphant smile and put on your best wounded-puppy look. “But he’s so eager to help,” you say, your voice dripping with faux innocence. “He’ll do anything for me.”

There’s a moment of silence as Tsukishima contemplates this. His fingers drum lightly on the table, a sign that he’s weighing his options. And then finally, he lets out a long, suffering exhale, head rolled back in exasperation. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I swear to God, if this film ruins my life, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“You already hold me personally responsible for most things,” you chirp, practically beaming with delight. “But thank you, Kei! You’re the best.”

Yamaguchi looks up from his mountain of textbooks with a bemused smile. “That was a quick turnaround. You’re like a married couple.”

“Only in spirit, ‘Dashi,” you purr, blowing him a playful kiss. The freckled boy pretends to catch your kiss and presses it to his cheek in a dramatic gesture; no wonder he’s your favorite. He really is such a sweetie.

“Stop encouraging her,” Tsukishima groans, pushing himself up from the table. “And stop saying things like that. People might believe you.”

“Wow, not you denying our love,” you scoff, sticking your tongue out at him. “I want a divorce.”

The blond ignores your threat. “I need air. Bye, Tadashi.”

He gives you an unimpressed but telling look, so you roll your eyes and promptly start packing up your things, shoving notebooks and pens into your bag haphazardly. The last things you do are run over to give your beloved ‘Dashi a light squeeze goodbye, swipe your laptop and Owala into your arms (because you are a broke college student who cannot afford to get a new laptop and your New Years’ Resolution is to be more hydrated), and skip to catch up with your friend, already halfway out the door. The evening air is a refreshing change from the stuffy library you’ve been in for hours; you’re sure if you had any free hands right now you’d bend over and grab a handful of grass, just for the sake of it.

‘Tis is the life of a film major, you guess. You’re bitchless with a capital ‘B’ and spend the other half of your time with your equally bitchless friends. And all they do is abuse your dining dollars and mock your miseries in life, so honestly, it’s a good thing you’re in school to write and produce rom coms. You can live vicariously through them, at least.

But whatever. Pathetic love life aside, right now, Kei has agreed, and you’re already one step closer to a successful final project.

two.

The walk home with Tsukishima is as comfortable as ever, the silence between you two punctuated by the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes and the distant hum of campus life winding down for the night. He doesn’t pull his headphones on, but he also doesn’t start up a conversation; being alone with him is simply being able to exist.

He’s walked you home everyday since the beginning of middle school, when his mom found out he hadn’t waited that day and you had walked home alone in the dark. From your bedroom window in the house next door, directly mirroring his, you had overhead her lecturing both him and Akiteru about the importance of manners—and to Kei’s credit, he’s dutifully picked you up after your classes and chores ever since, even if he grumbles the whole way home. For some reason, this habit carried over when you, him, and Tadashi committed to the same university, even if it meant standing outside a frat house at two in the morning because you got too fucked up to walk home on your own. You puked out half your stomach on his sweatpants, and he’d made you do his laundry for a month as punishment, but he still waits patiently at the café by frat row every time you get coerced to go out by your roommates.

As you reach your dorm building, Tsukishima steps aside, holding the door open for you; you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Such a gentleman, Kei. What would I do without you?”

He smirks, letting the door swing closed behind him as you head towards the elevator. “Probably get kidnapped or something. You’re too trusting.”

“The only person I’d let kidnap me,” you say dreamily, pressing the button for your floor with a dramatic swoop. “is Oikawa.”

You’re only half joking because Oikawa Tooru, the president of Sigma Epsilon Iota (SEI), is in fact extremely pretty and volunteered to be in your film last semester. You later found out that it was because he’s an astronomy major and thus felt compelled to star in your movie (which, yes, was titled Stars); he convinced you to spend many extra weeks in After Effects making sure the sky imagery looked ‘as perfect as him.’ He’d actually been a really good sport about learning his lines and cues, but you’re pretty sure neither you nor your 2014 Macbook Air would survive that experience again.

“Right, fall for the guy who does keg stands at every party,” he drawls, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Smart.”

You huff and stick your tongue out at him, earning yourself a half-shrug and an amused snort. The elevator ride is brief, and soon you’re at your door, fumbling with your keys; as always, Tsukishima stops and stands to the side, waiting for you to invite him in, because again, manners. You turn to him with a playful grin. “You know, you don’t have to stand there like a sentinel every time. You can come in.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

You laugh, pushing the door open and gesturing dramatically. “Oh, please, come in. Make yourself at home.”

Not that you had to tell him that. He slouched past you and kicked off his shoes as soon as you gave him the cue. He’s honestly just as relaxed here as in his own studio, already stretching and making himself comfortable on the couch with your favorite decorative pillow tucked under his head.

You two have settled into a pretty comfortable routine. It’s a Friday night, so chances are that he’ll yank out his phone, scroll through his email. You’ll put something on the TV and he’ll critique it through mouthfuls of popcorn, only to have it ruin his appetite for whatever you end up ordering for dinner; later, if he’s tired enough, he’ll give up on the thirty minute drive home and collapse next to you in your Twin XL. It’s a mess of limbs and limited space, but you two manage—you always have. Your suitemates, Yukie and Kaori, have already texted that they’re bringing home Chinese takeout for four, so you decide against your usual snacks because your twig of a best friend needs actual sustenance.

Swinging by your room to drop off your bag and laptop, you take a pit stop in the kitchen on the way back to pluck two bottles of soju from the fridge. You toss him one; he catches it neatly and observes the flavor with scrutiny.

“You hate strawberry,” he points out. “Why are you drinking this?”

You shrug, walking over to plop down on the couch by him. “Because it’s your favorite.”

His head is right up against your thigh because he’s too tall to fit on your shitty university furniture, even with his legs half-dangling off the armrest. You click through Netflix, nursing your drink with a slight pout until you make the executive decision to put on The Bachelor.

“Trying to prove you can love both me and Oikawa at the same time?” Tsukishima comments, watching the screen as he pops open the cap of his bottle. He’s referring to Ben telling both Lauren and JoJo he loved them in season 20; you lowkey love the series and he highkey loves the drama. There’s just something about people finding their supposed soulmates after knowing each other for like a month that really makes life entertaining.

“Don’t ever compare me to Ben,” you frown, because you think he was a massive asshole for doing that to JoJo and then not even picking her in the end. These bitches really be throwing each other under the bus. “You’re so mean to me.”

“You just bribed me with strawberry soju.”

“It’s not bribery if it’s out of love. Plus, I can tolerate it for one night,” you roll your eyes, taking a sip of the drink. “So, you wanna know what the film’s about or not?”

He looks at you over the rim of his bottle, eyebrow raised. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” you grin, patting his head affectionately. “Okay, so, the film. It’s a romantic short about the progression of a college relationship. Like, from the first meeting to the final stages of being together. It’s dreamy, very aesthetic—y’know, all those soft hues and hazy shots. A smoking scene thrown in there somewhere.”

“Sounds like every other indie film ever made.”

“Shut up. This one’s different,” you insist, lightly tugging on a strand of his hair. “It’s got a great cast—Yachi’s playing the female lead.”

He nods, seemingly interested. “Yachi, huh? What’s my role, then?”

“The male lead, obviously,” you say, not even bothering to look away from the screen. The opening credits have just finished and you’re instantly sucked into the magical world of Malta; God, what you would do to be there right now instead of in your overpriced residence complex.

“Oh, great. Falling in love. My specialty,” he deadpans, taking another swig of his drink. “What do I have to do?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Learn the lines, cues, whatever. Yachi said she’s free tomorrow, so maybe we can get coffee with her in the afternoon and run through the working script?”

Tsukishima groans. “We already have to get started?”

“Yeah, there’s a lot to do,” you retort, giving him a gentle punch on the shoulder. He frowns up at you disapprovingly, and you mockingly frown back. “Get over it. You’re my main star.”

He shakes his head as you both watch the girls line up in knight costumes to compete in the episode’s extra-time competition. Modern television is truly unreal. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you love me.”

You flick your eyes from the TV to him, gauging his reaction. He’s rolling his eyes, of course, but the small smile and faint blush creeping up his cheeks tells you everything you need to know.

three.

The prior night, your suitemates eventually came home with the promised takeout; Kaori even brought home boba orders courtesy of her friend Bokuto closing shift at the campus Broba Tea, so it’s safe to say you have the best roommates ever.

Turnabout is fair play, so you and Tsukishima agreed to clean up—therefore, even after your suitemates retreated to their rooms, you two lingered behind in the living room, sorting away recyclables and compost into their respective places and watching your favorites get eliminated. Friday nights like this are nice: just you and your best friend, making three-pointers with empty soju bottles into the blue plastic bin. Even after you finished the season’s finale, you put on some nature documentary (courtesy of his Disney+ subscription, which he exclusively uses for National Geographic like a fuckin’ weirdo) and argued about which ugly fish looked more like each other the whole hour and forty minutes. You must’ve crashed no earlier than one A.M., but the specifics are hazy: you don’t actually remember falling asleep.

So the miserable blaring from your phone right now is truly, in short, cruel. Apparently, you forgot to turn off your alarm for your usual Friday 11 A.M. lecture last night, because you’re currently being rudely awoken at a completely unnecessary time on a Saturday morning. Groaning, you slap around the bed until your fingers find your phone, silencing the alarm. As you roll over, you find yourself face-to-face with Tsukishima, who’s occupying the other half of your twin XL bed, looking every bit as disgruntled as you feel. His hair is a mess, and there’s a faint crease on his cheek from your pillowcase; his arm is slung loosely over your waist as he grumbles and tries to hide his face from the light. He must’ve carried you to your bed after you dozed off on the couch.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. His voice is hoarse with sleep. “Why do you set alarms on days you don’t have class?”

“I forgot to turn it off,” you mumble back, burying your face in your pillow. “Sorry for waking you up.”

He sighs, rolling over onto his side and squinting at you as he makes out the hazy figure of your silhouette through his shitty impaired vision. “Move over. Your greedy ass is hogging all the space.”

Ah yes. Truly, a dreamboat. You roll your eyes, but scooch closer to the wall nonetheless; his grip tightens slightly around the curve of your back as you make space, and you can’t help but smile into your pillowcase. Despite his grumpy demeanor, there’s a warmth to his presence that you’ve grown to appreciate over time.

“Better?” you ask, your voice muffled by your cotton pillow.

“A little,” he grumbles. He shifts closer, his body warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

You lay there in comfortable silence for a few moments, listening to the quiet sounds of the morning outside and the soft rhythm of his breathing. Your head kinda hurts; you haven’t woken up this early on a Saturday in forever. Maybe in another life, you’re born as one of those matcha latte girls who get up at 6A.M. for a run and have their lives sorted out by noon, but in this one, you love procrastinating and Netflix far too much to have yourself in order like that. Truly, you run off caffeine and spite and Google Calendar reminders—and as if on cue, your phone buzzes with a reminder about the meeting with Yachi.

Tsukishima, recognizing the sound of the notification, leans over and hands you the device to read, giving you a minute before he asks, his voice soft to match the stillness of the room, “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Crow’s with Yachi at one,” you murmur back. Normally, you’d be giddy to meet with your beloved angel of a friend (you would literally give Yachi your whole life), but truthfully, you don’t really want to get out of bed. Kei’s fingers, lightly tracing patterns on your back as he processes the information, feel so comforting and warm. You’re tempted to cancel and spend the day here, in bed, with him, but you know just as well as he does that you can’t.

“Right,” Tsukishima sighs. “Guess we should get up soon, then.”

“Mmm, in a bit,” you reply, savoring the warmth of the moment. “Just a few more minutes.”

He doesn’t argue, instead allowing the silence to stretch on comfortably. But eventually, it does slow. “We should get going, or we’ll end up being late,” he says, though he makes no move to get up.

You groan in response, but you know he’s right.

“Fine,” you mumble, reluctantly sitting up. The room is still dim, the curtains drawn, and you glance over at Tsukishima, who’s also making an effort to get up; he grabs his glasses, neatly folded on your nightstand, and puts them on, blinking back into consciousness. He looks far too composed for someone who’s just gotten up, but of course he would be.

What a lovely, familiar sight. You hope this, these Saturday mornings with him, never end.

***

The campus is slowly waking up, students milling about, heading to the library or the better of the two dining halls, the one that serves freshly-made waffles on Saturdays. The other one only serves the world’s runniest scrambled eggs that’s held together with the most plasticky cheese, so even if it’s a ten minute walk further, it’s worth it.

You secure a table near the window; the dining hall overlooks the square and you like watching the way people narrowly dodge the campus seal. It’s a superstition that you won’t graduate if you step on it—and especially now, in the second semester when everyone gets pretty desperate, you gotta respect the grind. Tsukishima has already gone to order at the counter with your dining card, so you’re left alone to ponder about your impending project; you go over the working script in your head, running the lines and dialogue over and over.

Your thoughts are interrupted when he returns with a tray loaded with waffles, two matching cups of coffee, and an extra serving of fruit for you—because he claims you need to eat healthier. You think he should eat more, period, but whatever.

“Wow, I’m impressed. Fruit? Did you find it hard to carry all this food without your arms falling off?” you tease, as he takes his seat across from you.

He rolls his eyes, picking up his fork. “Someone has to make sure you get at least one vitamin today.”

You stick your tongue out at him and dig into your waffles because you never wake up early enough on a Saturday to actually have them often.

“When we finish eating, I need to go back and get my laptop,” you announce over a mouthful of waffle, ignoring the disgusted look Tsukishima gives you. “And then we’ll head to the library.”

“I am begging you to chew with your mouth shut,” he groans, throwing a well-aimed napkin at your face. You catch it with a dramatic flourish and quickly dab at your mouth, before you ball it and toss the napkin back at him; he ducks violently, almost knocking over his cup of coffee. You fight the urge to laugh at him and instead stab your fork into a piece of cantaloupe.

“You need to eat,” you declare, promptly sticking the fruit in his direction.

His eyebrows arch slightly as he glares at the fork held out toward him, but after a beat of silence, he leans forward and bites off the melon with a grumble. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” you beam, popping a grape into your own mouth. “So, Crow’s at one. We can read for like, an hour? And then you’re free to go home and do whatever you do.”

“Study.”

“So boring,” you sigh. “Don’t you have any friends, Kei?”

He scoffs, sawing off another meticulous square of waffle. “I have you. That’s enough socializing for a lifetime.”

“Lucky me, I guess,” you roll your eyes.

He smirks in response, taking a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, lucky you.”

four.

After breakfast, you head back to your dorm to grab your things. Tsukishima scrolls through his phone, making an occasional snide comment about whatever nonsense he comes across on Twitter. You pack your bag with your notebook, laptop, and a few pens—desperation fuels organization, and you can’t afford to leave anything behind.

The walk to the library is filled with light-hearted banter, and soon enough, you spot Yachi waving at you from a corner table. She’s already got her laptop out, a notebook filled with neat handwriting open next to her, and you skip up to the table.

“Hi baby girl,” you coo lovingly as you give your friend a hug. Tsukishima gives Yachi a polite nod before sliding into the seat across from her, leaving you to fill the middle one. “Thanks for meeting us before your shift.”

“Of course! I’m really excited about this project,” Yachi beams, her cheeks slightly pink from your affectionate greeting. “I’ve been reading over the script and it’s just so lovely. I can’t wait to get started.”

And this, everyone, is why you adore Yachi Hitoka with your whole heart. You would actually dropkick your best friend off the face of the earth for her, and that is not an exaggeration.

Tsukishima sighs, reaching into your bag to pull out your laptop; he settles it on the desk and pries it open for you. “Let’s get started.”

His impatience makes you roll your eyes, but nonetheless, you click to the latest draft of the script and slide it over for your Blondes™ to see. “Here’s what I’ve got so far,” you say, pointing at the section still titled SCENE 1 DARFGT :P from when you wrote the first six pages over the course of an all-nighter. “The first scene sets the tone for our whole film, and I’m thinking of having it outside the library, so get used to this café.”

“As if we don’t already spend half our time here,” Tsukishima deadpans, but he leans closer to the screen anyway. You watch the way both of them take in the script, their gazes fixed on the document as they read through the lines.

He looks visibly relieved as he scrolls through the very short document; it’s a mess of director and action notes because you have a very specific vision in your head that you want to execute. “It doesn’t have much dialogue because I want it to be focused on the little details that show your initial connection,” you say as they near the end of the script. “Y’know, body language. The way you look at each other. Your expressions.”

Momentarily, you pause to read their reactions; you’re minorly concerned because acting is actually the hardest part of the job, even if memorizing dialogue does suck. Thankfully, Yachi’s eyes visibly light up, and she chirps cheerily, “I love that! It feels very natural and genuine; I think that’s beautiful.”

Her reassurance makes you kick your feet like Sofia the First because she says it in a way that feels completely real.

Tsukishima, on the other hand, does not acknowledge this statement: he’s too busy raising his stupid eyebrow and smirking as he reads scene four. He drags his finger over the screen, where the line reads Interior - Dorm Room - Night. “Okay, first of all, very original,” he snorts. “But second, you volunteered my place without asking me? How very presumptuous of you.”

“Well, I have roommates,” you say, really emphasizing that last word because you want him to feel as stupid as he looks smirking like that (he looks very annoyingly pretty with his cat-like simper). You know he doesn’t actually care about the usage of his studio: he just loves seizing the opportunity to mock you.

Your internal irritation clearly goes ignored by him, because he just grins as he continues to blissfully dissect your script. “And ‘they kiss passionately’? Really going for the heartstrings, aren’t you?”

“It’s called intimacy, Kei. It’s a crucial part of developing the relationship on screen.”

Yachi, ever the peacekeeper, nods eagerly. “I think it’s really sweet. It’s important to show the depth of their connection. The close-ups will make it feel very personal.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Tsukishima says, raising an eyebrow, his expression still amused. He gestures to the next few pages—blank sans the text DJEJSJSJDJ PAIN, because again, you spend a lot of time writing during deranged all-nighters. “But what’s with the cut to black right after? Did you run out of ideas?”

You bite your lip. “I haven’t finished the ending yet. I want to see how you two portray the characters and their chemistry before I decide how it concludes. It’s not just about the script; it’s about the emotions you both bring to the roles.”

“You mean you’re winging it.”

“Creatively winging it, yes,” you roll your eyes. “It’s a work in progress, and I trust you two to help bring it to life.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, I’ll give you that. But if I have to make out with Yachi and you cut it short, I’m going to hold it against you.”

Yachi blushes, but she’s smiling too. “I’m sure it’ll be great. We can practice and make sure it looks natural.”

“Thanks, guys,” you beam at them both, grateful for their willingness to dive into your project.

As antsy as you were, the film’s got a lot going for it—Yachi is a sweet, earnest cutie pie and Tsukishima is… well, him, so their contrast will hopefully make for compelling cinema. And the word compelling is honestly enough—those three syllables are truly music to a film major’s ears.

***

By the time you finish at Crow’s, the sun has already dipped below the horizon, casting a dusky glow over the campus. Tsukishima predictably gets ready to walk you home; he shoves his hand in his jacket’s pocket and tries to look nonchalant, so obviously you tell him he looks stupid, to which he promptly flips you off. Rude. Some people just don’t know how to appreciate honesty.

Yachi’s already headed off to her shift at the café, so you two are left alone, navigating past other tables to the library doors. The evening air is cool, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the crowded café; you walk in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds being the rustling leaves and the distant chatter of other students.

He walks you to your gate, and you’re honestly about to just head inside, but you pause in your tracks because he deserves to hear it twice.

“Kei,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “Thanks again. It really means a lot to me.”

He looks at you, his expression unreadable. “I know. That’s why I’m doing it.”

You blink up at him, momentarily thrown off by his directness. Tsukishima isn’t the type to say things he doesn’t mean—he’s never been one for flattery or unnecessary kindness. And yet, there’s something about the way he says it, the quiet certainty in his voice, that makes your heart do something stupid in your chest.

Tsukishima Kei cares about you. No matter how much he pretends otherwise, you know he’ll be there for you when you need it most. If twelve years have taught you anything, it’s that he’ll do it reluctantly, begrudgingly, but he’ll be there for you.

He always has.

five.

The first day of filming is, somehow, going smoothly.

You’re not sure if you should be suspicious of this. Typically, film shoots involve at least three things going horribly wrong within the first twenty minutes. A mic cutting out. A location suddenly getting overrun with people. A key actor arriving late because they forgot their costume at home.

But today? Today, things are working. The morning light is perfect, the sound equipment is cooperating, and most importantly, Tsukishima and Yachi are actually… really good together.

Which is a huge relief, because you were honestly half-convinced you’d have to wrangle the emotional chemistry out of Tsukishima with sheer force. But watching them run through the first scene on the bench outside the library, you realize you don’t have to do much at all.

He’s relaxed, leaning back with an elbow draped over the back of the bench, his eyes sharp and calculating as Yachi speaks; she’s perfect for the blushing, hesitant-but-artistic old soul character you want to portray and he takes to his role just as quickly. There’s something natural about the way they interact—the slight hesitations, the way he looks at her before speaking, the subtle smirk that plays at his lips when she nervously tucks her hair behind her ear.

It’s not forced. It’s not awkward. It’s just real.

You bite your lip, watching through the camera screen as Yachi delivers her next line, her voice soft, a little unsure. Tsukishima’s response is barely above a murmur, but it carries, even in the open air. The way he’s looking at her—that’s what makes it work. It’s the kind of gaze that makes people believe in love stories.

Holy shit. This might actually be good.

“Cut!” you call, your voice a little breathless as you lower the camera. Yachi blinks up at you, a little startled, before breaking into a smile.

“Was that okay?” she asks, a hint of uncertainty in her tone.

“More than okay,” you say, grinning as you step over to them. “You guys are killing it.”

Yachi lets out a relieved laugh, cheeks pink. “Oh, thank god. I was worried I looked weird.”

“Nope. You look like the perfect indie film love interest.” You pat her on the shoulder before glancing at Tsukishima, who raises an eyebrow at you.

“What?” he drawls.

“You’re actually trying.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, because I’m not going to embarrass myself on camera.”

“Right,” you deadpan, smirking. “Nothing to do with the fact that you two have, like, the easiest natural chemistry I’ve ever seen.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but you catch the way his jaw ticks slightly before he stands up, stretching. “Are we done here? Or are you going to keep talking?”

Impatient idiot. You snort and go to collect your camera and sound system, and together, you all head off to film scene two.

***

The second scene of the day takes place in the small, naturally-lit art studio on campus. It’s not often used, especially not on the weekends, now that the university’s built the big fancy modern art building in the north campus, but it’s perfect for this scene. You wanted something intimate, somewhere that made the world feel smaller, quieter, to parallel the deep intimacy of a relationship (wow, look at you talking like a true film bro). A space where the characters could be alone, even if they weren’t saying much.

Tsukishima sits at the table, his hands idly flipping through a sketchbook that’s just a prop, though you think it suits him weirdly well. Yachi’s holding a paintbrush, standing near the window, looking at a half-finished canvas, the soft glow from outside catching the strands of her blonde hair just right.

“Alright,” you say, stepping back behind the camera. “Tsukishima, this scene is mostly you watching her. Yachi, I want you to look like you’re lost in thought. You’re thinking about something big, but you’re not sure if you want to say it.”

Yachi nods, exhaling as she settles into place. Tsukishima just leans on his elbow, glancing at her through his glasses, waiting.

You call action. And for a moment, the room changes. It’s not just a studio anymore. It’s a quiet, suspended moment in time.

Tsukishima watches Yachi, and you can’t look away. The way his gaze lingers, not quite analyzing, not quite soft, but something in between. The way Yachi’s fingers trace the edge of the painting, distracted, unaware of the way he’s looking at her. The way they look so perfectly together, like halves of a whole, like something that’s meant to be.

It’s... breathtaking.

You swallow, suddenly feeling warm.

They’re good. Too good.

“Cut,” you say softly, your own voice sounding a little distant.

Tsukishima looks up at you immediately, brows slightly furrowed, like he’s searching for something in your expression. Yachi, however, simply exhales a breath of relief, breaking into a small laugh. “That felt really real,” she says, beaming.

“It was really real,” you admit, trying to shake the weird feeling creeping up your spine.

Wow, honestly. They must be some of the best actors you’ve ever met. If you didn’t know better, you would think they were actually in love.

six.

The blinking cursor on your laptop is mocking you.

It’s a tiny, relentless metronome ticking away the seconds, reminding you of your failure to move forward. You glare at the half-finished sentence on the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, willing your brain to conjure anything—literally anything—that makes sense.

You had an ending in mind—of course you did. The perfect, soft, cinematic conclusion to your film. A final shot drenched in golden light, delicate and lingering, like a whisper against a bruise. The kind of scene that settles into the chest like an old song or a half-remembered dream, stirring something deep and unshakable. The culmination of all those quiet, electric moments between your leads, woven together into something fragile and honest.

Except every single draft you’ve attempted so far? Complete garbage.

You groan and throw yourself back against your chair, rubbing your hands over your face in frustration. Why does this feel impossible? You should’ve known writing the ending would be the hardest part. You’re always better at beginnings—openings are easy. Openings are full of possibilities. But endings?

Endings mean making a choice.

And right now, you have no fucking idea what choice to make.

As if on cue, summoned by your misery, your door swings open without warning, and Yukie strides in like she owns the place. Which, to be fair, she practically does—she and Kaori have an open invitation to barge in at any time, and they use that privilege liberally.

“Please tell me you’re taking a break from that thing,” she says, nodding toward your laptop as she flops onto your bed. “You’ve been staring at it like it’s personally offended you.”

“It has personally offended me,” you mutter back, head caught between your hands, visibly in distress. “I’ve rewritten it like five times, and it still feels wrong.”

Yukie hums, but her attention drifts toward your open script document, skimming the words with the sharp, practiced gaze of someone who enjoys knowing things before you tell her. A beat later, her eyebrows shoot up.

“I still can’t believe you’re letting Yachi and Tsukishima film together,” she says, lips curving in a smirk.

You glance at her, confused. “Uh, yeah? They’re the leads? Kind of an important part of the whole thing?”

She rolls onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow, expression downright mischievous. “No, I mean… you don’t think it’s a little risky?”

You blink. “Risky how? Like existentially?”

Yukie snorts. “No, dumbass. I mean, don’t you think it’s easy for co-stars to catch feelings for each other? Like hello? Zendaya and Tom Holland broke the Spiderman-MJ curse cause of it.”

“Oh c’mon,” you scoff immediately. “Kei and Yachi? Please. He’s the human equivalent of a hazard sign, and she’s literally an angel.”

“And opposites attract,” Yukie sing-songs, wiggling her eyebrows like she’s just cracked some grand conspiracy.

“Not like that. It’s literally just acting.”

Yukie tilts her head, looking entirely too entertained by your dismissiveness. “You say that, but it’s not uncommon. You spend enough time pretending to love someone, and eventually, it stops feeling like pretending.”

You open your mouth to retort—but for some reason, your brain short-circuits. The words are there. They’re on the tip of your tongue. But they won’t come out. Because now you’re thinking about it.

Tsukishima and Yachi. Together.

It’s ridiculous, obviously. Tsukishima is sarcastic and emotionally constipated, and Yachi is sweet and nervous and actually respects people’s feelings. They make sense on screen, sure—chemistry is chemistry, and that’s what acting is for. But in real life? You can’t even picture it. Matter-of-fact, you shouldn’t even be picturing it.

And yet, something uneasy churns in your stomach, and you shift in your seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in your own skin. No, this is stupid. You’re overthinking. Yukie’s just stirring up unnecessary drama because that’s what she does when she’s bored.

“It’s fine,” you say, voice forcibly even. “They’re just acting. Besides, you really think Tsukishima of all people would catch feelings for someone just because of a film?”

“Mmm.” Yukie hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “You say that, but you’re weirdly defensive about it.”

“I’m not defensive,” you snap, too fast, too sharp. A mistake.

Yukie’s smirk deepens, and you hate her for it. She swings her legs off the bed, stretching like a cat. “When you’re done pretending you’re not in denial, dinner’s ready,” she chirps, sauntering toward the door.

You roll your eyes. Classic Yukie. Your roommates are simultaneously your greatest strength and your worst influence; they know you inside and out, and unfortunately, that means they never let you run from your own feelings. They’ve been convinced for years that you’re in love with your best friend, which is laughable. Delusional, even.

And yet.

The thought lingers longer than it should, trailing after you like a shadow as you trudge to set for the first day of filming.

You tell yourself it’s just curiosity when you glance Tsukishima’s way. Just morbid fascination when you catch the way his gaze lingers on Yachi between takes. Just professional interest when you watch how his sharp, unimpressed scowl softens—barely, just a fraction—when she nervously stumbles over a line, and he mutters a quiet correction, his voice steadier than you expect.

It’s just good acting, you reason. Nothing more.

Because Tsukishima is your best friend. And that’s all he’s ever been, all he’s ever going to be. You tell yourself that, over and over and over again, trying to make it feel like the truth. But for some reason, despite all your effort, it doesn’t, and it bothers you in a way that it wouldn’t bother friends that are purely just platonic.

seven.

“You look like shit.”

You rub your eyes, very conscious of the fact that you’re sporting dark eye bags and a goofy-ass fit. Your hoodie is three sizes too big, your sweatpants have a suspicious stain on them from an unknown source, and your hair looks… actually, you don’t even want to talk about it because it really is that bad. You blink up at Tsukishima, who has somehow managed to find you after your afternoon lecture, looking disgustingly well-rested and put-together as always.

“Thanks,” you deadpan, shouldering your bag. “Great to see you too, Kei.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes but doesn’t move out of your way. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying you with that keen, observational gaze of his. “Seriously. Are you okay?”

You pause, thrown off by his genuine concern—normally, he’d just mock you and move on, but there’s a sharpness to his tone today, like he actually cares. Maybe it’s because you’ve barely been outside in the last few days, much less seen him and Yamaguchi. Now that you’ve made it through over half of the film’s scenes, you’ve already started editing it together (arguably the worst part of being a self-produced film student: the excessive time spent with Adobe Creative Cloud). You hesitate, then sigh. “Just tired. I’ve been working nonstop, and I still haven’t figured out the ending.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, crossing his arms. “Why do you always do this to yourself?”

“I thrive under pressure.”

“You thrive off caffeine and bad decisions.”

“Same thing,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “Look, I’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

Tsukishima doesn’t look convinced, but instead of pressing further, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his car keys, holding them up with a lazy shake. “C’mon.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“You clearly need a break. Let’s go.”

You frown at him, confused. “Go where?”

“Does it matter?” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “I swear to god, if you go back to your dorm and stare at your screen for another five hours, you’re gonna lose whatever brain cells you have left.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you know he’s right. Your brain is fried, your eyes are starting to blur from staring at a screen all night, and you could really use some air. So, with a dramatic groan, you give in. “Fine. But if you take me somewhere boring, I’m jumping out of the car.”

“Noted,” he says dryly, shoving his keys back in his pocket before turning on his heel. “Now move it.”

***

The drive is familiar, comfortable. You don’t even ask where he’s taking you because, honestly, he’s right: it doesn’t matter. Being in his car like this feels natural, like muscle memory.

You remember when he first got his license, the first of you three to do so. Akiteru had gifted him a car to use once he did, an old but functional, clean and simple one, much like him. At the time, it had felt like the biggest deal—suddenly, Tsukishima had a ticket to freedom, and by extension, so did you and Yamaguchi.

You can still picture those early drives vividly: the three of you packed into the car, Yamaguchi in the passenger seat nervously checking the map while you sprawled in the back, shouting ridiculous directions just to mess with Tsukishima. He always acted like he hated it, threatening to pull over and leave you on the curb, but he never actually did.

There were the late-night drives to nowhere, just because none of you wanted to go home yet. The ice cream runs in the middle of winter, sitting in the parking lot with the heater cranked up as you argued over movie rankings. The way Tsukishima always kept one hand on the wheel, the other fidgeting with the volume knob, adjusting it up or down depending on whether he was feeling indulgent or annoyed by whatever you were blasting through the speakers.

You remember one time, when a storm had rolled in suddenly and you got caught out in the rain on the way back from a late study session; he’d picked you up after you spam-called him seven times. Tsukishima pulled up to the curb in front of your house, the wipers barely keeping up with the downpour, but for some reason, instead of rushing out of the storm into your apartment, you’d just sat there for a while, listening to the steady rhythm of the rain against the car roof. He hadn’t told you to get out, hadn’t asked why you were lingering. He just turned up the music, leaned back, and let you stay.

The cityscape blurs past the windows as the car hums beneath you, the low rumble of the engine mixing with the sound of the playlist Tsukishima has quietly playing in the background. You recognize the song instantly—it’s from one of your old shared playlists, one you made together back in your first year of high school.

You glance at him, but he keeps his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily against the gearshift. His sweater is vintage, made of a gorgeous dark green wool that you had been ecstatic to find when you first took him to your favorite thrift store back home; it looks good contrasted with his blond hair and fair skin. His usual stoic expression is softer in the evening glow, illuminated by the street lamps lining the road.

God. Have his eyes always been able to capture the city lights like that?

***

Tsukishima drives for what feels like forever, but when he finally pulls over, it’s basically where you started: an empty parking lot, outside of your favorite convenience store because they’re open late and always stock freshly-made to-go onigiri. It’s owned by a sweet old woman, so double points; you two have been coming here since the start of your freshman year.

He throws the car in park and gives you a look. “You coming?”

You sigh dramatically but unbuckle your seatbelt, stepping out into the cool night air. The store’s neon sign hums quietly, casting a soft glow over the pavement.

As soon as you step inside, the familiar scent of warm rice and miso greets you, and you immediately relax. Tsukishima heads straight for the onigiri section, while you linger near the drinks, debating between a matcha latte and a cappuccino.

“You’re getting the matcha,” Tsukishima calls over his shoulder, barely even looking up.

You roll your eyes but grab it anyway, because yeah, he’s right. You join him at the counter, where he’s already placed two onigiri on the register—one salmon, one tuna mayo.

“You know my order,” you say, amused.

He shrugs, handing over his card to pay before you can argue. “You never change it.”

The words are casual, offhanded, but something about them settles deep in your chest. You look at him, at the way he’s effortlessly familiar with your habits, your preferences, your life.

And for some reason, that makes your stomach twist.

eight.

You tear into your onigiri, letting the familiar taste of salmon and warm rice settle on your tongue. The quiet hum of the city surrounds you both as you sit on the hood of Tsukishima’s car, drinks resting beside you. The neon glow of the convenience store sign flickers in the periphery, casting long, gentle shadows over the pavement; the night is cool but not biting, the breeze rustling the stray napkins you’d forgotten beside you.

The conversation flows lazily, touching on everything and nothing at once—complaints about professors, Yamaguchi’s latest doomed tutoring attempts with Hinata, Tsukishima’s upcoming project on primate evolution that he absolutely does not care about. It’s easy, the way it always is, but there’s a weight pressing against your ribs, something you can’t quite name.

Then it slows. After a beat, you sigh, staring out at the dim glow of the streetlights. “I think I might change the ending.”

Tsukishima shifts beside you, glancing at you briefly before turning back toward the night sky. You don’t even have to specify: he knows what you’re talking about. “Yeah?”

“I wanted a happy one,” you admit, your fingers picking at a loose thread on your hoodie. “But I don’t know if it fits. Every version I write feels fake. Too neat. Too… easy.”

He’s quiet for a moment, taking a slow sip of his drink before shrugging. “Then don’t force it. If it’s not working, make it ambiguous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he argues, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “People like things that feel real. If you’re struggling this much, maybe that’s your answer.”

You chew on his words, considering. Maybe he’s right. Maybe an open-ended conclusion is the answer—letting things linger, unresolved but full of possibility. But something about that unsettles you, like leaving something unfinished, like waiting for something that never comes.

And then, it clicks: how to leave it ambiguous without being unfinished.

You exhale, pressing your phone’s power button and watching the screen light up, a blank notes app staring back at you. Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you start typing, the inspiration finally clicking into place. You can already see the scene in your mind—the way the light will filter in, the subtle expressions, the carefully chosen silence between words.

Tsukishima watches you with mild amusement, his lips quirking up just slightly. “Are you seriously writing right now?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, furiously typing. “You said something smart for once, and now I have to take advantage of it.”

He snorts. “You wouldn’t survive without me.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you know he’s right. The thought lingers, unspoken. How many times has he done this? Pulled you out of your own head before you spiraled, pushed you to do better, reminded you—without ever really saying it—that you aren’t alone?

The words on your screen blur slightly. Maybe it’s just the neon lights. Maybe it’s something else.

Then, softer, almost offhand, he says, “You know, if it’s really bothering you this much, maybe it’s because you want it to mean something.”

Your fingers still over your screen. The words sit heavy in the air, pressing down on you with a weight you can’t quite place. You look up at him, but he’s already turned back toward the city, his expression unreadable.

nine.

You think that you need a distraction. A long walk, or a snack, maybe. Or better yet, what you actually really want: a frontal lobotomy.

Instead, you have filming.

Which is, honestly, the opposite of helpful when your current goal is to shove all of your weird, unwelcome, inexplicable feelings into the deepest recesses of your mind. It’s awful, but now that you’ve started to see your best friend in a whole new light, it’s really all you can think about. Therefore, you cope as you always have: running from your problems. You’ve been distant the last few days. You’re responding less, cancelling on your weekly study sessions, sprinting out of your lectures before he can catch up to you. You’ve even been ghosting Yamaguchi out of proximity.

But you can’t do that today. Because today, you’re shooting one of the final sequences—the rooftop scene. The one drenched in soft intimacy, lingering glances, and unsaid words thickening the air between them. The one where Tsukishima and Yachi have to act like they exist in their own world, where nothing and no one else matters.

You try not to think about it too hard.

The rooftop set is perfect. The city sprawls beneath them, lights flickering like stars, a mirror to the actual night sky above. Yachi’s already in position, sitting at the edge, her posture relaxed but poised. Tsukishima is beside her, long legs stretched out, hands lazily resting on his lap. The camera is set up, framing them beautifully against the endless stretch of buildings and sky.

You call action, and for a while, it’s fine.

Yachi takes a slow drag of the cigarette (a prop one—she refuses to even come close to tainting her lungs), the smoke curling up between them. Her voice is soft, contemplative, as she delivers her lines. Tsukishima exhales smoke into the night, his face not particularly expressive but not detached. He’s… engaged. Focused. Too focused. There’s something in the way he looks at her that makes your chest tight, even though you know, know, it’s just acting.

Still, the words he says don’t feel like lines. Not when his voice dips just slightly, not when his eyes linger on her face.

“Maybe,” he says, his tone quieter than rehearsals, “but some moments leave imprints on our souls. They’ll last forever in our hearts.”

The air shifts.

Yachi leans her head on his shoulder. The city hums below them. The scene is exactly as you envisioned it, the kind of moment that pulls people in, that makes an audience believe.

And yet, it feels like you can’t breathe.

The worst part is that it isn’t even that bad—no, you get through the scene just fine. No one else notices the way your stomach churns, or the way your hands tighten around the back of the director’s chair. No one notices that the words aren’t just dialogue in your head anymore, that they feel… wrong, out of place, too much.

It isn’t until Tsukishima reaches out, without prompting, without direction, and brushes a loose strand of hair out of Yachi’s face that you realize you actually feel sick.

It’s not scripted.

The camera catches it perfectly, a soft, natural movement. The kind of instinctive touch that makes a scene feel real. Your breath stutters in your chest. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he leans in slightly, pressing the briefest kiss to her forehead before pulling back, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Not in the script.

Not in the goddamn script.

“Cut,” you say, too quickly, your voice tighter than you mean it to be. You clear your throat, forcing a neutral expression onto your face when both of them glance toward you. “That was—good. Really natural.”

Yachi beams, a little shy but pleased. “It felt nice, actually. He made it really easy to stay in the moment.”

You swallow down whatever the hell it is that rises up in you at that.

Tsukishima doesn’t say anything. He just watches you, sharp and unreadable.

Your fingers curl into your palm. “I think we’re done for tonight,” you announce, forcing a yawn into your voice like exhaustion is the reason you need to leave so badly. “I’ve got a migraine coming on, and we still have to film the passion scene this weekend.”

Yachi nods easily, already stretching out her legs, but Tsukishima’s expression darkens slightly.

“You sure?” he asks, low enough that only you hear it.

You nod quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. Just need sleep.”

He stands, brushing invisible dust from his jeans, and you know what’s coming before he even says it. “I’ll walk you back.”

“No!” you panic, waving your hands wildly. “Kaori’s picking me up.”

It’s a lie, an obvious one, but you don’t care. You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder before he can question it. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Then you leave, practically sprinting out, before he can say anything else. Before you have to deal with whatever the hell this is, whatever it means.

Because if you stop to think about it, even for a second, you’re pretty sure you’ll break.

ten.

Midway through your most recent homework assignment (dissecting the art behind the glorious film Cars—the best Disney movie out there, fight with the wall), your phone vibrates against your nightstand. The screen flashes the text message that’s popped up, but you don’t even need to check to know who it is: it’s a notification that you already know you don’t want to see.

(11:12 PM) kei :P: are you avoiding me?

You stare at the text, thumb hovering over the keyboard, your mind spinning with an answer that won’t sound like a complete lie. The problem is, you are avoiding him. You’ve been practically stonewalling him, dashing away inconspicuously whenever you know he’ll be nearby, and it’s getting obvious. He knows it. There’s no use pretending otherwise, but the idea of confronting it—confronting him—makes something anxious curl in your gut.

You sigh, flopping onto your bed, one arm draped over your eyes as you try to gather your thoughts. Your fingers type out a response before you can overthink it.

(11:15 PM) y/n: no? y/n: i’m j busy lately u know that

The three dots appear, then disappear. Reappear, then disappear again. He’s debating his response, and for some reason, that is terrifying. Then it buzzes.

(11:21 PM) kei :P: right.

It’s short. Barely anything at all. But you know him, and you know exactly what that one-word response means. He doesn’t believe you. He’s letting it go for now, but he isn’t letting it go entirely. The thought unsettles you more than you want to admit.

Your room feels suffocating suddenly, like it’s pressing in on you. You glance around, searching for something—anything—to keep your mind occupied, but all you find are pieces of him.

Tsukishima had helped you move in, so he has a fundamental part in the whole place already, but when you look even closer, he’s really in the details. There’s the framed picture on your desk from your high school graduation, his hand resting lazily on your shoulder as Yamaguchi beams from besides you. There’s a hoodie draped over your desk chair, long since stolen from his closet during a late night out that never got returned. There’s a battered copy of Normal People by Sally Rooney tucked into your bookshelf, its pages creased and worn from the way he always mindlessly flipped through it when he came over.

It never seemed evident until now, when you’re trying so hard not to think about him, to not let him occupy a space that he’s so clearly always kept filled, but now that you see it, it’s simple: Kei has been a part of your life for as long as you can possibly remember. He’s always been there, from the very moment your family moved into the house next door to him when you were seven. He’s in your daily routine. If you turned on your phone right now, it’d open to a picture of you three; if you were to open Spotify, you’ll find your blend at the very top of your pinned playlists.

He’s everywhere. He’s everything. Tsukishima Kei is worn into your very bones, into every single cell, written into every little part of your being.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, and for a moment, you consider texting him back. Saying something real. Something honest.

Your gaze flickers to your desk, to the script sitting on top of a stack of notebooks. The ending you rewrote stares back at you, the words bold and final.

Scene 6 Exterior - Rooftop - Sunset Yachi returns to the rooftop, now alone. She sits on the edge, looking out at the city. The sun sets, casting a warm glow over everything. She takes out a cigarette and lights it, inhaling deeply. Cut to: Tsukishima, walking through the city streets, the sunset reflecting in his eyes. He pauses, looking up at the rooftop where Yachi is sitting. The screen fades to black. Text on screen: “We’ll be there at the end of the world, together as the stars go out.”

The moment your professor read it, she called it striking. Said it felt honest. That the ache in the words felt real, like someone had lived it.

But you didn’t just write it. You felt it.

Because if the world were ending, if the stars were truly burning out—there’s no question where you’d be. Who you’d be with.

And yet, here you are, running.

You inhale sharply, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes.

With the weight of twelve years of friendship comes the obligation to not let it go to waste: you are terrified of what a confession could do. You can’t even imagine what a world without Kei looks like; you would honestly rather die than lose him. And well… admitting your feelings could very well mean losing him.

Then again, you could very well lose him too if you keep ignoring him and running away. You just need to come up with some way to either 1) get over your feelings, or 2) explain to your best friend that you’ve suddenly started having inexplicable dreams about him and feeling the urge to kiss him.

You mean, how hard could it really be?

eleven.

Evidently, very difficult.

You’re standing outside the door of Tsukishima’s flat for the first time in days, feeling like you might actually throw up. You have the horrible urge to cancel. Maybe you should turn around. Maybe you should fake food poisoning. Maybe you should suddenly develop an urgent need to flee the country.

But no. You can’t do that. This is your film, your project, your fucking grade on the line. You can’t just run away forever.

So you’re here. And you take a deep breath before you knock, because your heart is hammering like you just ran across campus, and it only picks up when the door swings open.

And then he’s there too—Tsukishima, standing in the doorway of his apartment, hair still damp from a shower, hoodie hanging loose on his frame. His glasses slide down his nose just slightly, and for a second, he just looks at you, eyes scanning your face, your posture, like he’s already found something off about you.

“You’re early,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

You nod, stepping over the threshold, hyperaware of the way the air inside feels different—warm, his, thick with something you don’t have the words for.

“Wanted to set up before Yachi gets here.” Your voice is steady, detached, the way it should be.

It’s not a lie, not entirely, but it’s not the truth either. The truth is sitting in the space between you, glaring and heavy, pressing in like the weight of an oncoming storm.

He hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. Tsukishima doesn’t move, doesn’t drop his gaze. His arms are crossed, his posture lazy, but there’s something pointed about the way he’s looking at you—sharp, analyzing, like he’s cataloging every tell, every avoidance, every reason why you’re standing here instead of texting some excuse from the safety of your dorm.

You drop your bag near the couch and move to set up your camera, your hands moving automatically as you avoid his gaze. The apartment smells like him—coffee and citrus, faintly like that stupid expensive detergent he swears isn’t a luxury purchase but definitely is. The scent is so him, so familiar, that it makes your stomach flip.

And then he speaks.

“What’s going on with you?”

You freeze.

It’s not accusatory, not sharp, just… careful. Measured. Like he’s trying to get an answer without pushing too hard. Which, honestly, is worse than if he had just called you out directly.

You force yourself to keep your hands steady, adjusting the camera’s angle. “Nothing. Just busy.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Bullshit.”

Your stomach twists. The air in the room shifts, thickens.

He’s always been quick. Always been able to pick apart your bullshit before you even finish spinning it, before you can even convince yourself it’s real. And now, with those gold-flecked eyes trained on you, burning through every excuse you try to build between you… well, you’re drowning.

His voice is steady, but edged with something dangerous. “I don’t know what your problem is, but if you think I haven’t noticed, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Your breath hitches in your chest.

For a second, you want to tell him. Everything. The thoughts, the jealousy, the confusion that’s been clawing at your throat for weeks. You hate that he knows you this well, that he can see through you so easily. You hate that he’s giving you that look, the one that says I’m waiting for the truth, waiting for you to finally be honest, and you hate, hate, that you don’t know what to say.

But then, the door swings open. Yachi steps in, breathless and smiling. “Sorry I’m late!”

The moment shatters.

You exhale, stepping back, forcing a smile as you greet her, ignoring the way Tsukishima is still watching you. He goes still, expression unreadable. And then—just like that—his face smooths out, his posture relaxes, his hands sink into his hoodie pocket like nothing happened at all.

“Let’s get this over with,” he mutters.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Let’s start.”

If you want to make it through a whole scene of them making out for three minutes, you have to stop looking at your best friend. His amber eyes, under his layer of concern, confusion, and annoyance, are filled with hurt, and your stomach feels like it’s being ripped out, torn to fucking shreds, to see him like that.

So you avert your gaze, stubbornly keeping your eyes on Yachi and your camera, and set up to film the scene.

***

The camera is steady. Your breathing, however, is not.

The apartment is dimly lit, the soft hum of music playing through the speaker, some indie song with melancholic chords that you once added to the shared playlist, long before this—before all of this—became something unbearable. It filters into the space like a ghost of a memory, like something familiar that you can’t quite place.

Yachi sits on the edge of Tsukishima’s bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting for direction, waiting for him. Tsukishima stands in front of her, tall and composed, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s testing the weight of the scene before stepping into it. His shoulders are loose, his stance easy, his face unreadable. Too unreadable.

Too casual.

Like he’s trying to make it look effortless.

Like he’s making it look effortless for you.

Your grip tightens around the camera. The frame is perfect—low lighting casting long shadows, the soft golden glow from the bedside lamp catching on strands of Yachi’s hair, the curve of Tsukishima’s jaw. It’s intimate. Close. Exactly what you wanted.

It should be fine. This should be fine.

The scene is simple.

Close-ups of hands, of fingers grazing over fabric. Of a breath caught in the space between them. Of a moment stretched too thin, heavy with something unsaid.

And then, they kiss.

Your stomach lurches.

It’s instinct—the way your body reacts, the way something tightens in your chest like a vice, the way your nails press into your palm where you grip the camera. You tell yourself to look at the screen, at the framing, at the way their silhouettes fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

But you’re not looking at the shot.

You’re looking at him.

The way his head tilts slightly, the angle just right. The way his hand ghosts over the small of Yachi’s back before settling, fingers barely pressing into fabric. The way he moves slow, deliberate, like every part of him has been designed for this moment, like he’s meant to be here, kissing her, making it look real.

Making it feel real.

Your fingers tighten around the camera, but you don’t move.

The shot is perfect.

Tsukishima is slow, careful. One hand cups Yachi’s jaw, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheekbone, his other resting against her waist, anchoring her in place. He leans in, the motion seamless, practiced, lips pressing against hers with just enough pressure to make it believable.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in.

It’s nothing. It’s just a film. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care.

But you do.

The words sit at the back of your throat like acid, thick and burning, because this is what you wanted—this is what you asked for—and yet you can’t seem to convince yourself that you’re okay with it.

You should be focusing on the technicalities. On the way the lighting frames them, on the way the movement aligns with your vision, on the way Yachi’s fingers twitch against his hoodie like she’s nervous, like she’s fully immersed in the moment.

But all you can focus on is him.

The way his eyelashes flutter for half a second before he closes his eyes.

The slow exhale against Yachi’s lips.

The way his grip shifts against her waist—just slightly, just barely, like he’s grounding himself. Like he’s steadying his breath, like he’s trying to remember it’s acting.

Something inside you twists, sharp and visceral, something so wrong it makes your stomach ache.

Your fingers are shaking.

And then, the worst part: Tsukishima tilts his head further, deepening the kiss.

Your breath catches.

It’s instinctive, automatic, the way your entire body tenses. You barely realize what you’re doing until the words leave your lips, unbidden, a little too fast, a little too urgent.

“Cut.”

The word slices through the air like a blade.

Tsukishima pulls back immediately, blinking, like something had momentarily snapped.

Yachi exhales, touching her lips, a little dazed, but then she laughs, easy and light. “That felt really natural.”

Natural.

The word rings in your ears, cold and foreign, something heavy and nauseating settling in your stomach.

Natural.

You feel like you’re going to throw up.

Tsukishima is still looking at you. Not at Yachi, but at you.

His expression isn’t unreadable anymore. It’s something else—something unread, something searching, something sharp enough to make your skin burn under the weight of it.

You swallow, forcing your voice into something neutral. “Yeah. That was good. Really… natural.”

Yachi grins, stretching her arms. “I have to run—I promised Hinata I’d help him study tonight.”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Go ahead.”

She gathers her things, slings her bag over her shoulder, completely unaware that the air in the room is thick with something else, something unspoken, something unraveling.

The door clicks shut.

You inhale.

You should leave too, right now. You should grab your bag, make up some excuse, and go.

But before you can even think about moving, a hand wraps around your wrist, and drags you back in.

twelve.

The door clicks shut behind Yachi, but the weight in your chest doesn’t lift. If anything, it gets heavier, pressing against your ribs like an iron hand squeezing the air out of your lungs. You force yourself to breathe, force yourself to move, force yourself to not think about the way Tsukishima had looked at her, had touched her, had—

A hand wraps around your wrist.

You freeze.

Tsukishima tugs, firm but not rough, pulling you back before you can escape.

Your heart stutters.

“What the hell is going on with you?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s something underneath it—frustration, confusion, anger.

You try to twist your arm away, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers tighten slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor you, to keep you here. You force yourself to look at him, to meet the sharp, burning gaze that’s demanding answers.

You swallow. “Nothing.”

His jaw clenches. “Try again.”

“Tsukishima—”

“No.” His voice cuts through the air, low and unyielding. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Avoiding me. Lying to me. Looking at me like I fucking killed your dog or something. Not even calling me Kei anymore. And then tonight—” He breaks off, exhaling sharply through his nose. His grip on your wrist doesn’t loosen. “What is your problem?”

The words sting, sharp and cutting, but the worst part is that he’s right. He’s right.

And you’re tired.

Tired of pretending it doesn’t bother you. Tired of biting your tongue. Tired of shoving down every ugly, twisting, unbearable feeling that claws at your throat.

So, suddenly, recklessly, you snap. “You! You’re my fucking problem!”

The words burst out of you like they’ve been waiting, desperate to escape, and suddenly, there’s no going back.

Tsukishima’s eyes widen—just slightly, just enough for you to see the flicker of shock before his expression hardens again.

“What?” His voice is sharp, almost mocking, like he’s daring you to say it again, to spell it out for him.

You rip your wrist from his grip, shoving him back a step. Your hands are shaking. Your heart is pounding.

“You don’t get it, do you?” The words come fast, breathless. “Do you even see what you look like? How easy this is for you?” Your voice wavers, thick with something too sharp to be just frustration. “How you can just— just kiss her like it’s nothing?”

His brow furrows. “It was a scene.”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

You shove him again, hands pressing against his chest, but he barely moves.

“I had to watch you,” you spit, voice cracking at the edges. “Watch you hold her like that. Watch you look at her like that. And I hated it, Tsukishima. I hated it.”

Something shifts in the air between you.

The anger is still there, but beneath it—something else. Something fragile and aching and real.

Tsukishima doesn’t speak. His lips part slightly, but no words come.

He’s staring at you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes.

You inhale, shaking, your hands balled into fists. “I don’t know when it happened, or how, or if I’m just an idiot who took too long to figure it out, but I—” Your breath stutters. Your throat feels tight. Fuck, you shouldn’t be saying this. You shouldn’t be saying this.

But you do.

Because it’s too late.

Because there’s no running now.

“I love you.”

The words drop between you like stones in water, sinking deep, sending ripples through everything.

Silence.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, erratic and deafening.

Tsukishima stares at you. Gaping. Frozen.

Like the world just tilted on its very axis. Like the entire sky is tumbling down, like gravity is the sole thing keeping him on the ground.

And then you panic.

“I—I didn’t mean—” Your voice shakes, your fingers twitch, you need to fix this, you need to take it back before you lose him, before you ruin everything—

But then he moves.

Fast.

His hands are on your face before you can breathe, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head back.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not careful. Not controlled. Not measured, the way he was with Yachi.

This is something else entirely.

This is desperate. This is frantic. This is a storm breaking after years of tension, of longing, of something building between you that neither of you had the courage to name.

His lips crash against yours, stealing the air from your lungs, pulling a sound from the back of your throat that’s more relief than surprise. He kisses you like he’s been holding himself back for too long, like the second he let himself move, he couldn’t stop.

Like he’s been waiting.

Like he’s always wanted this.

The heat of his body devours you, swallowing you whole, pulling you under like a riptide you don’t want to escape. His hands slide down, fingers spreading against your waist, gripping tight like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his grasp. He tugs you forward, flush against him, so close there’s no space left, no room for doubt, no hesitation—only him, only this, only the way he’s holding you like he never intends to let go.

His mouth moves against yours with intent, deliberate and thorough, a silent demand, a confession with no words, just the press of his lips and the desperate, aching pull of his hands. He’s tasting, memorizing, mapping out every gasp, every shiver, every fragile part of you that has ever been his without either of you realizing it.

You make a sound against his lips, something caught between a sigh and a plea, and that’s all it takes—his grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin like he’s learning you by touch, like he needs you closer, closer, closer.

You melt into him. You break into him.

There is no hesitation when your hands reach for him, twisting in the fabric of his hoodie, clutching it like a lifeline, because you are terrified he’ll stop, that this will disappear, that he’ll come to his senses and—

But he doesn’t.

Because when you part, just barely, just enough to let air slip between you, Tsukishima chases after you.

His lips find yours again, softer this time, reverent, like he needs to remind himself that you’re real. That this is real.

That you’re not running anymore.

His forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven, warm, fanning over your lips in slow exhales. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, just lets the silence stretch, heavy and fragile and trembling with meaning.

Then, his voice—low, hoarse, something wrecked and beautiful.

“Say it again.”

Your heart stutters, something sharp and sweet twisting in your chest.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, amber eyes burning, raw with something you’ve never seen before, something almost pleading.

Your fingers loosen against his hoodie, but you don’t let go. “What?”

His thumb brushes over your cheek, his jaw tight, his gaze steady, searching yours for something unspoken.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, quieter this time.

Your throat is dry. Your world has shrunk to the space between you, to the way his hands still hold you, to the weight of his gaze pressing into you like an answer he already knows but needs to hear anyway.

You swallow once, then again. Then, soft but steady, you let it slip. “I love you.”

The way he exhales, sharp and shaky, is enough to undo you completely.

And then he kisses you again.

Slower this time. Deep. Intentional. Like he’s taking his time, like he wants to make sure you understand.

This isn’t a mistake. This isn’t something he can write off as an impulse, something fleeting or meaningless or careless. This is him. This is him choosing you.

He kisses you like he’s learning you, like he’s memorizing the way your breath hitches when he moves a certain way, the way your hands tremble when they slide up to cup his jaw, the way you—God, the way you kiss him back like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

Like you love him, and you’ve always loved him.

Like he loves you, and he’s always loved you.

And maybe it’s too much, too late, too terrifying, but when you pull apart, he still doesn’t let go.

His fingers linger against your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, swollen from his kiss.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he snorts.

You laugh, breathless, and it comes out half-shaky, half-dazed. “Excuse me?”

He shakes his head, his lips curving slightly—soft, unbearably fond, annoyingly smug—but his eyes stay serious, stay warm.

“I love you too,” he says, just like that, like it’s simple. Like it’s easy.

And for once, it is.

thirteen.

You wake up in a panic.

Your heart is a drum in your chest, erratic, wild, out of sync with the soft pre-dawn quiet of your dorm room. The weight of last night presses down on you all at once—the argument, the confession, the way Tsukishima kissed you like he’d been waiting, like he meant it, like he wasn’t going to let you take it back.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhale sharply through your nose. It doesn’t help. The air is too thick, your limbs too restless, your thoughts too loud.

What the fuck did you do?

You sit up, shoving the blankets off you like they’re suffocating you. Your hair is a mess, the hoodie you slept in (not yours—his, fuck) twisted around you uncomfortably, but you don’t bother fixing it. The digital clock on your nightstand blinks 6:04 AM, and outside, the world is just beginning to wake.

You should be asleep.

You should be anything but this.

Blindly, you reach for your phone, thumb swiping over the screen to unlock it. The notifications hit you like a brick.

— 17 missed calls — 3 new voicemails — kei :P: pick up your phone — kei :P: are you serious right now — kei :P: we’re not doing this — kei :P: text me back

Your stomach lurches.

Your fingers twitch over the screen, hovering, hesitating, and then—fuck—you lock the phone and throw it onto your desk like it burned you.

You can’t deal with this right now.

Not now, not when you’re still caught in the aftermath of what happened, not when the ghost of his lips still lingers on your skin.

You need a distraction.

You push yourself up from the bed, dragging your feet to your desk, where your laptop sits untouched from the night before. The screen glows as it wakes, casting a pale blue light over your desk. You click open Premiere Pro, fingers moving on autopilot, pulling up the final cut of your film.

Something to ground you. Something to keep you from spiraling.

The editing timeline stretches before you, a mess of layered clips and audio tracks. The cursor blinks, waiting. You set it to the last scene you worked on—the rooftop scene, Yachi and Tsukishima against the night sky, the cigarette smoke curling between them like something ephemeral, fleeting.

You press play.

The footage unfolds in perfect clarity.

Yachi sits on the ledge, her fingers wrapped loosely around the cigarette, her expression thoughtful. Tsukishima is beside her, arms draped over his knees, his profile sharp against the neon haze of the city below.

She turns to him, voice soft, hesitant. “Do you think it’ll last?”

There’s a pause.

Then—his response.

“As long as we exist, it will.”

You exhale sharply, the words hitting you harder than they should.

The scene plays through, Yachi taking a slow drag of the cigarette before exhaling toward the sky, the glow of the embers casting flickering light over her features. Tsukishima doesn’t look at her. His eyes stay forward, locked on something distant, something unseen.

Your fingers twitch over the keyboard, and without thinking, you hit the spacebar.

The scene rewinds.

You play it again.

“Do you think it’ll last?”

“As long as we exist, it will.”

A lump forms in your throat.

You rewind it again.

Again.

You don’t know why you keep watching it, why the words keep lodging themselves deeper and deeper into your chest.

Maybe because it doesn’t sound like acting. Maybe because you remember the way he said it, the way he delivered the line so effortlessly, so quietly, like it wasn’t a scripted moment but something real.

Maybe because it reminds you of last night.

The way he kissed you, the way his hands held you firm, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. The way he told you, Say it again, like he couldn’t believe it, like he needed to hear it over and over to make it real. The way he looked at you when you did. The way you let yourself believe, just for a second, that everything you wanted wasn’t impossible.

Your breath hitches, sudden and sharp, and then— you’re crying.

It’s not dramatic. There’s no sobbing, no wretched gasps for air.

Just silent tears, slipping down your cheeks, slow and unrelenting, as the weight of it all crashes into you.

Because you love him. Because you’ve always loved him. Because you can’t remember a time of your life where you didn’t, and because you can’t imagine a time where you don’t.

And you’re terrified.

You don’t know how long you sit there, shoulders curled in, fingers gripping the edge of your desk like you need to physically hold yourself together.

The sun creeps through the window, light spilling over your room in soft golds and oranges. Outside, the campus hums to life—doors opening, footsteps in the hallway, distant laughter.

You should move. You should do something.

Instead, you hit play one more time.

“Do you think it’ll last?”

“As long as we exist, it will.”

The tears keep falling, and you don’t know why you’re crying anymore: whether it’s because you believe it, or because you don’t.

fourteen.

Your hands are shaking as you pull up your contacts list.

It’s barely past 6:30 AM, the sky still tinged with the last remnants of dawn, but you can’t stay here. The weight of your realization—your love for Tsukishima—is suffocating, curling around your ribs like something clawed and desperate, something that refuses to let go.

You need to talk to someone, and there’s only one person who will actually pick up at this hour. So you press the call button and wait.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then, a groggy voice, scratchy with sleep but undeniably familiar.

“This better be good, or I swear—”

“I need you.”

A beat of silence.

Then, rustling sheets. A sigh. And finally.

“Where?”

***

The tiny café is quiet, still waking up alongside the rest of campus. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of vanilla and warm pastries. Sunlight filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden rectangles onto the worn wooden floors.

You sit in your usual booth, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, though you haven’t taken a single sip.

You barely register the sound of the door swinging open before a familiar figure drops into the seat across from you, yawning into his hoodie sleeve.

“You look horrible.”

You huff out a weak laugh, your throat still tight from earlier. “Good morning to you too, ‘Dashi.”

Yamaguchi stretches his arms overhead before slumping against the seat, blinking at you with the exhaustion of a man who has spent way too many nights buried under physics equations. He eyes you carefully, then his gaze flicks to the untouched tea in your hands.

“You called me before seven in the morning,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair. “Which means either the apocalypse is happening, or you did something monumentally stupid.”

You drag a hand down your face. “Both.”

His lips quirk up slightly. “Alright. Start talking.”

You open your mouth, but—where do you even start?

The confession? The kiss? The fact that you spent half the night crying over your laptop, replaying Tsukishima’s voice like some deranged, lovesick film major cliché?

Your hands tighten around your cup. “It’s about Kei.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t even blink. “Figured.”

You exhale, shaky and uneven. “I—I don’t know what to do.”

He leans forward slightly, forearms resting against the table, his expression turning serious. “Okay. Take it from the top.”

So you do. You tell him everything.

About the jealousy—the awful, gut-wrenching feeling that took root in your chest the second you saw Tsukishima kiss Yachi, the way it spiraled into something uncontrollable, something you couldn’t suppress.

About the fight—the way Tsukishima saw right through you, called you out, made you snap. The way you finally admitted the truth you’d been running from for so long.

And then, the kiss. The way he grabbed you, the way he pulled you in, the way he kissed you like he was starving, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

And the way, afterwards, you panicked.

The silence stretches when you finally stop talking. You can’t bring yourself to meet Yamaguchi’s eyes.

“I left,” you whisper, shame curling in your chest. “I—I freaked out and left. And now I don’t know what to do.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches for his coffee, takes a slow sip, and then sets it down with a soft thunk. Then—finally—he speaks.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Your head jerks up. “Excuse me?”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like you’ve personally caused him actual, physical pain. “This is literally the worst case of mutual pining I’ve ever seen.”

“Mutual—?”

“Yes,” Yamaguchi says, exasperated. “Are you seriously telling me you didn’t realize he’s been in love with you since we were, like, fifteen?”

You choke on air. “What?”

He gives you a flat look. “Oh, come on. You think he just puts up with people like that? Have you met Kei? He barely tolerates most human interaction, but you? You’re different.”

Your stomach sinks.

Yamaguchi leans back against the booth, studying you carefully. His voice is quieter when he says, “Now he’s waiting for you.”

And suddenly, it all comes rushing back.

Like that summer when you were fourteen, sprawled on the grass in his backyard, swatting mosquitoes away while he read some ridiculous philosophy book he’d scoffed at but couldn’t put down. You had called him pretentious, poked fun at his stupid little annotations, and then—just when he was about to snap back—he had looked at you. Really looked at you. And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

Or the time in high school when he stayed up with you, sitting outside your house at two in the fucking morning, just because you had a nightmare and didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t say anything about it, didn’t mock you for it, didn’t act like it was a big deal. He just let you talk about stupid shit until you weren’t shaking anymore.

Then there was college. The night he drove across town just because you were too drunk to make it back to your dorm. The way he let you ramble about some stupid movie you had watched for class while he carried you—actually carried you—up the stairs because your legs had stopped working.

And then, of course, last night.

The way he kissed you like he had been holding himself back for years.

The way he whispered, Say it again, like he needed to hear it more than anything.

The way you had run.

Because maybe, deep down, you always knew.

Yamaguchi watches you, then exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “You love him.”

It’s not a question.

It's a fact.

And you know that, of course. You’ve always known that. But hearing it out loud—having someone else say it, no doubt, no hesitation—it does something to you.

Your fingers tighten around your cup.

“I love him,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I love him, and I’m scared.”

Yamaguchi hums, tapping his fingers against the rim of his coffee cup. “Why?”

“Because if this goes wrong, I lose him,” you say, staring down at the caramel liquid in your cup.

He tilts his head. “And if it goes right?”

You swallow.

That’s the terrifying part.

If it goes right—if you actually let yourself believe in this, in him… then everything changes. You can never get it back.

But then again, if you don’t, you’ll never move forward.

Yamaguchi leans forward, voice softer now. “Look, I get it. Kei is… a lot. He’s a pain in the ass. But you don’t have to be afraid of this. Not with him.”

You swallow hard. Your thumb hovers over his name on your phone. But you don’t call him.

Not yet.

Instead, you look at Yamaguchi, heart hammering, voice barely steady.

“What do I do?”

He smiles, small and knowing.

“Go to him.”

fifteen.

Your heart is pounding.

Your pulse is an erratic drumbeat in your ears, your breath uneven as you stand outside Tsukishima’s apartment at 7 AM like an absolute psychopath. The hallway is empty, most of the residents still asleep, because normal people do not show up at their best friend’s door at the crack of dawn after confessing their feelings, running away, and then ghosting them for a whole night.

But here you are.

You raise a fist to knock. Pause. Lower it.

Your mind runs through every possible thing that could go wrong. What if he’s still asleep? What if he’s awake, but he’s pissed? What if you just turn around and pretend this never happened and never speak to him again and maybe flee the country?

But no. No more running. You’re done with that.

You exhale sharply, grit your teeth, and knock.

There’s no response at first.

Then, a very loud, very irritated groan.

Footsteps. A thud as something (probably his knee) collides with something else (probably his desk), followed by a mumbled string of very colorful expletives.

And then, the door swings open.

Tsukishima is standing there, half-asleep and thoroughly unamused.

He’s not wearing his glasses, which is so much worse, because without them, he looks—soft. His blond hair is a complete mess, sticking up in every direction, and he’s wearing that stupid old hoodie that’s two sizes too big, the one you’ve definitely stolen at some point but returned because it stopped smelling like him. His sweatpants are loose around his hips, and his expression is pure murder as he squints at you.

“…The fuck?” His voice is rough from sleep. “It’s seven in the morning.”

You should probably say something. You should probably apologize. You should probably explain why you’ve lost your goddamn mind and decided to show up here like some dramatic main character in an early 2000s rom-com.

But instead, you go on your tiptoes, yank down him by his hoodie, and kiss him.

It happens fast, and at first, he completely freezes.

Like full-body shutdown. His entire frame locks up, his hands hovering uncertainly, breath caught in his throat.

For one horrifying moment, you think you’ve made a mistake.

But then… then his hands find your waist. And suddenly, he’s kissing you back.

It’s slow at first, tentative, like he’s still processing this, still trying to believe it’s real. But then his fingers tighten against your skin, pulling you closer, and you can feel the exact moment he gives in.

The exact moment he stops thinking.

And God, you feel it everywhere.

The heat of him, the slow, deliberate press of his lips, the quiet, shaky exhale against your mouth before he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. He’s warm, solid, real, and for the first time in weeks, your head isn’t a tangled mess of doubt and fear.

For the first time, everything makes sense.

You pull away first, breathless, heart hammering.

His hands linger on your waist. He keeps his face close to yours, just centimeters away, and when he finally opens his eyes, they’re dark with something you’ve never seen before. Something raw. Something completely, utterly unguarded.

You swallow hard. “I—”

His thumb brushes over your hip, the smallest, barest movement.

You inhale sharply. “I’m sorry.”

Tsukishima doesn’t move. He just watches you, eyes sharp, unreadable. “For what?”

“For—” You hesitate. Your fingers tighten against the fabric of his hoodie. “For running. For taking so long to figure this out. For—”

He sighs, but there’s no real annoyance in it. His gaze softens—just slightly, just enough.

“You’re a dumbass,” he mutters.

You let out a breathless laugh. “I know.”

A pause. Then, he asks, “Do you wanna go for a walk?”

You blink up at him, caught off guard. “A walk?”

“Yeah.” Tsukishima shrugs, stepping back, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you gonna walk me back to my dorm? Because I literally just dragged myself here for nothing if that’s the case.”

He rolls his eyes. “No, dumbass. I just—” He exhales, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Just wanna walk somewhere.”

Your lips twitch. “…How romantic of you.”

He scoffs. “Shut up.”

But he doesn’t deny it.

The air is crisp, the early morning quiet—the kind of stillness that only exists before the rest of the world wakes up.

You walk side by side, the distance between you not much, but enough. For a while, neither of you speak.

“I meant it.”

You glance at him. “Huh?”

Tsukishima doesn’t look at you. His gaze is fixed ahead, his hands still tucked into his hoodie, his jaw set. But his voice—low, certain—doesn’t waver.

“I meant it,” he repeats. “When I told you to say it again.”

Your breath catches. He keeps walking, staring straight ahead like this isn’t some life-altering confession, like he’s just casually commenting on the weather. But his hands are tensed inside his hoodie pocket. His shoulders are tight.

You swallow. “Kei…”

“I don’t like a lot of people,” he says bluntly. “I barely tolerate most people. But you—”

He stops walking. You stop too.

Finally, he turns to you, and God—his eyes. They burn, golden in the morning light, open and completely unguarded.

“You make me feel like I belong in a movie.”

Your breath stutters.

He exhales, shaking his head, voice quieter now. “And I fucking hate movies.”

A laugh bubbles up your throat, sudden and unexpected, and you can’t stop smiling.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely making it a thing,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder. “My grumpy, six-foot-four, emotionally constipated best friend just confessed he’s been hopelessly in love with me for years.”

His ears go pink. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did.”

“Shut up.”

You grin. “Make me.”

A pause. Then, he does.

This time, the kiss is gentler. No urgency, no desperation—just warmth. Just him. And as his hands settle against your waist, as your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie, as his lips move against yours with something quieter, steadier, you realize something very, very important.

For the first time in a long, long time—you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

With him.

But then, the moment stretches, and a thought occurs to you. An extremely essential thought.

You pull back slightly, blinking up at him. Tsukishima frowns. “What.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Then, after a beat, you blurt out, “So… does this mean we’re dating?”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable—half amusement, half exasperation. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb brushes absently along your waist, his grip shifting slightly, like he’s still getting used to the fact that he’s touching you.

Then, flatly, he says, “I don’t know. Do you plan on kissing other people?”

“No?” You reply, your nose scrunching.

“Then yeah.”

You stare. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You gape at him. “Kei, you are the most unromantic—”

But then something flickers across your mind, something bigger, heavier. A thought that makes your stomach tighten, your fingers twitch against his hoodie.

You inhale. “Hey,” you say, softer this time. “How long?”

He watches you. “How long what?”

You swallow hard. “How long have you loved me?”

A pause. A long pause.

Tsukishima doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. But there’s something in his expression that shifts—something softer, quieter. His fingers tighten just slightly at your waist. And then, voice low, steady, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, he sighs.

“I can’t remember when I didn’t.”

Your heart stops. Your breath catches, your fingers clench around his hoodie, and God—what are you supposed to say to that? Because there’s no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just him. Just this. Just the reality of a love so deeply ingrained in the both of you that it has no beginning and no end.

You exhale—shaky, breathless. “You suck at romance, you know that?”

He rolls his eyes. “And yet, you’re still standing here.”

You laugh, bright and full, and before you can think about it, before you can overanalyze, you’re kissing him again.

It’s easier this time.

Because now, you’re sure.

And maybe the universe really does have a thing for sadism, because somehow, against all logic, it made him your person. The same Tsukishima Kei who laughs at your mistakes and misfortunes, who calls you out for your delusions and idiocy, who makes fun of your collection of Smiskis and love of reality TV. But at the same time, this Tsukishima Kei would do anything for you, even if you have to beg and beg. This Tsukishima Kei has held you through the worst days of your life, has seen you at your lowest moments and stayed, has waited for you for years to see him the way he has always seen you.

And you think, feeling his hands tighten at your waist and his lips linger against yours like he’s memorising the feeling, that maybe, just maybe, the universe got this one right.

⨭ closing notes; i adore tsukishima kei so much. tbh i rly struggled w this work bc i had this concept fleshed out for so long and j cldnt execute it the way i wanted, but thank u to @kinaskorner for beta reading and for the reassurance <3 i hope u guys love this too!! if u made it to the end of this super long fic lol then thank u sm and i hope u have the loveliest day

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5sospenguinqueen · 5 days ago

Text

Toy Cars | Fernando Alonso x Mum! Reader

Summary: Fernando boasts about his step-sons to anyone who will listen. So, when you realise you want more, he's confused why your little family is no longer enough.

Warnings: angst, slight age gap. i pictured reader about 35

Requested: no

just a short one compared to the others

F1 Masterlist

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fernandoalo_official just posted

liked by astonmartinf1, aussiegrit and others

fernandoalo_official not been an easy weekend so far but it’s made easier when one of my favourite people is in the paddock

14,114 comments

jensonbutton but i’m not working this weekend?

→ lance_stroll we all know i’m his other favourite person

→ fernandoalo_official no, the twins are

→ user1 step dad nando has my whole heart

→ yn_ln mine too!

user2 a hug from fernando would heal me

→ user3 a hug from y/n would heal me

yn_ln weekends where i get to see you are my favourite

→ user4 i will never be normal about these two

→ user5 it’s the fact that he watches the f2 races because it gives him an excuse to hang out with y/n

astonmartinf1 our favourite couple

user6 need fernando to win now that he’s had his good luck hug

yn_ln just posted

liked by jensonbutton, lance_stroll and others

yn_ln back on track for the twins. both my boys did a wonderful job with high position finishes… oh and they were visited by an enthusiastic fan 😉

5,343 comments

fernandoalo_official i’ll be getting you in one of those karts next

→ yn_ln that’s going to take a lot of convincing, nando

→ fernandoalo_official i can think of a few ways, mi vida

→ landonorris ew

→ user7 mi vida!! i will never be normal about these two

aussiegrit how’d he get his hair that tall

→ astonmartinf1 it’s so full of secrets

fa_alonsokart calling the boss an enthusiastic fan is such a power move

→ user8 the fact that he let her and didn’t comment on it tho

lance_stroll they'll be taking his seat soon enough

user9 love how supportive fernando is of his step-sons

→ user10 he literally started a karting school so that he could help their karting careers

→ user11 the dad that stepped up

user1 what’s your favourite fa14 fact? mine is that he fell in love with y/n l/n, realised she had twins and immediately started enacting project alonso

→ user2 no because the twins were 11 when he met them and now they’re 15 and looking at f3 seats

user3 this is what i’ve been saying. fernando doesn’t just love y/n, he loves her children just as much, if not more

user4 fernando alonso puts all other step-dads to shame because he is always there for them, no matter how busy his life is

user5 i really need fernando to hurry up and propose because that is his family

→ user6 yes! he needs to make project alonso official by giving them all his last name

→ user7 and then more babies!

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comments

user8 why was this the cutest thing said by anyone ever. like those are his boys

user9 wait, so does this mean he doesn’t want kids?

user10 the way he cut that interviewer off because that his family whether they share blood or not

→ user11 i read it as he didn’t want to talk about it any more because he doesn’t want more kids and maybe he and y/n haven’t talked about it yet

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yn_ln just posted

liked by kellypiquet, alexandrasaintmleux and others

yn_ln an empty house for the week makes me realise that i miss hearing about cars

2,343 comments

user1 aw are the flowers from fernando?

kellypiquet max keeps trying to convince me to get another cat. don’t let him see this

→ maxverstappen1 too late

user2 wait, why isn’t she spending summer break with nando?

→ user3 because he’s on holiday

→ user2 without her?

→ user4 they don’t have to spend every minute together. he’s allowed to have a break

user5 guys, y/n and fernando don’t follow each other anymore?

→ user6 i thought you were lying but then i checked and it’s true :(

→ user7 oh that captions hit extra hard

user8 no because her entire life is racing and now that it’s not there, she realises she misses it

→ user9 she misses him

user10 i’m so confused. they were so in love like two weeks ago. what happened?

user11 no because i can’t imagine seeing fernando without y/n

user12 is he still going to support the twins?

user13 but you were supposed to get married to fernando and have lots of little alonso’s

→ user14 maybe one of them didn’t want that

→ user15 can’t imagine it being alonso, he thinks the world of the twins

→ user16 true. he does mention them in almost every interview

user1 when i remembered f2 were racing this weekend, i was so happy because that meant yn and nando content and then i remembered they’d broken up

→ user2 all the tweets on here are tearing my heart out as well

user3 they’ve not spoken to each other once today

user4 yes she walked straight past him but there’s clips of her entire face crumpling as soon as she’s past him

→ user5 yes! i saw that. her colleague had to usher her into the garage before she started crying

user6 the fact that fernando spent the entire time watching her though

→ user7 even when people were talking to him, he was full on staring at her

→ user8 brokenhearted lover boy made no attempts to hide it

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Baby Fever Angst Series

Love that I mentioned request for Esteban once and I already have 5 requests 😂 I didn't realise there was that much love for Ocon considering I can never find any fics for him

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nadvs · 8 months ago

Note

In sleeping with the enemy,

What if people know that they’re just fucking and the jealous girls give shit to reader about how she’s just a lay making her cry and then rafe hearing about it

THE ANGST OF THIS. I LOVE IT 🙂‍↕️

based on this fic

she and rafe keep hooking up with no strings attached and actually develop a good friendship. they both like how the other is direct. they don’t bullshit each other. it’s easy because he’s never really cared to mince his words and she’s so jaded about love and men that she doesn’t worry about hurting his feelings.

she gives him shit about how he has no emotions and he says she’s the exactly the same way. it’s what makes their dynamic so good. they don’t have to worry about feelings getting in the way. they’re friends with benefits in the purest form.

their time together almost always revolves around sex, but sometimes they hang out as friends, and one night, rafe invites her to a frat party on his college campus.

she recognizes a few cheerleaders from rafe’s team at the party and they’re immediately shooting her dirty looks. one of them says “i don’t know why he invited her” loudly and she can tell right away that one of the girls in the group must have a history with rafe because her friends look to be comforting her.

“she’s just a piece of ass to him,” another says, clearly projecting her voice. at this point, she knows she shouldn’t care, but the harsh truth that she hasn’t found a guy who wants to be serious with her yet stings.

she’d stand up for herself, but she’s had a rough day and she hates that she’s alone at that moment, so she rushes out of the party, upset that they succeeded in making her cry.

rafe notices her leaving in a rush, wedging out of the crowd. she hears him calling her name when she steps out of the house into the night air.

“are you crying?” he asks. he’s only ever seen her having fun, pissed off, or horny. this is new.

“don’t give me shit about it, alright?” she says, stopping in her tracks and wiping her tears away. “i’m not in the mood.”

“did something happen?” he asks, albeit awkwardly. he’s never been good at dealing with other people’s feelings. and he’s never seen her vulnerable like this.

“people are just assholes,” she responds.

“who?” he’s pissed off. who the fuck felt like they had the right to mess with her?

“some girls on your cheer squad,” she replies. “they were saying i’m just a piece of ass to you. and don’t worry, i don’t care about that. i know we’re just messing around. but they were so mean about it.”

rafe scoffs. he knows which girls she’s talking about immediately. he steps closer, tense but determined when he squeezes her hand.

“what are you doing?” she says, cracking a smile. he never acts like this. affectionate. like he cares.

“it’s not about you,” he tells her. “i hooked up with one of them forever ago. i told her i didn’t want to date but she’s obsessed with me. don’t let them get in your head.”

she looks at rafe quizzically.

“you’re just being nice so i don’t stop hooking up with you,” she says, admittedly feeling better.

“is it working?” rafe asks, smirking. she laughs and rolls her eyes and pushes him away.

he doesn’t know when he started actually giving a shit about someone else’s happiness, but it happened with her. seeing her cry made him feel a hard, twisted way he’s never felt before.

“get fucked,” she laughs. he can tell he really did console her. she’s smiling again.

“promise?” rafe says with a grin. he takes her hand again, pulling her towards the house. “you’re not leaving. i didn’t bring you so you’d go home a minute later. i’ll set them straight if they fuck with you again, alright? let’s have fun.”

“fun?” she repeats. “i’m not hooking up with you in a closet, just so you know.”

“i know,” rafe says, hand at the small of her back as they enter the party again. “we can find a bed around here, i bet.”

she shoves his shoulder, mirroring his smile as he guides her through the crowd.

#ask #swteblurb #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

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kazumist · 1 year ago

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STUPID CUPID .ᐟ

✩ — in which you thought cupid was stupid for making you fall for a guy like wriothesley.

✩ — wriothesley x gn!reader. fluff. no cws. wc: 753 (woah). reader is down bad for wrio LOL theyre so me fr. reblogs are very much appreciated !!

you never found wriothesley attractive.

well, that was before, at least. now, you’re currently undergoing a love crisis because how and when did he even become so attractive in your eyes?

since when did wriothesley look so good in rolled up sleeves? (one of the rare times where you’re thankful that the uniform has long sleeves, really.) since when did wriothesley look good in fitted clothes? since when did his chuckle start replaying in your head at random times during the day? and archons, since when did you even start liking the way he says your name?

just when did wriothesley start to become your type?

a few months ago, you didn’t even spare him a glance when it wasn’t needed. yet now, here you are, most probably on the brink of losing your sanity just because of a guy who you’re 100% sure doesn’t even think of you the same way.

you don’t share that many conversations with him, but when you do, it feels like you are floating. maybe it was simply because of how good his voice sounds, or maybe it was because you’re actually talking to him—who knows?

the words that your friends had said before started to echo in your head, “you know, when you’re in love, you’ll feel like your dreaming every day.” you didn’t believe them at first, of course; it just sounded impossible for you. but the tables just had to turn on you, didn’t they?

“as i was saying, i think it’s best if we take another approach to doing this project—are you okay?”

oh shit. this just proves their point even more, you completely forgot you were in the middle of talking and planning about your project with wriothesley because you were thinking about him!

“huh? oh yeah, don’t worry about it.”

he nods in acknowledgement and continued to voice out his thoughts and archons, you were so close to melting. no way in celestia that even you even find him attractive as he is explaining his ideas, right?

right?

who knew that a project could bring two people together?

you managed to find out all sorts of things about wriothesley. a few of those would be: he has a little sister named sigewinne and he lets her style his hair whenever he’s at home, he usually does morning walks during the weekends to watch the sunrise, he really likes drinking tea and doesn’t like talking too much because his throat becomes too dry for his liking, there’s also��

yep, you’re falling deeper than you initially thought.

stupid, stupid cupid!

cupid must’ve been stupid. there’s no other explanation for it. because why did you just have to fall for a guy like wriothesley? wriothesley, who’s way out of your league. who you’re positively sure doesn’t like you back (and has no plans on doing so). wriothesley, who wasn’t even your type yet, here you are, going crazy over him!

just why did you have to fall for wriothesley who's… currently walking towards you right now with a bouquet of tulips in hand?

“what’s with the tulips?” you asked him.

you didn’t have to be a genius to know what tulips symbolized—love and happiness is what they mostly meant.

“are you going to give them to sigewinne?” you followed up on your last question. “ah, they’re actually for you," he replies, keeping his eyes on the bouquet in his hands and refusing to look you in the eyes instead.

wait.

did he just say they were for you?

“huh? for me?”

he silently handed you the said bouquet and proceeded to put his hands in his pockets. there, you noticed a little note attached.

i love watching the sun rise, but i’ll love it more if i get to watch it with you.

“if you don’t feel the same, it’s completely fine with me. i just wanted to let you know that i hold romantic feelings for you and—" he started to ramble, which is very out of character of him since you’re well aware that he doesn’t like to talk too much.

you didn’t believe everything at first. wriothesley suddenly giving you a bouquet of tulips was already unbelievable enough for you, but to read this note that was obviously written by him? you’re probably just dreaming, right? yeah, that must be it. maybe you just fell asleep, and now you’re dreaming of this whole thing—

“i’d like to watch the sun rise with you as well.”

maybe cupid wasn’t stupid after all.

tagging: @ryuryuryuyurboat, @oveloof, and @yinyinggie <3

#( writings )#astronetwrk #favoniuslibrary #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #x reader

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fallstaticexit · 5 months ago

Text

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

TW: Sex, Sim Spice

Transcript under the cut

Client: I mean this respectfully, Nancy-

Nancy: Mrs. Landgraab.

Client: Right, right.

Client: We’ve done business with Mr. Landgraab for over two decades. He knows what we’re looking for.

Nancy: With Mr. Landgraab's pending retirement, he will be personally involved in very few projects. Any upcoming initiatives will be managed by me. My track record speaks for itself, and I assure you, I will not let you down.

Client: [sighs] You seem like a nice gal, Nancy-

Nancy: Mrs. Landgraab.

Client: We don’t doubt you’re a professional, considering who your father is but I think we will proceed with Mr. Landgraab, even if there’s a wait. With all due respect.

Nancy: I would like to remind you that he will retire, and I will be assuming leadership of the company.

Client: [chuckles] Well, he ain’t off the horse yet, missy. You take care.

Nancy: Wait- fuck. [sighs]

[snickering]

Nancy: Now WHO left this tasty little snack for me!

Jonathan & Malcolm: [squeals]

Nancy: What are you two doing here? You supposed to be in school. You’re not playing hooky are you?

Jonathan: I asked the driver to bring us here first. We wanted to surprise you with Dino. He’s lucky.

Nancy: Is that so?

Malcolm: Do we have to leave, Mommy? I wanna stay here with you!

Nancy: Oh, absolutely. You two are way too distracting and I need to focus. I’ll see you at dinner.

Jonathan: 6:30 sharp?

Nancy: 6:30 sharp. Malcolm, please behave today.

Malcolm: No promises!

Nancy Narrates: [Being a woman in a male dominated field felt like a crime. Being a mother was somehow worse]

Nancy Narrates: [My name alone wasn’t enough to gain their respect. I still had to work twice as hard]

Nancy: What issue? How is this possible?

Worker: There’s an issue with the plumbing. I called for our site manager to speak with you about it. We followed the blueprints, ma’am.

Nancy: [mutters] Damn it.

Manager: We can fix it, no problem but we’ll need new plans no later than tomorrow morning, bossman. Shouldn’t set us back but maybe 1-2 days tops.

Geoffrey: Oh, no! No, sorry, I’m not the architect-

Nancy: I drew the plans, actually. You can discuss the details with me.

Manager: My apologies, miss!

Nancy: Mrs. Landgraab will do. Where can we sit and chat?

Geoffrey: Ok, I have a joke. What has five toes and isn't your foot?

Jonathan: [snickers] What?

Geoffrey: My foot.

Jonathan: Pfftt! Dad! That was awful! I got one too!

Jonathan: How does a wiener go camping?

Geoffrey: [laughs] Oh boy. How?

Nancy: Jonathan, please, no wiener jokes at the table.

Jonathan: In a Wiener-bago.

Geoffrey: [laughs]

Geoffrey: Hey bud, your steak is getting cold. Come sit and eat.

Malcolm: Nuh-uh. I like watching Mommy. I’m going to be an architect too when I grow up. I’m gonna be the best, just like you.

Nancy: You sure will, my darling. It’ll be me, you and Jonathan.

Malcolm: And Daddy?

Nancy: Well, someone has to file all the paperwork.

Geoffrey: [laughs] Hey!

Jonathan: HA! Mommies can make jokes too!

Geoffrey: So, I had the world’s longest day, the boys are out cold for the night and you look so gorgeous right now. Thinking what I’m thinking?

[both panting]

Geoffrey: [whispers] Want to turn over?

Nancy: [whispers] Yes. Ok, try that.

Geoffrey: Hey, do you just want to stop?

Nancy: [nods]

Nancy: I’m sorry.

Geoffrey: Don’t apologize. You know it’s ok to stop, right? And we don’t have to have sex just because I’m in the mood for it.

Nancy: [sighs] I want to be in the mood, I just...I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Geoffrey: Maybe you’re stressed about work?

Nancy: [sighs] Maybe. My father is ancient, and he would rather work himself ragged instead of letting me step into his role. He doesn’t trust me. Hell, he doesn’t even know me.

Geoffrey: You’re right, he doesn’t know you. If he did, he’d know how capable and ready you are.

Nancy: I’m just tired of feeling invisible.

Geoffrey: Well. Make them see you. Be loud. Be in charge. You got it in you.

Nancy Narrates: [I knew there was something inside me that craved more. I wanted to be more than just a mother and wife. I wanted 'something’ so badly, and it drove me mad not knowing exactly what it was that I wanted ]

Nancy: I hear you’re lucky, Dino. What do you have in store for me?

Nancy Narrates: [What I didn’t know was that all that wanting was not done in vain. That day that Judith Ward walked into my office changed my life]

Judith: Knock, knock! I hope you don’t mind taking a walk in.

Nancy: Oh! Oh, Ms. Ward, not at all! Please, have a seat.

Judith: Call me Judy, I insist, please.

Nancy: How can I help you?

Judith: When I purchased land in The Pinnacles, I knew I wanted a home designed by a sharp, feminine eye.That’s why I picked you to design my dream home, The Ward Den. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

Nancy: It would be my absolute pleasure, Ms. War- Judy. May I ask what made you of all people choose me specifically?

Judith: Look around! The future is female! I make it my business to hire female cooks, female hairdressers, female designers, you name it. Men are only good for one thing these days, well, two if you count my male guard dogs. You know-

Judith: Wah wah wah wah wah.

Judith: Wah wah wah wah wah. Wah wah?

Judith: You know what I mean?

Nancy: Um, yes. Yes.

Judith: You have no idea how excited I am, hon! I just know all those B list bitches will gag when they see my new home on the hill. I’m going to throw the biggest party of the decade just to show it off. Everyone will be dying to have their home designed by THE Nancy Landgraab!

Nancy: I will make sure it is my best work yet. I’ll start right away.

Judith: I know you will! I have a great feeling about this, Nancy Landgraab!

#the art of being seen #the landgraabs #tw sim spice #sims 4 simblr #ts4 simblr #sims 4 stories #sims 4 #sims 4 community #nancy landgraab #judith ward

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pinkteethmarks · 12 days ago

Note

omg.. wait for your valentines event could you please to like frat/playboy! katsuki x soft/nerd! reader (who could also look so fucking hot and gorgeous omggg😫)

so basically they’re just at a party and katsuki finds the reader hot but doesn’t know it’s actually the reader so he goes up to them asking them their name and stuff and then he realizes he knows the reader from their classes together and also realizes he’s in love /w her 😫😫

playboy…frat boy,,,katsuki…. i’m… ugh melting. i love this man so much IM MELTINGGGG. also… aha… sorry for taking this long.. SCHOOL OS ACTUALLY KICK MY BUM BUM SIXTH FORM IS GETTING SERIOUS GUYSS!!! but i’ll put my whole attention into tasks again guys.. sorry if this is really bad lowkey think i’ve lost my sparkle for writing but dw it will come back soon!! suggestive, references to corruption kink, gender neutral reader, use of pretty, sexy, succubus (lmao). 1.1k words!

stephanie; katsuki bakugou

katsuki should be at the library with you right now, you both had agreed to go to continue doing research for the project you were assigned to do together, but katsuki had other plans.

one that involved a hell of a lot of alcohol, cheap valentines decorations and someone to… relax him for the night.

in all honesty, he was avoiding you. something weird was happening, where everytime you grazed him with your soft skin, every look you gave him with those sparkling eyes, all of it, all of you, were starting to make him feel off. as though he wanted to protect you, but also ruin you.

you’re just so delicate, everything about you is the complete opposite of him, kind, loving, gentle, sweet, something about it made him so… possessive of you.

he didn’t know when this actually started to appear, he just knew that the last time you spoke to him in class got him sweating buckets to the point where even fucking shoto (the most socially inept) realised something was off with him.

so, here he was, blowing you off and ignoring your texts to come here. alone. how fucking fun.

katsuki’s carmine eyes whisked through the crowd, trying to find someone who will help him forget all of his woe’s about you and whatever this weird feeling that was bubbling inside of him, until they landed on…you.

well, yes you, but it wasn’t like he knew it was you since you looked completely different.

you were perfect, outfit way too tight and body way too perfect. you looked down right sexy, practically like a succubus waiting to suck his soul but one that had some form of gentleness to you.

regardless, he wasn’t exactly waiting to figure you out, he just needed a quick fuck for the night to get his stress out.

and so, he began to do his signature party trick, the bump and surprise.

he began walking straight towards you, making sure that his gaze was not fixated on you but directly past you until he bumped into you from behind, causing a cute little gasp to leave your lips.

‘reminds me of yn.’ he thought to himself for a split second, quickly trying to rid himself of that thought, of you.

“huh, you bumped into me.” katsuki scoffed, pretending not to be completely flustered as you faced him because damn you looked sexier up close.

those eyes though, felt familiar, they seem to sparkle innocently as he looked at you.

“no, you bumped into me?” you responded softly despite the loud bass of the music almost drowning you out, yet his ear was trained to listen to you.

“guess i need your number so that we can sort this out later.” katsuki smirked, fishing his phone out of his pocket and handing it to you.

“you already have my number, remember? especially since you’re kinda blowing me off right now.” you pouted slightly as you sighed.

“wait, have we fucked before?” katsuki’s answered back confusingly, glancing between all the people he was blowing off right now on his phone and your face.

“what, no?! bakugou, do you not recognise me?” you scoffed.

“um, no?” katsuki gruffed out, tired of all these games. he just wanted to take you to his bed, set you down on the bed and ravage you.

“it’s me, y/n l/n?” you responded sassily, your hands on your hip as you rolled your eyes.

katsuki’s eyes widened, how, in any single universe did he approach you out of every single girl at this fucking function?

you didn’t look anything like you did in school, you were all dolled up, wore something that showed your figure and something that made you look so… fuckable.

not to say that you in school isn’t already a pretty little thing in katsuki’s eyes, but this party-look painted you in a whole different light that was intoxicating to him, dangerous even.

“there’s no way in hell, out of every girl i could’ve approached, it was.. you.” he spoke slowly.

“don’t make it sound like it’s such a terrible thing.” you cutely looked to the side, your face slightly falling.

fuck, even when you were upset you were cute as hell.

‘what the fuck is wrong with me?’ katsuki thought frustratingly.

you kept invading his mind, etched into his soul and locked into his heart. nothing ever overshadowed his constant thoughts of you and no matter how much he tried to look at other people, flirt with others and get into bed with them, he truly couldn’t because every single time, his heart would come back to you.

he fucking hated it.

but, more so, he was scared of it and thus, scared of you.

not like he would ever admit that, he’s katsuki fucking bakugou for crying out loud.

“are you ok?” you asked him.

“i.. don’t fucking know. why are you everywhere, yn? i keep.. seeing you and thinking of you.” katsuki responded, his blush intensifying.

“what.. are you trying to say bakugou?” you looked confused.

“call me katsuki.” katsuki looked to the side, his face almost completely red now.

“ok, katsuki, what are you trying to say?” you asked once more.

ok, that was a mistake, if katsuki was flustered before, now he was completely ruined hearing his first name leave your pretty lips.

“i.. don’t know. it’s valentine’s day or whatever and for some reason the universe brought us together right now so, take a fucking guess.” katsuki scoffed.

“you want me?” you said excitedly, smiling widely as your once unattainable crush seemed to finally feel within your reach.

“depends on what your answer, damn it, katsuki bakugou does not get rejected.” his confidence was now increasing as he saw how elated you were at the prospect of being with him.

“only if you ask me properly.” you teased.

“fucks sake, ok, yn l/n, these past few project meetings had me feeling a type of way i never knew i could feel. you’re gorgeous, and i think now i realise that you aren’t only cute but sexy as fuck. not just that though, you’re kind, you’re smart, you have a hell of a lot of resilience and will power, all in all, you are the dream person for me. so, will you like, be my fucking valetines or something?” katsuki smirked

“yes!” you squealed, running to wrap your arms around his extremely toned torso.

katsuki was slightly surprised, of course he had been touched before - a hell of a lot of times actually - but, this hug you gave him just felt different. a lot more personal and intimate, oddly enough, he loved it all the same.

“you smell so good.” you sighed, immediately pausing as embarrassment flushes your entire being.

“is that so? wanna see how good i smell without these clothes on?” katsuki smirked.

“we just got together! also, i need you to promise me something.” you rolled your eyes yet your tone changed to something more sincere.

“yeah?”

“that you’ll stop with kissing all these other girls.” you sighed.

“kissing- honey, i do a lot more than kiss-“

“don’t wanna hear it! just want you to promise me you’ll stop.” you put your palm up to signify that you wanted him to stop.

“i promise.” katsuki replied, looking straight into your eyes, all that the present was warmth, kindness and love.

katsuki was new to this but he would definitely try, anything for you.

#bakugo katuski #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou fluff #mha bakugou #katsuki x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki x you #katsukibakugou #playboy katsuki

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jpitha · 3 months ago

Text

Painfully Bright

The humans tend to go… a little overboard when designing things, this is known, and the rest of the Coalition understands. Years of interaction and experience has taught most of the Coalition that sometimes… you just let them get it out of their system.

This time, I wasn’t so sure though.

I swear to the voice of my ancestors I don’t know why they insist that we… witness their next wild development. It’s like they have a burning desire to show the Coalition what they built. It’s like their latest toy doesn’t exist until they show it off.

This time, we were all ferried into one of their smaller - though still gigantic by our standards - frigates and brought to - literally - the middle of interstellar space. By the fur of my children, I am not lying! When we Flipped, we came back into what I could only describe is an… arena, hundreds of kilometers across. They had built massive gantries and hung lights off of them, the shadows cast by the lights were talon sharp. I have no idea how they were able to build lights that bright. Honestly, I think that my administration would be more interested in those lights instead of… whatever is on the platform in the center. I’ll ask after the demonstration.

With unaided visio, the platform was a simple black speck. Helpfully, the screens in the observation room were connected to telescopes, and a high resolution image was projected next to the real-time view. Additionally, our pads were tied into the camera feed so that we could all change what scopes we were watching, if we wanted to see a detail that the main camera wasn’t showing. It was all very professional and set up to make sure we could all see and observe.

More Coalition members filed in after me, having spent more time at the refreshment tables than I. The humans did their best, and some members found their cuisine quite intriguing, but I for one could not stand it. Too loud, too flavorful, too… much like them. I had a water bulb, and got a good seat while everyone else stuffed their inputs. As they came in and found seats, I had noticed that some humans, and even a few other Coalition members walked quietly in behind the guests and took up positions around the room. They were all wearing a sharply tailored uniform, black, with a white undershirt peeking out behind an open lapel. The humans had a name for this outfit, I remember them saying it. Ugh, I can’t remember.

A few more minutes were spent waiting, and then a human walked to the front of the room and addressed the gathering; “Friends, Sapients, thank you for attending our demonstration. We here at StrossCo are incredibly excited to demonstrate our new power reactor. We are convinced that this wholly new design which is smaller, more powerful, and yet has the same operating costs will enable everyone in the Coalition to more easily power their ships, stations, and anything else that requires power. I wish to apologize that the demonstration reactor is so far away, but unfortunately HIDA regulations-” I noticed his eyes flick over to one of the people stationed around the room, and then nearly as quickly back to the audience, “-require it. Rest assured, it is perfectly safe, and will pose no danger to anyone when in regular operation. Now, if you please-” He gestured dramatically, and with a clunk and a noise like something spinning down, the lights went out. The screens went dead, and even the ever-present thrum of the environmental systems ceased. I felt light in my seat, and noticed my water bulb drifting slowly. All the power was off.

There were mumbles and murmurs of conversation as realization set in, and then, almost as quickly as the power went off, it returned. First gravity, then environmental, then lights and finally cameras and screens. Everything was back on, and the human in front was grinning wickedly. “Now, everything here - this frigate, the lights in the arena, all beacons, sensors, sentries and ships - everything - is being powered by our new reactor.”

What was previously a murmur of conversation rose in intensity when realization set in. If they were not lying - and they had no reason to lie - their singular reactor was powering more than nearly a dozen Coalition reactors. The power output was positively titanic. I could see notes being quickly written, and some others were muttering things into comms and dicts. Everyone was interested in this. I looked at the large screen, and noticed that the magnified view was gone. We could only see the small speck of the platform. I attempted to call up the magnified view on my pad, and could not access it. I stood and ruffled my feathers. “Pardon me. I notice that the magnified view of the reactor has been turned off. May we please get a close up view of the reactor in action?”

The StrossCo rep looked at me, and then I saw his eyes flick back to one of the suited humans. I didn’t see their reaction, but I could tell the rep was disappointed. “Er, no, I’m sorry. It seems to be… technical difficulties. Our tech teams are working now to get everything back up as quickly as possible.”

That couldn’t be right. Something felt off. I made my way past other members taking notes and making calls, and walked up to the screen. I got as close as I could and tried to get a better view. “Is there a physical viewport here? As you are aware, Innari have excellent vision. I would like to look at the reactor with my own eyes.”

“Uh, I’m afraid that is quite impossible right now; as you are aware -er, Sapient, human frigates have very few physical windows as they are a deliberate hole in the hull and are a structural weakness and-”

His rambling defence of not letting us see the reactor was cut off by the lights beginning to grow painfully bright. At the edge of my vision, I could see strobing. The environmental fans increased from a gentle movement of the air to a stiff breeze. Fortunately, the gravity remained the same. I looked up at the rep and all the color had drained from his face. “Pardon me” he said, absently and then ran out of the room. Not willing to give up learning what was going on, I followed.

He ran past the reception hall, towards a control room deeper in the ship. As we entered, it was a frantic commotion of movement and noise. One of the suited humans at the door noticed me, and raised an eyebrow, questioning, but said nothing.

“It’s overspeeding again! I told you it wasn’t ready to demo.” A human sitting at a station said to the rep as he walked in.

“Shut it down. Nobody has seen the reactor yet, we can switch back to shipboard power and Flipwarp everyone out of here before they see.” The rep had placed his hand on the back of the human’s chair and was peering over his shoulder at the screen. I couldn’t read the text, but I knew the humans used red to delineate problems, and the screens had a lot of red.

“What about the bird?” Another human looked over their shoulder at me and inclined their head. “They’re going to see the whole thing.”

“Don’t call them birds, you took the HR class same as me” the rep said, as he ran over to another station and pressed a few buttons. “He’s an Innari and one of the Coalition observers and we can have him sign an NDA. He wanted to see what the reactor looked like anyway.” He stood and looked at me. “You’re going to sign an NDA when this is all over.” It was not a question. I nodded - a human gesture.

“Can I see the reactor now?”

One of the black suited humans stepped into the room, the one that was by the door when the demonstration was going on I think. She exuded this… authority. She wasn’t dressed any differently than the other suited humans, but at her entrance, everyone calmed down, became more subdued. “Show him. He’s already agreed to sign the NDA.”

“But, the frame-dragging-effect will be-” the Rep’s protestations were weak.

“Show. Him.”

Without another word, he pressed a few more buttons on the panels, and a large screen in front of everyone lit up. It was the same view of the platform as before, but this one was magnified and much clearer than the ones we had in the demonstration hall.

Something was wrong with the reactor. I looked wrong. When I looked past it the gantry in view, the lights, the interstellar stars behind it were… spiraling. Everything directly behind the reactor from our vantage point was gently spiraling. Without a word, I looked at the woman who had ordered me to see it.

“It’s frame-dragging.” She said, with a sigh. “Again.” She looked down at me, and noticed my confusion. She must have some training with Innari body language. “Some of the components in the reactor are spinning relativistically, which is causing the local space-time fabric to… spin.”

“Is it spinning, or are we?” I said, confused.

“Yes.” She said and sighed again. “They can't stop it if it’s already frame dragging, it’s going too fast. The pseudomass is too high. We either have to disconnect it and hope it spins down or…” she trailed off.

“Or what?”

“Or everyone finds out why we ordered this demonstration to be done two parsecs from any inhabited world.”

Well, that explained that at least. I looked back at the woman who seemed to be in charge. “So, why don’t we just Flipwarp away?”

“Yes, Allan, why don’t we just Flipwarp away?” She said pointedly, while looking at the Rep.

“The investment at this point is in the kilotrillion Stars, we can’t just abandon-” he started, but then there was a flash of binding light from the reactor and I had thought it had detonated, but it… just… stayed.

“Oh, goody.” The human in charge said, flatly. “It’s started to accrete matter. Didn’t this happen the last time you ran a test Allan, and didn’t HIDA say that it was not to happen again?”

“Administrator McKay please, if we could only-” the human apparently named Allan said before he was cut off.

“No. This demonstration has finished. I am declaring an emergency, HIDA is now in charge.” Administrator McKay clicked a com on her wrist. “Captain, you will Flash us away right now. Best speed please.” There was a crackle of static and a small voice said something I couldn’t hear. “What do you mean, you can’t switch back to internal reactors?” More static and crackled voices. “No, that doesn’t make sense, the connections to-” before she could finish, there was a lurch, and I could feel the gravity begin to swing wildly, trying to compensate for the motion, but moving just an instant behind so it felt like I was being pulled in multiple directions.

“Administrator! The pseudomass has transitioned to physical mass! We are being pulled by the reactor’s gravity. Stationkeeping reports that the thrusters are being overwhelmed. If we don’t Flash soon, we won’t be able to.”

“Damn you, Allan.” She said, snarling, “If we survive this StrossCo will go back to being an indie publisher, I will personally ensure it.” She looked down at me. “Innari! You’ve been deputized. Come with me.” Without checking to see if I was following she took off down the hall.

I followed, what else could I do? Her long strides made her deceptively fast, but she never fell out of sight, and we reached a room deep within the ship. On either side of the bulkhead were two armed and armored guards. When Administrator McKay came into view, they saluted sharply.

She returned the salute quickly and said “We need to disconnect the umbilical to StrossCo’s test reactor so we can flash home on ours.”

“Right away Administrator,” and the guard on the right palmed a pad next to the door. There was a chirp and a green light, and the door slid open.

I’m an administrator, I’m not a reactor technician, a commander, or even an engineer. I talk to people, make deals. What I mean to explain is that I have no idea what a reactor hall - let alone a human reactor hall is supposed to look like.

I’m pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to look like this, however.

The room was painfully bright with sharp, stark shadows being cast by what I can only describe as a cable, stretched taut running down the middle of the hall. People wearing white suits with smoked helmets were running around the hall, trying to control something. I covered my eyes with my feathered hand, trying to not be dazzled, when Administrator McKay handed me a pair of goggles. Curiously, they were for Innari bodyplans. I wondered why she had those. Regardless, I put them on, and found that they were able to block the worst of the light from the cable while still enabling me to see. “Come along Inn-” She stopped. “What is your name? It feels rude to just call you ‘Innari.”

I couldn’t help myself. Even during an emergency, introductions must be done right. I stood up a little straighter and said “In the common parlance, I am called Howling Wind, though that is not my given name.”

“Nice to meet you, Howling Wind, I am Administrator Tiff McKay. Now that introductions are out of the way, I need you to go over to that panel, next to the cable.” She pressed a comm button into my hand, and almost reflexively, I clipped it to some feathers near my auditory input. Before I could ask why, she had taken off at a dead run towards the other end of the hall.

“Howling Wind, are you in position?” She asked a moment later.

I had made my way to the panel she indicated. I was much closer to the cable than I preferred to be. It’s not that it was… hot, but it almost radiated something beyond heat. It radiated the impression of heat. That would be fine right? Probably. Innari aren’t as susceptible to ionizing radiation as humans are, but this wasn’t radioactive, I thought. “I am at the panel Administrator McKay.”

“Good. While looking at the panel, there are a series of three buttons along the top right corner. They’re normally red and blue but with your goggles and the light from the cable that is probably washed out. Press them one time only moving from left to right.”

I pressed the buttons, and there was a click below me

“A panel will have opened up. I’ll need you to duck into the panel and tell me when you are in position.”

I looked in, and sure enough, an opening barely large enough for someone of my size had opened. I leaned in nearly all the way. “I am.. In the panel.”

“To your right is a lever. It has a trigger near the base. You must pull the trigger first and then push the lever. Do it now.”

“What will it-”

“Just do it Howl, there isn’t time.”

Mentally shrugging, and whispering a prayer to my Ancestors - may they watch over me and not laugh too much - I pulled the trigger, there was a detent and then I felt something like a spring release, and pushed the lever.

It was very hard to push. I had to put my whole body into it, and at first it felt like I wasn’t doing anything. I braced my back against the top of the panel, and pushed as hard as I could. When I thought I couldn’t push anymore, there was a clunk and a whipping, metallic noise and I was plunged into darkness. I could hear shouting and boots thundering around me, then there was the prismatic flash of light that filled the reactor room for an instant that indicated that we had Flashed.

I slowly slid myself out from under the panel, only to find Administrator McKay looming over me. She held out a hand, and I gladly took her help to get back on my talons. Sliding the goggles down from my face, I looked at her. “Just what… did we do?”

“We - er, you initiated a manual disconnect of the umbilical from the overspeeding reactor so that the frigate’s reactors could Flash us to safety. You saved everyone Howl.”

As she spoke, some of the reactor technicians took off their smoked goggles and took a look. I could feel their eyes staring at me.

I could only think of stupid things to say, so I just said it. “Why me?”

McKay laughed. “Just lucky I guess. There was a serious amount of ionizing radiation coming from the connector and I knew that Innari were much more resistant to radiation than humans, so I was able to get you to disconnect it. We’ll take you to med, but I think you’ll be fine. How are your hands?”

My hands? I looked down and… yes, some of the tiny feathers on my digits had turned gray, and were falling off, dead. It didn’t hurt though. Shouldn’t it hurt?

“Ah yes, some minor damage to your hands.” She said. “We’ll fix it up, don’t worry.”

“Why doesn’t it hurt?” I asked, dumfounded.

“It doesn’t hurt?” She seemed surprised. “I didn’t think Innari went into shock, so maybe the nerve endings were destroyed.” She patted my shoulder. “Regardless, you saved us all today Howl, thank you.” There were smiles and noises of thanks and congratulations coming from the reactor team, it was… odd.

“Everything happened so suddenly. I didn’t have time to question my reactions.” I said to her, as we walked down the hall towards med.

“Yes, that’s how emergencies go Howl. You did well. In fact-” She reached into her pocket and took out a small white card and placed it into the pocket of my sash. “When your hands are all healed, call me. We can always use people who can think on their feet.

#writing #humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #jpitha #humans are space oddities #humans and aliens

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eddiazx · 4 months ago

Text

benefit part 2 - evan buckley x reader

part 1 here!

Buck wakes up with his nose pressed against your hair. You’ve slept at Buck’s multiple times, even shared beds once or twice, but he never realized just how clingy you are in your sleep. Half your body is on top of his: your head is tucked underneath his chin, your arm is splayed out over his bare torso, and your right leg is hooked over his left thigh, knee brushing up against his morning wood.

Buck likes this. The domesticity, the smell of you, your warmth; Buck could get used to waking up this way all the time.

Except, he thinks soberly, that’s not what the two of you had agreed on. This was supposed to be just sex. But Buck has come to the belated realization that it could never be just anything with you.

“Buck? You awake yet?”, Eddie’s voice comes ringing through the loft from his front door. Buck’s eyes widen; he had completely forgotten that he made plans to get breakfast with him that morning. He looks at you, who had woken up to the sound. With an impressive quickness, you roll off and drop down soundlessly to hide under the bed in all your naked glory. Buck would have busted out laughing if he wasn’t so scared that Eddie was going to catch the two of you together. Neither of you would hear the end of it if the rest of the team found out about your little arrangement.

Eddie makes his way up the loft stairs and gives Buck an unimpressed look over at his sleepy, shirtless form. Buck had had the sense to throw the covers over his legs to avoid flashing Eddie.

“Hey Eds”, Buck smiles weakly.

“Morning, sleeping beauty. You able to get ready in 5, at least? I’m craving that breakfast burrito from Joe’s.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Just…go watch TV and I’ll be ready in a bit.” Buck says, desperately hoping Eddie doesn’t look too closely at the fact that your bra was on the floor in the corner of the room.

Eddie nods, before saying, “Maybe we can text Y/N if she wants to join us too.”

Buck lets out a startled cough at your name, but Eddie already has his back to him, walking down the stairs. A few moments pass until Buck hears the sounds of Brooklyn 99 playing downstairs.

Buck leans over and peers down at you. You have an amused smile on your face, but Buck can’t help but mouth, “you okay?”

You nod, and give him a thumbs up. You gesture at your phone, which Buck hands over to you. He watches as you open up your notes app and type out 'go grab breakfast, I’ll let myself out and lock the door' before showing him the text.

Buck nods and walks to the bathroom, all the while wondering what the heck he got himself into.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Eddie is talking about a project Chris has for his history class while chewing on his burrito. Buck is trying really hard to pay attention, but his brain keeps providing him with unhelpful flashes of last night. He thinks he might be hallucinating, because he can even picture you sitting down in front of him.

Wait, that’s not a hallucination, you were actually here.

“Hi guys”, you smile, swiping a potato off of Eddie’s plate and popping it into your mouth, eyes sparkly and beautiful as usual. Buck is again met with a memory of last night, when you put something of his in your mouth.

Buck shakes his head, as if he can physically clear his mind from the memory. “Uh, what’re you doing here?”

“I knew you would forget so I sent her a text to join us while you were getting ready.” Eddie responds for you.

"Right, yeah." Buck nods quickly.

Eddie and you exchange glances. Buck was acting weird, weirder than normal.

While you order and promptly delve into a conversation with Eddie, Buck considers moving to another firehouse, one where he didn't have to see and work with his best friend that he was hopelessly in love with.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

"Hen, can I talk to you?", Buck stammers, when they're the only two seated at the firehouse dinner table one evening.

"Sure, what's up?" Hen asks, closing the textbook she was reading.

"I... I think I have feelings for Y/N." Buck admits.

Hen continues to stare at Buck expectantly, not a single difference showing in her face after Buck's admission. "Wait, that's it? That's not news to anybody, Buck."

Buck blinks at Hen. "What?"

"Buck, you've been gone for her since she started at the 118. You've had permanent heart eyes for that girl."

"No... we're friends! Best friends!"

Hen shoots Buck a patient look. "Chim and I are best friends, Buck. You and Y/N are in a different category entirely."

"Okay, fine, whatever. It's bad, Hen. We started sleeping with each other last week and -"

"What?!"

"She's so smart and beautiful Hen, and she makes the hottest sounds when-"

"Okay, ew."

"But she doesn't want to be in a relationship and I don't know how to act around her now that I know I have feelings for her and-"

"Alright Buck, breathe." Hen motions for Buck to inhale and exhale with her hands. Hen seems thoughtful for a second, before she asks, "how do you know she doesn't want to be in a relationship?"

"I don't think a relationship was what she had in mind. She suggested we have sex casually; that it wouldn't be weird 'cause we're friends."

"That... was a horrible idea."

Buck groans and puts his head in his hands. "Well, I know that now!"

Hen smiles softly, prying Buck's hands away to hold onto them. "Buck, we all knew that you were in love with her, but she looks at you the same way. I think you guys should talk to each other. You guys might be on the same page."

Buck looks at Hen's earnest, honest face. He wasn't entirely convinced, but he knows that he couldn't keep avoiding you or clamming up the way he did at breakfast. He needed to come clean.

And then promptly move.

#911 x reader #911 x you #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley smut #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x you #evan buckley fic #buck x reader #evan buckley x y/n

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httpvomitello · 4 months ago

Text

Call of Distraction *⁠.⁠✧

Donnie / Raph / Mikey

It was another routine evening in the lair. Leo was running through some katas, trying to work off some pent-up energy after a long day, when April’s phone started buzzing. She checked it and saw your name pop up.

"Hey, it's (Y/N)," she said, grinning as she glanced at Leo. "Mind if I put it on speaker?"

Leo looked up, a spark of interest flashing across his face. “Oh, go ahead.”

April pressed the button, and your familiar voice filled the lair. “April! Please tell me you’re free for a sanity break—I’ve been staring at a screen for hours, and I’m losing it over here.”

“Let me guess: project deadline coming up?” April replied, smiling.

“Deadlines, plural,” you sighed dramatically. “And all I want is some conversation to remind me what having a life feels like.”

Before April could answer, Leo’s voice cut in, playful yet slightly mocking. “Sounds like someone doesn’t know how to manage their time.”

You paused, then replied, with equal sarcasm, “Oh, hey there, fearless leader! Didn’t know you were eavesdropping. Nice of you to assume I’m the problem here.”

Leo smirked, crossing his arms as the other turtles perked up, sensing a good exchange on the way. “Well, you are calling April in the middle of our prep time. Can’t be that hard to handle a couple of deadlines, can it?”

“Oh, yeah, because I’m sure your big, intense prep is life-shatteringly important,” you shot back. “Remind me again, what’s the pressing emergency? Practicing brooding?”

Raph and Mikey burst out laughing, while Donnie raised an eyebrow, glancing at Leo with an amused smile.

Leo chuckled, barely fazed. “Brooding, huh? I seem to remember someone saying they admired my focus. Guess that was just talk.”

“Who, me? I don’t think so,” you teased. “I admire focus, sure. But that whole ‘super-serious, all-business’ attitude? Total snooze-fest. Don’t you ever take it easy?”

He raised an eyebrow, amused but a little taken aback. “You think I don’t know how to relax?”

“Oh, please. You’re about as chill as a brick wall, Leo,” you quipped. “Maybe if you spent a little less time being Captain Serious, you’d know how to actually have fun.”

“Yeah, and maybe if you learned some time management, you wouldn’t need to call for a ‘sanity break,’” he countered, though his grin showed he was enjoying every second of this.

“Touché,” you replied, clearly entertained. “Maybe you’re onto something. Guess I could use someone to keep me on track… if they can keep up.”

Leo gave a slight smile, “Keep up? I’d give it about ten minutes before you were begging for a break.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” you replied, leaning fully into the teasing. “Pretty bold, Mr. Leader. Hope you can live up to it.”

Mikey, who’d been watching with an ever-widening grin, turned to Raph with an excited whisper. “They’re totally gonna end up dating, right?”

April just rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, clearly enjoying how flustered Leo was getting despite his best efforts. Raph nudged Donnie, stifling a laugh.

Leo, sensing the teasing eyes on him, shot a glare at his brothers but stayed focused. “Tell you what,” he replied to you, recovering his confidence. “Next time you’re ‘losing it,’ I’ll personally make sure you remember how to relax.”

“Oh really? That’s a big promise,” you replied, feigning a skeptical tone. “Think you’re up for it?”

“I know I am,” he said smoothly, a little more serious than before.

April, realizing this could go on forever, finally intervened. “Alright, alright, I think you two could go at this all night,” she laughed. “I’m hanging up now before Leo gets any more ideas.”

She smirked, giving Leo an exaggerated wink as she took you off speaker, wrapping up the call. The moment the line went dead, Leo’s brothers immediately burst out laughing, and Leo fought hard to keep a neutral expression.

“Looks like someone’s got a little crush, huh?” Raph teased, nudging Leo.

Leo rolled his eyes, but a faint blush betrayed him. “Whatever,” he muttered, half-smiling as he went back to his training. But inside, he was already looking forward to that next call.

#reader #x reader #y/n #tmnt #tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt x reader #f!reader #tmnt bayverse #bayverse leonardo #bayverse leo x reader

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jungkoode · 24 days ago

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 09

˗ˏˋ rules ˎˊ˗

"Rules are funny things. You make them thinking they'll keep you safe, keep everything contained. But sometimes the person you're really trying to protect yourself from… is you"

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 6.5k

content: candle shop shenanigans, friend group dynamics, rules and boundaries

✧ author's note ✧

OKAY FIRST OF ALL—who absolutely LOVES Yeji? Because ME. The way she clocked Jungkook within seconds and had NO filter??? Like, I'm obsessed. Mans was genuinely SHOCKED that someone told him to sit his ass down. The audacity of this woman to not immediately melt under his smirky, tattooed menace energy?? I respect her so much. A feminist icon, if you will.

And IRYA. Ughhh, my precious girlie. The way she’s just casually vibing with Jungkook? Like?? They are NOTHING alike, and yet she’s over here just mingling with him, being friendly, unbothered, meanwhile Yeji is foaming at the mouth in the background. I love that contrast so much. It’s like, she doesn’t see him as a threat, just another guy in the room, which makes Jungkook (who is used to either being hated or obsessed over) lowkey confused. You can see the gears turning in his head like “Wait. Why aren’t you scared of me. Or pissed at me. Or flirting with me.” HAHAH POOR BOY.

And let’s talk about Jimin, because HELLO, my quiet support KING. He’s not even saying much in this chapter, but he’s there, next to Y/N, just in case. That kind of silent loyalty? The “I know you can handle yourself, but if you need me, I’m already here” type of presence??? I eat that up every time. Their friend group is everything to me.

Speaking of menace behavior—Jungkook. Are we surprised? He’s so unserious about everything. I loved giving him Kuko as a contact name for Y/N because in every fic, it’s always Kook or Kookie or Koo and I just—I wanted something different. Something slightly sharp and weird. Like, why does it sound like a pet name and an insult at the same time 😭😭 It’s PERFECT for their dynamic.

And finally, Y/N. My messy, mouthy, disaster baby. She is THEE representation of someone who’s barely entered adulthood, fresh into uni, kind of immature, kind of figuring it out, but loud as hell about it. Like, I KNOW some of y’all are probably reading this chapter thinking “girl, seriously??” but THAT'S THE POINT. She’s got so much personality, she’s a walking contradiction, she’s flawed, but she’s HER. I love her for it.

I also stuffed this chapter with SO many Easter eggs. Like, the foreshadowing is right there at the end, but I know y’all aren’t catching everything yet. You’ll come back later, reread it, and be like “OH MY GOD, KIKI???” And I’ll just be sitting here like 😌✌️ I love when a plan comes together.

Anyway, here’s Chapter 9, babes. Enjoy the mess. I’m off to go prep for my therapist session because, let’s be real, I probably projected a little too hard in this one LMAO.

⋆｡°✩ read on ✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

You don't know why you agreed to go shopping with Yeji.

She texted at ass o'clock in the morning about "needing your expert opinion," and honestly? Your sleep-deprived brain just went sure, whatever without processing the implications. You just mentioned having to buy something for Emma — her birthday's in two weeks — and it was downhill from there.

"This place smells like a Pinterest board threw up," Yeji announces as you enter the third candle store of the day. Some fancy boutique with mason jars everywhere and prices that make you want to cry. "Who names a candle Whispers of Moonlight?"

"Someone getting paid way too much," you mutter, checking the price tag. Jesus. "Forty dollars for—is this supposed to smell like grass?"

"Rich people grass." Yeji picks up another one, face scrunching. "Autumn's Last Kiss. What does that even mean? Like, trees making out?"

"Pretty sure it's just pumpkin spice trying to be fancy."

"Capitalism is wild." She moves down the aisle, combat boots squeaking against the polished floor. "Oh shit, look at this one. Midnight Jasmine's Secret Rendezvous. That's not a candle, that's a Mills & Boon novel."

You snort, trailing after her. "Speaking of reading material—"

"We are not starting a book club book chat right now."

"I'm just saying, if you actually showed up to Victorian Lit—"

"And listen to Professor Stevens cream himself over Dickens for two hours? Pass." She picks up another candle, this one in black glass. "Dark Temptation. Bet you five bucks it smells like axe body spray."

She's not wrong. You wrinkle your nose as she waves it under your face. "Why does everything 'dark' and 'masculine' smell like a frat house?"

"Because the straights are not okay." Yeji sets it back, wiping her hands on her jeans like the scent might be contagious. "What did Emma say she likes again?"

"Anything except roses." You pause at a display of seasonal scents. "Her roommate burns those generic rose ones from the dollar store. Pretty sure she's traumatized."

"Valid." Yeji's already moved on to the next shelf, picking up random ones and reading their names in increasingly dramatic voices. "Summer's Sweet Embrace. Woodland Mystery. Oh my god, Bachelor's Button? What the fuck is a bachelor's button?"

"It's a flower," you say, distracted by a actually nice-looking sage and cedar one. Still overpriced, but... "My mom used to grow them."

"Sounds fake, but okay."

She’s quiet for a second. Then:

"What about this one?" Yeji holds up a purple candle, squinting at the label. "Lavender Dreams. Sounds pretentious as fuck."

"Put that down before you break it," you mutter, scanning the shelves. The prices are criminal. “And aren't you supposed to be in Art History right now?"

"Professor Wang's doing that thing again where he talks about his divorce for two hours." She shrugs, setting the candle back with surprising care. "I've already heard all about Karen three times this semester."

You roll your eyes, picking up a sage-scented one. And no, you're not lingering in the candle section because you love them, okay? Emma likes candles too. It's completely reasonable research for a birthday gift. Nothing to do with how your apartment could use some—

"These are boring anyway," Yeji declares, already moving on. Her attention snaps to something across the street. Barnes & Noble, its windows displaying the latest bestsellers.

"Wanna check out some books?" she asks, hands stuffed in the pockets of her worn-out grey zip-up. The one she definitely stole from Irya's closet.

"Since when do you read?" You snort, following her out of the candle store. Because you know damn well Yeji's idea of "reading" is skimming SparkNotes twenty minutes before class.

"Woah, judging a book by its cover?" She gestures to her whole aesthetic: combat boots, ripped jeans, that stolen sweater. "Just 'cause I look like this doesn't mean I don't read."

"You told me last week that Romeo and Juliet was, and I quote, 'straight people nonsense.'"

"It is straight people nonsense." She pushes open the bookstore's door, a blast of air conditioning hitting you. "But we need books for the club."

"You mean the chat group you named 'Fuck The Patriarchy Book Club' that's basically just for rambling and complaining?" Like how you ended up here today, victim to Yeji's class-skipping schemes. "That club?"

"Yeah?" She flashes that smile that you’re starting to associate with trouble. "C'mon, I need to check if they have Pride and Prejudice."

You trail after her into Fiction & Literature, past towering shelves and that distinct bookstore smell. "Pride and—hold up. Weren't you just shitting on romance classics?"

"Yeah, and?" She's already scanning the 'A' section with laser focus. "My girl wants to read it, so we're reading it."

"You're buying it because Irya mentioned it once in the group chat."

"And?" Yeji doesn't even pretend to deny it, moving purposefully through the aisles. "My girlfriend has taste. Unlike some people who waste their time reading..." she picks up a random book, "The Art of Corporate Finance."

"That's not even—"

"Found it!" She pulls out a leather-bound edition, definitely not the cheapest version available. "Look at this fancy shit. Irya's gonna love it."

You're about to point out how whipped she is when something catches your eye. A "Now Hiring" sign at the front counter, clean white letters against dark wood. Huh. You've been meaning to look for a job, something to get you out of the apartment more. And to help your finances. too. God knows you’d rather avoid having to ask mom and daddy for more money.

"Earth to Y/N?" Yeji waves a hand in front of your face. "You good?"

"Yeah, just..." You gesture vaguely at the sign.

Working at a bookstore wouldn't be the worst thing. Plus, employee discount.

"Oh shit, you should totally apply." She examines the sign with newfound interest. "Then you can hook me up with discounts on all the books Irya wants."

"I haven't even—"

"Excuse me?" she calls to a passing employee, ignoring your attempt to shut her up. "My friend here wants to apply for the job opening."

You're going to kill her. Slowly. With one of these hardcover books.

But the employee's already turning around—young guy, probably another student, name tag reading 'Mark'—and you can't exactly bolt without looking insane. Perfect. Just perfect.

"Oh, yeah?" Mark brightens. "We're actually pretty desperate for people who can work weekday afternoons. You have any retail experience?"

"I—"

"She's great with books," Yeji cuts in, because apparently she's your agent now. "Like, literally will fight someone over their trash literary takes. You should hear her rant about Hemingway."

You shoot her a death glare, but... well, she's not wrong about Hemingway.

"That's actually perfect," Mark says. "We get a lot of students asking for recommendations. Here—" He heads to the counter, returning with an application form. "You can fill this out now if you want. Manager's still here."

And somehow, because the universe hates you, you end up at one of the reading tables, filling out your work history while Yeji "helps" by suggesting you list your special skills as "roasting bad authors" and "setting pretentious men straight about their Joyce opinions."

Your phone buzzes. Group chat.

6B Hell

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜? 𝚆𝚎’𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚛𝚗

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞

Yoongs 🎧: 𝚆𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟷𝟻𝚝𝚑

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚝𝚑𝚡 𝚖𝚊𝚗

You're about to reply that you'll grab some later when another message pops up.

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡 𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝? 𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

What the actual fuck?

You: 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜?

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚌

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎

You let out a disbelieving sound. Yeji, who's been "helping" by pointing out every minor spelling mistake in your application, peers over your shoulder.

"What's up?"

"My roommate being a jerk as usual." You know for a fact Jungkook's probably sprawled on the couch right now, doing fuck-all except maybe killing brain cells on his PlayStation. But sure, you should get the coffee.

You: 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎

You: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘, 𝚒’𝚖 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚊𝚠 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚡

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝?

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚠𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚒𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚝

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚎?

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard. That asshole.

You: 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗?

You: 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝…

You: 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢

You: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎?

Yoongs 🎧: 𝚈/𝙽.

Something about Yoongi’s message makes you pause. That's... weird. But before you can think about it:

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 :)

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚢𝚊 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠?

"I'm assuming he means video games," Yeji says, still reading. "Not the fun kind of grinding."

You elbow her in the ribs.

You: 𝚔 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝

You: 𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚘

You: 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎? :)

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚝, 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚗𝚊𝚑 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚡? ;)

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜?

+1 (917) XXX-XXXX: 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 :)

You're going to murder him. You're actually going to commit homicide, and Yoongi's going to have to find a new roommate, and you know what? He'll probably thank you.

You: 𝚛𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕

You: :)

"So," Yeji says as you aggressively save his number under 'Kuko🖕🏻', "this is fun."

"I hate him so much."

"Uh-huh." She glances at your phone, where he's still sending coffee emoji spam. "You know what this means though, right?"

"That I need better roommates?"

"That you're definitely getting this job." She taps the half-completed application. "Can't spend all your time at the apartment if you're working retail hours."

She... might have a point.

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚢

Yoongs 🎧: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝

Yoongs 🎧: 𝚈/𝙽, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛. 𝚆𝚎,𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛.

Your phone buzzes again, but this time it's the other group chat. Thank fuck.

Fuck The Patriarchy Book Club 📚

Irya 🌸: 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚜?

Irya 🌸: 𝚓𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗

Jin ☕️: 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

Jin ☕️: 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚜.

Jin ☕️: 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝟻𝟶𝚔𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝟻.

Jin ☕️: 𝙶𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎.

Your phone keeps vibrating with notifications from the other chat. You peek at it.

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Jesus fucking Christ.

Yeji 🖤: 𝚙𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊 𝚊𝚝 𝚢/𝚗’𝚜?

Yeji 🖤: 𝚠𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎

Your head snaps up. "Excuse me?"

"What?" Yeji doesn't even look guilty. "You keep complaining about him, might as well know what we’re working with here."

You: 𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

You: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

Irya 🌸: 𝚘𝚘𝚑 𝚢𝚎𝚜!! 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗??

Irya 🌸: 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗

Irya 🌸: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚓𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎?

You let out a loud sigh, now considering Irya’s question. Because part of you thinks about bringing unwanted guests to the apartment, about how that could disturb the peace, especially for Yoongi.

But also? Also, Jungkook brought his friends last time. No warning, no group chat message to let you know you’d meeting random dudes in your pokemon PJs.

So he can suck it, honestly.

You: 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎

You: 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘

Jin ☕️: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙹𝚘𝚎’𝚜.

Jin ☕️: 𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎.

Jin ☕️: 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗.

Another cascade of coffee emojis floods your notifications. You switch back to the apartment chat.

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡𝚡𝚡𝚡𝚡

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

Kuko🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟿𝟶% 𝚌𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚎

Kuko🖕🏻: ☕️

You hit mute so fast you nearly crack your screen.

You: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎

You: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚈𝙾𝚄’𝚁𝙴 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚎𝚓𝚒

Yeji 🖤: 𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚘 𝚗𝚘

Yeji 🖤: 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟻𝟶 𝚋𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔

Yeji 🖤: 𝚒𝚖 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝙺𝙴 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎

Irya 🌸: 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔? 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚎? 👀

Irya 🌸: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚢 𝚖𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔?!?!?! 💘

Jin ☕️: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐.

Jin ☕️: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚜.

Yeji 🖤: 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚢

Yeji 🖤: 𝚐𝚘 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜

"So," Yeji says, watching you aggressively fill out the availability section of your application. "Should we warn your roommate about pizza night or...?"

You think about the endless coffee emojis. About how he's probably still spamming them, the notifications piling up in your muted chat.

"Nope."

She grins. "Chaos it is."

You make it to your apartment after what feels like the longest trek ever, juggling the coffee capsules bag and your dignity. And no, you didn't buy them because of him, okay? You bought them because Yoongi deserves his caffeine fix. Yoongi, who actually helped you carry boxes up flights of stairs when you moved in. Yoongi, who warns you when the hot water's acting up. Yoongi, who—unlike some people—doesn't blast music at 3AM.

"Still can't believe you actually bought them," Yeji says for the fifth time, trailing behind you up the stairs. "Like, you're really just gonna enable his bratty ass?"

"They're not for him." You dig through your bag for your keys. "I got the regular ones for Yoongi. The vanilla ones are mine."

"Uh-huh." She's got that look again. "And you got the vanilla ones because...?"

"Because I like vanilla coffee." Your keys jangle aggressively as you search. "Not everything is about him."

"I offered to spike them," she reminds everyone, way too loudly for a hallway. "Could've made it look factory-sealed and everything."

Jimin looks slightly concerned. "Do I want to know why you know how to do that?"

"Probably not," Irya says cheerfully. "But that's why I love her."

You finally locate your keys, jamming them into the lock. It sticks—because of course it does, these old-ass doors—and you have to do that weird wiggle thing to get it open. "The last thing I need is a lawsuit for attempted murder by coffee."

"It wouldn't kill him," Yeji argues. "Just, you know. Mild poisoning. Character building."

"Pretty sure that's still illegal," Jimin says.

"Only if you get caught."

The door finally gives, swinging open to reveal... nobody. The living room's empty, thank fuck. No sign of Yoongi or—more importantly—no sign of him. Maybe they're both out. Maybe you'll actually get through this pizza night without any—

"Yo, this is actually nice," Yeji says, already making herself at home on the couch. "When you said 'bros' cave' I was expecting, like, beer pong tables and stolen street signs."

"Those are in Jungkook's room," you mutter, dropping the coffee bag on the kitchen counter. Not that you've seen his room. You haven't. Obviously.

Irya's examining the vinyl collection by the TV. "These are good albums. Your roommates have taste."

"Those are Yoongi's." Probably. You're like 90% sure they're Yoongi's. You've never actually asked.

"The place is surprisingly clean," Jimin notes, still hovering politely by the door. "Need help with anything?"

"Nah, just—" You pause as something orange streaks past. "Oh, shit, wait—Griffin, no—"

Too late. Your cat roommate's already winding between Jimin's legs, purring like the attention whore he is.

"You have a cat?" Irya drops to her knees immediately. "Oh my god, he's gorgeous."

"He's not mine." You dump your bag on the counter. "He's Jungkook's emotional support menace."

"Like owner, like cat," Yeji says, watching Griffin charm his way into Jimin's arms.

"True." You roll your eyes. "Demanding, dramatic, and constantly in the way."

Griffin headbutts Jimin's shin, purring louder.

"Should I..." He looks uncertain. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah, he does that." You start unpacking the coffee capsules. “He's harmless. Just attention-starved and thinks he owns the place."

"Again," Yeji says, "like owner, like cat."

"Pretty much.”

"At least the cat's cute." She stretches out on the couch, combat boots definitely leaving marks. "Makes up for the personality."

"Tragic how the genes weren't distributed evenly," you mutter, strategizing about how to arrange the coffee capsules in the cabinet. Normal ones for Yoongi, vanilla ones hidden in the back where grabby hands can't reach them.

Irya's still on the floor with Griffin, who's now rolled onto his back. "I don't know, he seems sweet."

"The cat? Yeah." You slam the cabinet open. "The owner? Walking nightmare."

"Speaking of nightmares." Jimin's still by the door, ever polite. "Should we maybe warn him we're having pizza here? Since it's his apartment too..."

You think about the forty-seven coffee emojis still sitting in your muted notifications.

"Nope."

"Absolutely not," Yeji agrees. "He can deal with it like she dealt with having his dudebro friends over last week."

Irya looks up from scratching Griffin's belly. "Oh yeah, didn't you say you ran into them in your—what was it?"

"Pokemon pajamas," you groan. "Look, they were clean, okay? And it was like, Saturday morning. Who has people over at Saturday morning?"

"Douchebags," Yeji supplies helpfully.

You're about to agree when you hear it. A door opening down the hall. Footsteps.

Of-fucking-course.

"You bought the coffee, phoenix?"

The drawl comes from behind you, and you briefly consider whether jail time for murder would really be that bad. Jungkook's leaning against his doorframe in—are those fucking Sonic pajama pants?—looking like he just rolled out of bed. At 7PM. Because of course he did.

"Nice little reunion you got going on here, by the way."

He yawns, running a hand through his messy hair as he saunters into the kitchen. Like this is totally fine. Like having your friends over without warning isn't exactly what he did last week with Hoseok and Taehyung—who, by the way, apparently has keys to your fucking apartment.

You pointedly ignore him, which would work better if he wasn't literally heading straight for you. He reaches around you to rummage through the shopping bags, and you slap his hands away.

“Get out of my stuff."

"Oh," he pulls out the vanilla capsules before you can stop him, "you actually got me the vanilla ones?"

"They're not for you." You snatch them back. "Get your hands off them."

He grabs for them again. "Pretty sure you bought them because—"

"I bought them for me." You yank them away, but he's already going for the other bag. "Oh my god, can you not—"

"So this is the pain in the ass?" Yeji's voice drips with disdain from the couch.

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, still trying to get his hands on your shopping. "Who's Cruella de Vil over there?"

You elbow him away from the bags. "None of your—"

"Another candle?" He snatches it up, holding it over his head where you can't reach. Dick. "Seriously? After last time?"

"If you'd stop making everything smell like balls and nachos—" You jump for it, but he just stretches higher, "—I wouldn't have to buy them, Rogue."

"I don't smell like—"

"Wait," Irya interrupts, and you catch her hiding a smile behind her hand. "Phoenix?"

"Rogue?" Jimin adds quietly from his corner, looking between you back and forth.

Jungkook's smirk widens as he finally lets you grab the candle back. "Oh, she hasn't told you that story?"

"We are not discussing this again." You shove the candle in its bag. "Ever."

"Why not? It's hilarious." He's fully grinning now, leaning his hip against the counter like he owns it. "Haven't told them about how you almost set the place on fire your first week here?"

"BECAUSE YOU ENTERED THE HOUSE LIKE A FUCKING—" Your hand's fisted in his t-shirt before you can stop yourself, and he's snickering, the absolute dick. "Like a complete psychopath," you finish through gritted teeth.

"The lock sticks!" He's still laughing. "I told you, it's an old door—"

"You didn't have to shoulder it open like the SWAT team!"

"You dropped a lit match!"

"Because you scared the shit out of me!"

"Ugh," Yeji groans. "Is he always like this?"

"Worse," you mutter, finally releasing his shirt. "Usually he's too busy being edgy in his room with his electric guitar."

Irya's definitely smirking now. Jimin looks like he wants to disappear into the wall.

"Whatever, phoenix." He makes another grab for the vanilla capsules. "Rising from the ashes of your attempted arson."

"That's not—" You smack his hand away. "That's not why you started calling me that and you know it."

"Pretty sure it is."

"Pretty sure you're full of shit."

Griffin chooses this moment to abandon Irya and wind between Jungkook's legs, the little traitor. Jungkook immediately scoops him up, and you pretend not to notice how the cat starts purring instantly.

"See?" He scratches under Griffin's chin. "G knows I'm right."

"G's a whore for attention." You start shoving the shopping bags away. "He'd side with Satan if Satan had treats."

"So that's why he likes you."

"You calling me Satan now? Wasn't it phoenix? Pick your poison, dumbass."

"Nah." He's still petting Griffin, who's practically melting in his arms. "Just saying you're both dramatic as fuck."

"Says the guy who kicked down a door over a—"

"The lock was stuck!"

"Yeah? Like your head up your ass?"

“Do you two always do this?” Irya prompts.

"No," you mutter, yanking the coffee bag away as he tries to sneak another grab at it. "When he's not gaming like a twelve-year-old, he's—stop touching my stuff!"

"Just checking what flavor you got," he says innocently, which might work better if he wasn't actively trying to steal the vanilla capsules. "Since you bought them for me and all—"

"I will actually murder you."

"With what? Another candle?"

"Keep talking and find out."

"Children," Yeji interrupts, looking physically pained. "Can we not?"

But Jungkook's already reaching for the bag again, and you swat his hand away. "I swear to god—"

"What? I'm just being neighborly—"

"You're being a pain in the ass—"

"Aw, you noticed?"

"Hard not to when you're—" You break off as he successfully snags a vanilla capsule. "Give that back."

"Make me."

"What are you, five?"

"Says the one hoarding coffee—"

"It's my coffee—"

"Pretty sure you bought it with daddy's credit card—"

The words hit like a slap and before you can think better of it, you snarl, "Fuck you."

Your eyes widen the second it leaves your mouth because you know that look on his face, that slight quirk of his lips, the way he's already—

You slam your hand over his mouth so fast you practically punch him, fingers digging into his jaw. He makes a muffled sound of protest, but you can feel him grinning under your palm, the absolute dick.

"Don't," you hiss. "Don't you fucking dare."

He raises his eyebrows like who, me? but you can feel him trying not to laugh.

"Okay!" Jimin claps his hands together, looking slightly alarmed. "So, pizza? Anyone want to look at the menu?”

“Oooh, that sounds promising.” Jungkook says, yanking your hand away.

"Can't you leave?" You eye him. "Go jack yourself off while you look in the mirror or something. Maybe play your fucking guitar."

"Huhhh?" He's already propping his elbows on the back of the sofa, leaning over the narrow table that ‘separates’ the kitchen from the living room. "I want pizza too. Plus, your friends look nice." His smile is all teeth. "I'm sure they don't mind."

Jimin materializes next to you in the kitchen like some kind of conflict-sensing angel, pretending to be interested in the coffee maker. You know he's checking if you're okay, which would be sweet if you weren't currently fantasizing about drowning Jungkook in vanilla coffee.

"I mind," Yeji announces flatly.

"No problem!" Irya chirps at the same time.

Yeji shoots her girlfriend an exasperated look, but Irya just settles more comfortably against her side. You're going to kill both of them.

"Who's the pink pony over here?" Jungkook nods at Irya, and you see Yeji's arm tighten around her shoulders, hackles practically visible.

"Touch her and die."

"Aww, babe." Irya pats Yeji's thigh. "I'm Irya, and this little black cat over here is my girlfriend Yeji." She points across the room. "That's Jimin."

Jungkook glances back at where you're now aggressively reorganizing coffee capsules, Jimin hovering uncertainly beside you. There's something in his expression you don't like, mouth opening to say god knows what—

"And the third roommate?" Yeji cuts in.

You're about to answer but Jungkook beats you to it. "Yoongi's not here."

"Working late," you add, just to be contrary. "You know, like an actual adult with a job?"

"Unlike some people," Yeji mutters.

You snort at her commentary, and you tune out Jungkook’s comeback. Instead your eyes flicker to Jimin, who’s scrolling through his phone, probably looking at pizza options, when—

"Yo Jim, come here." Jungkook waves him over. "Let me look at the menu."

You grab Jimin's arm before he can move, linking it with yours. "I'm choosing first, wait your damn turn."

Jungkook rises from the sofa with a click of his tongue. "Come on, I just wanna—"

"Did she fucking stutter?" Yeji snaps, and Jungkook actually blinks, like he's not used to being shut down that fast.

You turn back to Jimin's phone with maybe a bit too much satisfaction. "Okay, so what are we thinking?"

"They have this new quattro formaggi that's supposed to be good." Jimin tilts the screen so you can see better. "Or the classic margherita—"

"Boring," you mutter, scrolling past. "Oh, what about the spicy one? With the—"

"The calabrese?" He zooms in on the description. "Spicy salami, fresh basil..."

"That looks good." You're actually getting hungry now. "Maybe we could—"

A shadow falls over the phone as Jungkook appears in front of you like some kind of pizza-seeking missile. He peers over both your lowered heads, close enough that you can feel the heat from his chest, and you resist the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

"Have you two decided?" His breath hits your ear. "Because I—"

You're about to grab a fistful of his hair and yank him back to a respectable distance when he snatches Jimin's phone right out of his hands.

"What the fuck—" You start to reach for him, but Jimin catches your wrist.

"It's okay," he says quietly. "Don't worry about it."

Jungkook's already scrolling, completely unbothered. "Yo, what do you two want?" He nods at the couch without looking up.

"Hawaiian for me," Irya pipes up cheerfully. "Yeji wants the diavola, extra spicy."

Yeji just grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "men" and turns on the TV.

"Cool, cool." Jungkook's still scrolling. "Phoenix, you getting the calabrese?"

"None of your business."

"Just trying to make sure we don't order the same thing." He glances up with that insufferable smirk. "Unless you want to share?"

"I'd rather eat glass."

"Okay, so that's a no on sharing." He's still scrolling through Jimin's phone like he owns it. "I'm thinking meat lovers."

"Of course you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're basic as fuck."

"Says the one getting—" he squints at the screen "—spicy calabrese, like some—"

"Can you two shut up for five minutes?" Yeji snaps from the couch. "Some of us are trying to hear the TV."

"My bad," Jungkook says, not sounding sorry at all. He hands Jimin's phone back—finally—and stretches. "Alright, four pizzas ordered. Now we wait."

You watch him sprawl onto the armchair—the one he keeps arguing it’s his (it’s not?)—like he belongs there, and something about it sets your teeth on edge. The casual way he's inserted himself into your evening, how he's somehow charmed Irya into actual conversation, how he keeps looking at you when he thinks you're not paying attention.

"Whatever, man." You push away from the counter, desperate to get away from his presence for at least two minutes. "I'm gonna get into my PJs, I'll be back."

You head down the hall, your skin prickling like he's watching you go. Which he's not. Obviously. You're just on edge because he's being more insufferable than usual, getting all cozy with your friends like he has any right to—

"Yo, phoenix, wait." Jungkook's voice stops you. "Remember that thing with the landlord? The, uh, maintenance form?"

"What maintenance form?"

"You mentioned to Yoongi about the lock sticking, right?" He's already moving towards you with that easy confidence that makes you want to punch him. "Super's been bitching about proper documentation. Needs your signature since it's your door."

He keeps talking as he approaches, something about liability and repair schedules, and it sounds legitimate enough that you almost miss how he's gradually crowding your space. Almost miss how each step brings him closer until—

He reaches past you, hand brushing your hip as he turns the handle. The door barely has time to click shut before Jungkook’s on you, his whole body crowding into yours, ushering you backward so fast you stumble. Almost fall.

“Jesus—”

Your balance tips, but before you can catch yourself, his hands are already on you—grabbing, steadying, possessive. A solid chest against yours, broad palms locking around your wrists before you can shove him away.

He grins down at you, smirky, flushed, pupils blown. That lazy, cocky amusement dripping from his expression like he planned this. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Relax, Phoenix.” His grip tightens, pulling your wrists just slightly apart. “You’re fine.”

And then his mouth crashes onto yours.

Hard. Messy. Zero warning, zero hesitation. Just heat and teeth and tongue, urgent like he needs to shut you up.

You match him instantly, kissing back just as fiercely, nails curling into his shirt, yanking him closer. His hair is soft under your fingers, thick and dangerous, and you tug—just the way he likes it. Just the way that always makes him groan, makes him grab.

Which he does. Both hands drop to your ass, full palms, fingers digging in like he can’t help himself. A rough squeeze that pulls a breathy sound from your throat before you can stop it.

He chuckles, low and wrecked against your lips, hips rolling slow and deliberate against yours.

“Fuck—” Another squeeze, his voice dropping. “You get all mouthy with me, and then you act surprised when you turn me on?”

Your stomach flips.

His mouth is still moving against yours, sharp and demanding, and fuck—you’re dizzy, heat curling low and deep.

You don’t realize he’s backing you up until your spine collides with the wardrobe.

You wince. “God, fuck—”

Jungkook barely lets you finish before his teeth graze your jaw, lips dragging lower—

No.

You shove at his chest, breath coming fast. “What is your problem?”

His smirk is instant, panting slightly, lips wrecked. The fucking look in his eyes—smoky, half-lidded, shamelessly pleased with himself.

“Mm?” He tilts his head, like he didn’t just grope the hell out of you. “What?”

“You can’t—” A sharp inhale. You straighten your shirt, glare sharp enough to cut. “My friends are here.”

He blinks. Shrugs. "So?"

"So," you bite out, "we are not doing this."

Jungkook just looks at you, like you’re speaking a foreign language. "Doing what?"

"Don't." You level him with a flat stare.

His head tilts, gaze dragging over you, slow and deliberate. "I just wanted to talk."

"Talk," you repeat, incredulous.

"Yeah." He plants a hand on the wardrobe beside your head. Not caging you in—just existing in your space, like he belongs there. "Privately."

Jesus fuck.

"Nope." You press your palms to his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through cotton. "Not happening."

"Phoenix." His voice dips, lazy and smooth, like he’s humoring you. "I'll be quick."

A disbelieving scoff. "Absolutely the fuck not."

He laughs, quiet and amused, like this is funny to him.

Of course it is. Of course it is.

You shove at his chest again. "They don’t know about this, and they’re not going to know about this."

His brows pull together, expression open, genuinely confused. "Why?"

Oh, you could kill him.

"Because," you grind out, "I don't need them speculating."

"Speculating about what?"

"About us, dumbass!"

The words land—and then he snorts. He just, snorts. Like you just told him a funny joke he lowkey doesn’t want to laugh at.

"Oh, fuck off," you snap.

His grin lingers. "Nix. We fuck. That’s it. No one’s gonna think we’re picking out wedding invitations."

You glare. "You're missing the point."

"I really don't think I am."

"Rogue." You exhale sharply. "I don’t want them in my business, okay?"

He watches you for a beat, head tilted like he’s reading between the lines.

Then he nods. Simple. Easy. "Okay."

You blink. "Okay?"

"Yeah?" He shrugs. "You don’t want them to know, they won’t know. It’s not that deep."

Right. Not that deep.

It shouldn’t be a relief—he’s only agreeing because he doesn’t care—but your shoulders still drop a fraction.

"Good," you say.

He hums, gaze flicking over your face, considering. "I mean, it’s not like you gotta tell them I’m your boyfriend or something. Just that we fuck sometimes. What’s wrong with that?"

You scoff. "Everything is wrong with that, Jungkook."

He raises an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Like—god, where do you start?

Like the fact that this is supposed to be contained, something that stays locked in this apartment and nowhere else. Like the fact that you need to be in control of it because if you’re not, it means it’s spiraling, and spiraling is—

Not an option.

He hums, considering. The vibration shivers over your skin. "Interesting."

The fuck does that mean?

You glare at him. "What?"

"Nothing." But there's a glint in his eye you don't like. Knowing. Assessing. "Just seems like you're overthinking it."

"I'm not—"

"Ashamed?" His head tilts. "Embarrassed?"

Heat crawls up your neck. "Fuck you."

"I mean." A slow drag of his gaze, head to toe and back again. "If you insist..."

Oh my god.

Your foot connects with his shin. Hard. He grunts, flinching back. Good.

"Touch me again," you growl, "and you lose your dick."

He holds up his hands. The picture of innocence. "Message received."

"Is it?" You cross your arms. Narrow your eyes. "Because it seems like you're having trouble understanding basic fucking boundaries."

"Nah, I get it." But there's a wicked glint in his eye, and oh, that can't be good. "No telling your friends about all the filthy things we do."

"There is no we.” You jab a finger at his chest. "No us."

A slow nod. "Right."

"I mean it, Rogue." You hold his gaze, unflinching. "This?" A sharp gesture between your bodies. "Doesn't leave this apartment."

"Mm." His tongue swipes over his bottom lip. Deliberate. Obscene. "So I shouldn't mention how you like it when I—"

Your hand clamps over his mouth, muffling his words. "Finish that sentence and die."

He grins against your palm, wholly unrepentant. Bastard.

You drop your hand. Take a step back. "I'm serious, Ry."

"Oh, I know." But there's a curl to his lips you don't trust. Not one bit.

"Do you?" You cross your arms. "Because it sounds like you're angling for a free pass to run your mouth."

"Nah." He mirrors your posture, arms folding over his chest. “Just getting a feel for the rules."

Right. Sure. "The rules are simple." You hold up a finger. "Rule one: no one knows we're fucking."

A nod. "Easy enough."

"Rule two," you continue, "if anyone asks, we're just roommates."

"Uh-huh." His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. Considering. "That all?"

Wariness prickles up your spine. "Why?"

A shrug. Too casual. "No reason."

Bullshit.

You shake your head. "Just—forget it. Are we done here?"

Jungkook watches you for another long second.

Then he nods. "Yeah, we're done."

He turns, already reaching for the doorknob, when—

"Oh." A pause. Like he just remembered something. "And just so we're clear—this isn’t exclusive, right?"

You blink. "What?"

He glances back, expression easy. Casual. "Like, I can fuck other people. That cool with you?"

A laugh bursts out of you. Short. Sharp. "Why the fuck would I care?"

His mouth twitches. "Dunno. Just making sure."

"Well, consider it confirmed." You fold your arms. "Do whatever the fuck you want, just—"

He lifts his brows. "Just?"

"Don’t give me an STD." You level him with a flat look.

He snorts. "Noted." A beat. Then, amused— "You want test results?"

"Oh, fuck off, Rogue."

"Just offering, Phoenix." His smirk lingers for half a second before his expression smooths out. "So, rule number three, then."

You narrow your eyes. "Rule what?"

"Rules." He gestures between you. "One: no one knows. Two: if they ask, we're just roommates." A pause. "Three: no feelings."

Something in his voice shifts, something light but pointed, like he's not saying it just for your benefit.

You scoff. "Yeah, no shit."

He nods once, satisfied. "Cool."

And then he's gone, door clicking shut behind him like the whole thing never happened.

The air in the room is suddenly too thick.

You exhale sharply, back hitting the wardrobe, and press your palms over your face.

God damn him.

Not just for being an insufferable pain in your ass, but for being right. Because logically, there's no reason to keep this a secret—he's not your boyfriend, he's just your roommate who happens to fuck you sometimes. It's not a big deal. It's not anything.

But something in you rebels at the thought of anyone knowing. Of having to explain yourself, to justify your choices. You've had enough of that to last a lifetime, enough of measuring every decision against someone else's expectations. Enough of being told what you should want, what you should do, who you should be.

This thing with Jungkook? It's yours. Messy and stupid and probably a horrible idea, but it's yours. The one thing in your life that nobody gets to have an opinion about, that nobody gets to control but you.

And maybe that's fucked up. Maybe normal people don't feel this desperate need to keep parts of themselves hidden, to maintain this iron grip on every aspect of their lives. Maybe they don't lie awake at night planning escape routes from their own decisions.

But you've never been very good at normal, have you?

You straighten, smooth your shirt, school your face into something neutral.

Then you open the door, step back into the living room, and pretend like your world isn’t tilting.

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mononijikayu · 7 months ago

Text

together — gojo satoru.

“You already noticed I’m here, so why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked, breaking the silence. Satoru’s laughter filled the room, light and familiar, though he didn’t look up from his work. “If I make a mistake on the budget suggestion for this year, I’ll be paying for it.” You couldn’t help but snicker at his response. “You have too much money to be complaining about budget mistakes you can replace.” you shot back, your voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and fondness. “But I like getting it right.” he replied, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something as simple as picking the right dessert. “I like winning.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence

WARNING/S: angst, romance, break up, hurt/comfort, divorce, separation, hurt, humor, depictions of failing marriage, depiction of post-divorce grief, depiction of sexual content, usage of pet names and endearments, depiction of grief, mention of grief, mention of sexual content, mention of loneliness;

WORD COUNT: 5.5k words

NOTE: the poll winner from recently!!! this took a while. i wanted to write more but you might get bored of me doing longer stories. i should learn how to stop yapping and get straight to the point too,,,,, but im grateful you come and read it at all. i love you all so much!!! i'll be focusing on writing future projects to keep you entertained too <3 oh~ also the japanese text above is the ending text of the story <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

◤━━━━━━━━━━◥

LIVING ALONE AGAIN WAS STRANGE. You would think that after spending most of your life living alone, solitude would have become a familiar companion, a constant that you’d grown accustomed to. Yet, the nearly decade-long interlude of marriage had fundamentally shifted your sense of normalcy. Your normal wasn’t your normal years ago. That normal was gone long ago.

The absence of Satoru, though frequent, had always been counterbalanced by his presence at other times—his laughter, his warmth, the shared moments that punctuated the quiet of your home. Memories reverberated in your head often, almost like a broken record repeating over and over again.

Even with his unpredictable schedule and the long stretches of time he spent away on missions, his mere existence had woven a thread of companionship into the fabric of your daily life. His absence, when it occurred, was never complete. It was always lingering, almost the feeling of the wind on your cheeks. Like the sunlight that doesn’t know where else to go.

There was always a lingering echo of his presence in the small things: the way he left his favorite hot cocoa mug on the counter, the occasional stray articles of clothing, or the faint scent of his cologne that lingered in the air. You existed alone and yet never truly alone. You were stuck in the pandemonium of him. And you can’t escape it, not him. Not even if you wanted to. You loved him too much, you think to yourself. And perhaps that was the most dangerous, most painful reality.

Now, facing the reality of your solitude once again, you felt a shift that was more profound than you had anticipated. The house was quieter, emptier, in a way that was starkly different from your pre-marriage solitude. The echoes of his laughter were replaced by a silence that felt heavier, more pronounced. The space that was once filled with the shared rituals and routines was now hollow, resonating with the absence of the life you had once built together.

You found yourself unexpectedly disoriented by this new kind of loneliness. It wasn’t just the absence of a physical presence; it was the loss of the rhythm of life that had come with living with someone else—the cadence of shared moments, the comfort of knowing someone would always be there to fill the void. You realized that nearly a decade of marriage had redefined what it meant to be alone. The silence you faced now was a different kind of solitude, one that bore the weight of change and loss.

As you adjusted to this new reality, you were confronted with a truth you hadn’t fully grasped before: the difference between being alone and being alone together. The former was an old friend that knows you too well. And the latter had become an ingrained part of your existence, transforming how you experienced and understood solitude. Even in his absence, the presence of Gojo Satoru had left a mark that made the return to your solitary life feel like a disorienting shift. It was a constant reminder, like an afterthought — that you were drowning in both of it. And you wish you weren’t.

The first few weeks after the divorce felt like wading through an endless fog, each step heavier than the last. You’d packed up your life and moved into a smaller apartment, a place devoid of the memories that once filled every corner of your shared space with Gojo Satoru. The silence was a constant reminder of what was lost, and you couldn’t help but notice the emptiness where his laughter once echoed.

The day you took off your wedding ring, it felt like a final, quiet resignation to a reality you hadn’t fully accepted. You set it aside in a drawer, out of sight but never truly out of mind. And you cried, on and on, for hours that seemed to go on to infinity. Yet, the last name remained, a silent tribute to what once was, even if you weren’t entirely sure why you held on to it. Maybe it was the familiarity, maybe it was a part of you that couldn’t fully let go. But it remained.

You know he’s changed too since the divorce. At least that’s what you’ve heard from people you know. He moved to a different apartment, a place that probably lacks the warmth you tried to bring into your home together. And you can’t blame him. It was filled with ghosts, your old home. Ghosts of you and him that he didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to relive.

He still keeps his wedding ring, that’s what the whispers say. At times, you imagine him, still as tall and proud as ever, his uniform impeccable, with that wedding ring you thought he’d discard hanging around his neck, hidden beneath layers of fabric and bravado. It’s not that you expected him to wear it forever, but knowing he does fills you with a strange mix of pain and comfort.

He deleted your contact from his phone, yet you’re certain he could still dial your number from memory, just as you’ve failed to erase him from yours. It was too bad, you can’t help but think. How silly it was for both of you, to still be this attached to ten numbers on your phone screen. That it is now etched in your heads. One way or another, still listed as the emergency number on the first listing of the contact list.

It’s ironic, you think. Almost a decade of marriage, years filled with love, laughter, and moments that felt like they could never end, all reduced to this—two people who still love each other deeply but grew too tired to fight for what they had. Not tired of each other, no. You’re sure he’ll always love you, just as you know that you’ll always love him. But the weight of it all became too much. You couldn’t carry it anymore, and neither could he.

And so here you are, in your separate spaces, living lives that feel incomplete without the other. It’s a strange kind of heartbreak, one where the love is still there, lingering like a ghost, but the life you once shared is gone. The divorce papers were just a formality, a first step made by a child born into this world; the real loss, the real step to living again is something neither of you has figured out how to let go of yet. And perhaps, you will never truly find it.

But at times, love wasn’t enough. Love couldn’t bridge the gaps that grew between you and Satoru. Keeping each other alive wasn’t enough either. Knowing that the other was out there, somewhere, breathing, wasn’t enough to fill the void that settled in your heart. Sometimes, you need more than that. And you certainly did.

You felt alone for most of your marriage to Satoru. Not unloved, but alone. There was a difference, you’re sure of it. Satoru loved you, a lot. You knew he did. If you could see it, you would think it would have been large enough to create a bigger sea than the Pacific Ocean. Perhaps it would engulf the whole planet too.

He chose you, above everything. At least at one point, when duty didn’t matter as much as it did now. When the world still spun in the way that made sense. You still remember how his eyes were as they bore against his family members, standing in front of you. He went against tradition, defying the expectations of those who believed he should marry someone with powerful connections, someone from a clan as prestigious as his own.

Instead, he chose you, a sorcerer without ties to power or influence. Just you. Plain and ordinary you. He carved out Sundays to be with you, Megumi, and Tsumiki, a precious day reserved for just the four of you, away from the demands of the world you were all trapped in. He tried to be there, he really did. You knew that he did his best. Because he loved you.

Yet, despite all that, most days you didn’t see him as much. Duty outweighed that devotion, that love, that defiance. He was always somewhere else, pulled in too many directions at once. His duties as the strongest, as a teacher, as a protector—those came first. And while you understood, while you knew that he was out there saving lives, it didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear. Understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less. And he knew that too.

You were surrounded by love, yet it felt like you were living parallel lives, close but never truly touching. The days blurred together, filled with brief moments of connection followed by long stretches of absence. You grew used to missing him, to waiting for the rare moments when he’d be fully present, but it wore on you. The love you shared was real, but it wasn’t enough to keep the loneliness at bay.

That loneliness, the growing chasm between you, led to fights—fights that started small, sparked by little things but quickly ignited into full-blown arguments. Screaming matches that echoed through the apartment, tears that blurred your vision, and words that cut deep, words that should never have been said.

You tried to make sure you never did that in front of Megumi or Tsumiki. But you think they knew. How could they not, when the silence was so loud? And you would rather stay in silence than let them see the tears, let Satoru see the tears. There were moments when the hurt became too much, and the pain spilled over into everything you did, even the intimacy that once brought you closer.

There were nights when the sex was intense, a desperate attempt to reconnect, to remember the love that once held you together. To feel something other than this emptiness, this grief, this pain. But even in those moments, pleasure was tinged with an ache so deep it brought you to tears. Tears that spilled from the heart of someone already grieving, someone who saw the end coming long before the final goodbye. You grieved for the marriage you had, the marriage that you didn’t have. The one that shouldn’t have ended this way but was unraveling regardless.

He lay on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress as his lips traced a desperate path along your neck, each kiss laden with a quiet urgency, as if this was the last time he’d ever taste your skin. His breath was warm against your throat, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held you close, unwilling to let go just yet.

Your arms locked around the small of his back, pulling him even closer as you moaned against him, the sound trembling with the tears gathering in your eyes. The pressure of his body, the way he rocked against your core, flesh to flesh, was both comforting and excruciatingly bittersweet. Each movement, each whispered breath, felt like a silent plea for more time, a way to hold on to what was slipping through your fingers.

You didn’t want to let go, your heart clinging to the connection between you, desperate to keep him close for just a little longer. But even as you wrapped yourself around him, feeling the pulse of his heart against yours, you knew the truth. You knew that this would end, that this was just another fleeting moment before you’d have to let go, before the final goodbye.

Your tears mingled with the sweat on your skin, a physical manifestation of the heartbreak you were both too afraid to voice. He kissed your neck as if he could somehow imprint his love into your very soul, but deep down, you both knew it wouldn’t be enough. No matter how tightly you held on, no matter how deeply he loved you, this was a chapter that was closing, and nothing could stop that.

You felt both raw and exposed, you lay there beside him, your body still trembling from the aftermath, your heart feeling like it had been shattered into a thousand pieces. The air between you was thick with the unspoken, a silence so heavy it pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. The ceiling above you blurred as tears welled up, but the words that clawed their way up your throat demanded to be spoken, even if they tore you both apart in the process.

“This isn’t working out anymore, Satoru.” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the quiet like a knife. The moment the words left your lips, you could feel the shift in the bed, his body tensing beside you as if bracing for a blow that had already landed. “You know it as much as I do.”

He didn’t respond right away, the silence between you stretching out into something almost unbearable. When he finally turned to look at you, his expression was a mixture of shock and guilt, as if he hadn’t expected to hear what you both knew was inevitable.

His eyes, those vibrant blue eyes that once held so much joy and love, were now clouded, searching yours for something—anything—that could change what you had just said. Because he knew. He knew it even before you did, with those six eyes. That it was over. That there was nothing left to find.

The love was still there, burning bright, but it wasn’t enough to hold together what had been breaking for so long. You watched as the realization settled over him, as the weight of your words began to sink in, and in that moment, you saw a part of him crumble. It was as if the strongest man you’d ever known had been brought to his knees, not by any curse or enemy, but by the simple truth that he couldn’t fix what was broken between you.

“I’m sorry, babe.” he whispered, the words trembling in the space between you, as if they carried the weight of all the things he couldn’t say. His voice cracked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked vulnerable, lost in a way you had never seen before. “I’m really sorry.”

His apology hung in the air, a single thread connecting you to a past that had once been so full of promise, now unraveling before your eyes. You wanted to reach out, to hold him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that you both tried, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you lay there, the distance between your bodies feeling like a chasm that neither of you could cross anymore, the reality of your situation settling in like a cold, unrelenting truth.

And in that moment, you knew it was over. Not just the marriage, but the fight to keep it alive. The love you had for each other was still there, but it had been worn down by the loneliness, the missed connections, the time spent apart. And now, as you lay beside him, you realized that love alone wasn’t enough to save what you had lost. And you were tired. You were tired of it all.

◤━━━━━━━━━━◥

ALL YOU WANTED TO DO WAS CRAWL INTO BED AND SLEEP. That mission really did a number on your energy, you think. But you were just desperate to get it done with. With the rise of cursed spirits doubling, you had to do more than what you usually do. And now that you were home, you wished for nothing more than to take a nice long shower and drink some beer before going off to bed.

You yawned as you opened the door and took your keys away, the exhaustion settling into your bones as you slipped off your shoes and dropped your bag by the door.The familiar hum of your apartment greeted you, a moment of quiet before you could finally relax. You turned on your AC and put your coat away. But before you could even take a breath, your phone rang, its sharp tone cutting through the silence.

You glanced at the screen and saw Shoko’s name flashing. A small smile tugged at your lips as you answered, “Hey, Shoko—”

She didn’t let you finish. “You need to get to Jujutsu High. Immediately.”

Her voice was brisk, but there was an underlying edge to it that made your heart skip a beat. Your eyes shot a glance at the clock on the wall, noting the late hour with a sigh. You didn’t have to ask, but the question slipped out anyway, “Is it Satoru?”

Shoko’s snicker crackled through the phone, and you could almost see her rolling her eyes. “Who else would it be?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of your nose as a wave of weariness washed over you. It always seemed to be him. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Sho.” you replied, your voice resigned but determined. “Just let me have a shower first.”

There was a pause, and then Shoko’s tone softened just slightly. “Thanks.”

“Keep him entertained until I get there, okay?”

“I don’t really think I can keep promises like that.”

You hung up, the familiar mixture of concern and frustration stirring in your chest. You knew Satoru—how he pushed himself, how he always danced on the edge of danger, how he made everyone worry without ever seeming to care about the toll it took on those who loved him. And now, once again, you found yourself rushing to his side, the weight of your shared history pressing down on you as you prepared to face whatever mess he’d gotten himself into this time.

When you arrived at the familiar room, the sight that greeted you was almost surreal in its familiarity. It was exactly as you had left it weeks and weeks ago, as if time had frozen in this one small corner of the world. But you think in a way, that’s how sentimental your ex–husband was. You sighed. It was still something you have to get used to, thinking of Satoru as your ex–husband. But slowly but little, maybe you would.

Papers were stacked precariously on every available surface, threatening to topple over at any moment. Food containers were haphazardly piled in a corner, one after the other, all empty. Sweet soda cans lay scattered around, rolling slightly with each step you took. Dust had begun to settle on the scrolls and books that were abandoned on the desk and floor, evidence of a mind too occupied to care about the mess surrounding it.

And there, in the far corner of the room, was Gojo Satoru. His cerulean blue eyes, as bright and intense as ever, were glued to a pile of administrative paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Concentration that you rarely see in him when you are at home. Well, when you still lived together. You stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in, before letting out a long, quiet sigh.

“You already noticed I’m here, so why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Satoru’s laughter filled the room, light and familiar, though he didn’t look up from his work. “If I make a mistake on the budget suggestion for this year, I’ll be paying for it.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at his response. “You have too much money to be complaining about budget mistakes you can replace.” you shot back, your voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and fondness.

“But I like getting it right.” he replied, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something as simple as picking the right dessert. “I like winning.”

You watched him for a moment longer, a twinge of something bittersweet tugging at your heart. Satoru had always been like this, meticulous in certain things, striving for perfection in the most mundane tasks. And for a fleeting second, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had wanted to get more than just the budget right. Maybe he had wanted to get your marriage right, too. But like the paperwork in front of him, it had slipped through the cracks, and no amount of precision could fix what had already fallen apart.

You shook the thought from your mind, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s the crisis this time? Or did you just need me to come clean up your mess again?”

Satoru finally looked up, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell him you were done cleaning up after him, you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew that some part of you would always show up for him, even now, even after everything.

“You haven’t slept yet, have you?”

He says nothing for a moment and smiles. “Is it that obvious?”

“I was your wife at one point, Satoru.” You smiled back at him. “I would know it all.”

You moved further into the room, your steps unhurried but purposeful as you waltzed toward him. Without a word, you took the seat directly in front of him, the old familiarity of the space wrapping around you like a well-worn coat. The paper bag in your hand crinkled softly as you set it down on the cluttered table between you.

Finally, Satoru looked up from his paperwork, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes, always so piercing, softened just slightly as he took you in. “You getting worried for me, babes?” he teased, the nickname slipping out as naturally as ever.

You sighed, the weight of years shared between you pressing down on your shoulders. “When have I never been worried?” you replied, the words tinged with a quiet resignation. “Eat up before you die from hunger, you idiot.”

He chuckled, that easy, careless laugh of his that used to make your heart flutter. “I’ll be fine, you know?” he said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “I would have been home before 4 am.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the table for a moment. “I know… but I still worry.”

There was a pause, a beat where the air between you grew heavy with the things left unsaid. When you looked back up, his smile had shifted—still there, but tinged with something almost unbearably sad.

“I hope you stop.” he murmured, the honesty in his voice cutting deeper than any argument or harsh word could have. “It’s not good for you. To worry about me.”

You knew he meant it. Satoru didn’t want you to be weighed down by him, didn’t want you caged like some delicate bird in a gilded cage. He had set you free so that you wouldn’t be in pain anymore, so that you could breathe without the constant worry that had come to define so much of your life together. And in his own way, he was just being honest, just trying to do right by you, even if it meant asking for something that neither of you really wanted.

But the truth of it hurt all the same, a constant nagging that no matter how much love there was, sometimes that love wasn’t enough to hold you together. And as you sat there, watching him, you knew that letting go of that worry was going to be one of the hardest things you’d ever have to do.

"I heard you got the job at Fukuoka in a few weeks." Satoru whispered, his pearless blue gaze heavy on you. "Congratulations."

You don't know how he heard it, who he heard it from. But your ex-husband always had his six eyes on everything. He has ways. But maybe it didn't matter. You don't think it would have been easy to tell him anyway. You didn't have the heart to. In a way, you feel like you're leaving him behind. And you didn't want to. That was your biggest fear.

That your Satoru would truly be alone. That he would suffer everything the world gave him on his own. As he always has. Because when you think about Satoru, he wasn't the strongest. He was just the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. And now he's the man you loved—still do love. Yet he won't have your shoulder. Now more so than ever that you're leaving.

"Yaga recommended me." You whisper back at him with a tender, broken look. "He thought I would do well as a teacher there. And well, there was a spot opened since Inumaki-sensei retired."

"Inumaki's uncle, wasn't it?" He says, leaning against the back rest. "No, he's definitely older. He's the great-uncle."

"I think so, I'm not very sure." You confess. "I'm not into the clan matters."

He chuckles. "That's okay. Clan matters have always been boring."

Silence befell the two of you as you looked at your fumbling nails. You didn't know what to do now, you didn't think you can meet his eyes. Your grandmother told you that the window to the soul was the eyes. And so, you were hesitant. You were hesistant to see how much damage you could bring to his soul. How much grief you can inflict upon him by leaving.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, and decided to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “How’s Megumi?” you asked, your voice soft but steady, focusing on something you both still cared about.

You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over, refusing to let him see how much his words had shaken you. This was supposed to be a simple visit, just dropping off food, checking in on him like you always did. But nothing about being around Satoru was ever simple, not even now.

"It's a five hour train ride." You whispered, your eyes still darted to your hands. "Thirteen hours by car and...and I'll stop by for reports and administrative meetings."

"You want me to visit you?" Satoru teased, crossing his arms.

You looked at him, finally. Your lips pursed tightly. "If you want. You know....you know my house is open to you. Wherever it is."

"And you're my home. You always will be." He mumbles lowly, a ghostly smile on his lips. "I'll come and see you, hm? Teleport even."

You could feel a lump gather at your throat. You didn't know what to say. It was overwhelming to hear. But maybe, just maybe — it would hurt less had he said it more often. Maybe it would have been common place. And maybe, your heart wouldn't be breaking over and over again.

"Just don't go on days you have work. Your kids need you too."

He smiles. "No promises."

Satoru’s expression softened further, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He’s doing well, I suppose.” he said, leaning back in his chair as if the mere mention of Megumi eased some of the tension between you. “He’s been training hard, getting stronger every day. You know how he is—always pushing himself.”

You nodded, picturing the serious young boy who had become such a central part of both your lives. For a moment, your mind also crosses to Tsumiki. You dare not ask about Tsumiki. Not just yet. You weren’t prepared for the same answer he’d given you a while ago.

“That sounds like him.” you murmured, a small smile finding its way to your lips despite everything. “He’s always been so determined, even when he was little. Likes proving himself and getting better.”

Satoru’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching your face as if he could read your thoughts. “He misses you, you know?” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something almost like regret. “He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a fresh wave of emotion swelling in your chest. You swallowed hard, looking away for a moment to compose yourself. “I miss him too.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every day.”

Satoru reached out then, his hand hesitating for just a second before he placed it gently over yours, a rare moment of contact that spoke volumes. He gave you a small squeeze and then a faint smile, a smile that you wished wasn’t this broken, this sad.

“You should come see him. He’s already lodging here in the school.” he suggested, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing motion. “He’d like that, having a visit from you.”

You glanced down at his hand, the warmth of his touch both familiar and foreign at the same time. The simplicity of his suggestion made it all the more heartbreaking. As much as you wanted to see Megumi, to be there for him, it was the reminder of what you had lost—what you both had lost—that made it so difficult.

“I will.” you finally said, your voice thick with the emotion you were trying so hard to keep at bay. “I’ll see him soon.”

Satoru nodded, the understanding passing between you in the quiet that followed. It was a fragile peace, held together by shared memories and the unspoken love that still lingered between you. But it was enough for now, even if just for this moment.

As you prepared to leave, the weight of the moment pressed heavily on you, and you turned back toward Satoru, unable to shake the feeling of seeing him so sad. “It’s hard to see you like this, you know?” you said, your voice tinged with concern. “It hurts knowing how much you’re struggling.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze dropping to the papers strewn across his desk. “I have no one to blame but myself, babe.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a resignation that seemed almost like acceptance. “And that’s okay. I’ll figure it out. I always will. I have to.”

You shook your head, frustration and sadness mixing in your voice. “It’s not okay, Satoru. I don’t want you to keep punishing yourself over this. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to anyone.”

He looked up at you, his cerulean eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that he rarely showed. He squeezed your hand again, his grip firm but gentle. You feel like at any moment, you are going to break. He was so gentle, he always was. When it came to you? He could never be someone that would let Infinity be between you. Gentleness, it's what you deserved. To be loved well, that too. That’s what you deserved most in the world.

“I want you to think of yourself first. You were and always will be my first priority.” he said softly. “You deserve to have a life too, one that isn’t just about me. You need to take care of yourself.”

The simple sincerity of his words broke the dam you had been trying so hard to hold back. The tears you had been fighting to keep at bay finally spilled over, streaming down your cheeks. He lets out a small breath as he takes his free hand and lets his fingers wipe them too. Just as gently as his other hand touches your own.

“I… I don’t know how to do that.” you admitted through your tears, your voice breaking. You bit your lower lip. “It’s hard to just walk away from everything we’ve been through. I keep thinking about how things could have been different.”

Satoru’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently brush away a tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to have all the answers, okay?” he said quietly. “Just take it one step at a time. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, and it’s okay to not have it all figured out right now.”

The tenderness in his touch, the care in his voice, only made the tears flow more freely. You nodded, trying to steady your breath. “I just want you to be okay.” you said, your voice choked with emotion. “I want us both to be okay, even if it’s apart.”

Satoru nodded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and understanding. “We will be,” he said softly. “It’s just going to take time. But I believe we’ll find our way. You’ll find yours, and I’ll find mine. And we’ll both be okay.”

“Satoru,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of all the years you had shared. “You were… you still are the love of my life.”

The words hung in the air, and you could see them hit him like a tidal wave. His eyes widened as the realization crashed over him—memories of youth, of laughter, of love that once felt unbreakable. The years you had spent together, now mere dried ink on the pages of the book of your life, flashed before his eyes. You could almost see the emotional flood pouring over him, washing away the veneer of his usually unshakeable composure.

His laughter broke the silence, a harsh, choking sound that was as close to tears as he would allow himself to show. He takes a deep breath, trying to still himself. Trying to not let this hurt you even more than it already was.

“You already know the answer to that.” he managed, his voice thick with emotion. His laughter turned into a soft, almost pained smile, as if the truth of your words had cracked something open inside him. “Always. No matter what.”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision. “I do.” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “And I always will. I’ll always love you.”

The room felt colder now, the space between you feeling like an insurmountable distance. But there was a strange sense of peace in acknowledging what had been and what could never be again. As you turned back toward the door, you took one last look at him, holding on to the bittersweet memory of a love that had been both beautiful and painful.

And with that, you stepped out into the world that awaited you, the horizon stretching out with possibilities as you carried with you the love that had once defined your past. Even as you embarked on this new beginning, the echoes of what you shared with Satoru would forever remain a part of you, an indelible mark on the canvas of your life.

As you moved away, Gojo Satoru watched you with a mix of sadness and resolve. He knew that this separation was not just a physical distance but a necessary step for both of you to find peace and stability. The sight of you walking toward your new life in Fukuoka, away from the familiar chaos and dangers of what's to come; it filled him with hope. It filled him with relief.

In his heart, Satoru found solace in the thought that you would be safe, shielded from the perilous world that had often intruded upon your lives together. The distance between you was painful, but it was for the best. You can’t be together anymore. He’d only hurt you. And no amount of love can bury that hurt. He knew that too well.

As you vanished from view, Satoru took a deep breath, accepting the weight of the decision and the emotions it carried. His eyes looked down at the picture of you and him, back in your wedding. He lets his finger linger against the glass, against the memory of your smiling face. It was better this way. He sighs and puts his blindfold against his eyes again. He takes a seat again. He looks at the meal you made him and he starts to eat again. Little by little, savoring the warmth that remained.

“You made it too spicy again.” He whispers into the empty room, smiling to himself. "That's cruel."

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scary-grace · 7 months ago

Text

the crying game - a shigaraki x f!reader oneshot

You gave up on love a long time ago, but you keep getting invited to weddings, and after eleven receptions spent at the single's table, you're almost at the end of your rope -- until first-time wedding guest Shigaraki Tomura asks you to show him how it's done. (5.7k words, modern AU, no quirks.)

This fic is for @arslansenkai, who saw my milestone post and requested the prompts ‘holding hands’ + ‘listening to the other’s heartbeat’ + ‘whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin’ from this list. Thank you so much for the prompt! I really enjoyed writing it and I swear all three of your prompts made it in here or there.

You hate weddings. You don’t remember when you started hating them, but you know why you started – right around the time when you realized that you’d never have another one of your own, that you’d always be attending someone else’s, and doing that all by yourself, too. Add in the cost of a new dress and new shoes (God forbid you wear the same thing twice in one year) and travel accommodations and a wedding present, and weddings become a big, expensive, depressing waste of a weekend. No matter how much you like the people who are getting married.

And you do like them, this time, even though they’re the twelfth couple from your department at Ultra, Inc. to get married in the last three years. Ochako and Himiko are the kind of couple who shouldn’t make sense, but somehow do – the kind of against-all-odds couple who’d make you believe in love if you didn’t know better. You were rooting for them, you’re glad they’re together, and getting their save-the-date still made you want to drown yourself in the toilet. You opted to drown in vodka instead. You need help.

You need help, and you’re going to get it. After this wedding. So you can figure out how to say no the next time you get an invite. Because out of all the indignities about going single to a wedding, getting stuck at the same table at the wedding reception as the other people who couldn’t snare a date is possibly the worst.

Most couples have at least a few single friends, but Himiko and Ochako are the last of their respective circles to couple up. Or almost-last. The singles table at their wedding included exactly five people at the start of the reception. You, an older woman named Magne, a guy your age whose place-card says Todoroki Touya but insisted that he goes by Dabi, another guy your age whose place-card says Takami Keigo but insisted you call him Hawks, and one more guy your age whose place-card says Shigaraki Tomura and who barely looked up when you introduced yourself.

It wasn’t the worst singles table you’d ever sat at, at the start. Then Magne bailed to sit with somebody she knew at a different table, and Dabi and Hawks hit it off and then snuck off to God knows where, and then it was just you and Shigaraki sitting at your table in the far back corner of the reception hall. That’s how it’s been for an hour, and the only interaction the two of you have had is when you’ve passed the table’s bottle of champagne back and forth, filling your glasses and then draining them out of sync. It’s depressing. After going to eleven weddings in two years, you can hang in there with the best of them, but you’re pretty sure you’re about to crack.

Your glass is empty, and when you reach for the bottle, you find that it’s empty, too. You want to get more, but you’re not going to look like a lush in front of your weird tablemate. “Hey,” you say, and Shigaraki looks up from the screen of his Switch. “This is empty. I’ll go get more if you want it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shigaraki says. You raise your eyebrows. “This will suck just as bad whether I’m wasted or not.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “But then you’ll be able to pretend it sucks because you’re wasted, not because you’re stuck at the singles table yet again.”

“Yet again? Sounds like you’re projecting,” Shigaraki says. You shrug. It would hurt more if you hadn’t heard the same thing from at least one person at the last three weddings you went to – usually towards the end of the reception, usually when everybody’s getting weepy and ridiculous. You’re ahead of schedule this time. “Sure. I’ll take more.”

Two tables over, a group of happy couples have abandoned their champagne bucket in favor of the dance floor – or the photo booth, or something. You swap your empty bottle for their full one and come back over, hoping Shigaraki will have gone back to his game and forgotten you existed. No such luck. He’s sitting up, watching you, as you sit down, fill your glass, and slide the bottle back across the table to Shigaraki. “Yet again,” he repeats. You down half your glass in a single swallow. “I’m only halfway through the first one of these stupid things I’ve been to and I’m already done. How many times have you put yourself through it?”

“Eleven,” you say. Shigaraki’s red eyes widen. “No, that’s just people from work. If I count friends from school, it’s, uh – sixteen.”

“If you’re this miserable, stop going.”

“Is that what you do?” you challenge. “When your friends invite you to celebrate the happiest day of their lives, you just don’t go?”

“My friends know better than to invite me to shit like this.” Shigaraki copies you and drains half his glass in one go. “I wouldn’t have come to this one, except Toga critical-hit me with this guilt trip about how we’re her family and she needs her family to be here –”

You did notice a conspicuous lack of parents or relatives on Toga’s side of the aisle. “And I said I’d go if I didn’t have to go alone,” Shigaraki continues. “Dabi was supposed to be doing time with me. Figures he’d score a hookup and bolt.”

“I didn’t know you knew each other,” you say. They barely talked when Dabi was sitting here. “How do you know Himiko?”

“Juvie,” Shigaraki says, and you’re not sober enough to keep the surprise from showing all over your face. He snickers. “Not what you expected?”

You shake your head. “Is that where you know Dabi from?”

“And Spinner,” Shigaraki says, pointing out a purple-haired guy at a different table. “And Twice. Magne was a peer counselor or something. If I hadn’t met them I probably would have killed myself in there.”

You can’t stop your surprise from showing this time, either. Shigaraki grimaces. “Don’t read into that.”

“No promises,” you say. Shigaraki snorts and lifts his glass partway, then drains it. “So you’ve known each other for a while.”

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re friends with the girlfriend. Wife.” Shigaraki refills his glass again, but leaves it alone for the time being. “How long have you known her?��

“Work,” you say, then facepalm. You’re lucky you manage to do it with the hand not holding your glass of champagne. “Two years or so. I already worked there when she was hired. I kind of watched the whole thing with Himiko from the sidelines.”

That’s how you always watch relationships play out at work, or anywhere, really. Pretending to be happy, really being happy, and still feeling like you’re pulling a tarp over the sinkhole in your chest. “So the wife invited you and you showed up even though you knew you’d hate it,” Shigaraki concludes. “You’re crazier than me. I’m never going to another one of these things again.”

“Not even your own?”

“Do I look like the kind of person somebody marries?” Shigaraki finishes his whole glass in a single swallow. You were thinking about trying to keep up with him, but if you try that, you’ll throw up all over the dress you had to buy, which is probably dry-clean only or something worse. “I don’t get why anyone goes to these things.”

“They’re supposed to be fun,” you say. You feel bad picking on Ochako’s wedding. It’s not Ochako’s fault that you’re single, bitter about it, and this close to drunk on alcohol she paid for. “But they’re usually only fun if you go with someone.”

“I went with somebody. He ditched me to hook up with a guy who named himself after a bird.”

You snicker at that. “I meant a date,” you clarify. “If your date ditches you to hook up, then you’ve got bigger problems than whether you’re having fun at a wedding.”

“He’s not my date. I’m not gay.” Shigaraki looks up. “Did you think I was gay?”

“I really didn’t – think,” you admit. You didn’t come to the wedding looking for a hookup. If you had, you’d have tried to put a move on Hawks before Dabi could. “The activities are more fun with a date.”

“Activities?” Shigaraki asks. “Like games?”

“Uh, sometimes,” you say. You know Ochako set up lawn games outside, and the sun won’t set for a while. “Sometimes there’s an art project you’re supposed to do for the couple, as a keepsake or something. I went to one last year where you were supposed to write a good wish, fold it into a paper crane, and then hang it off a branch of this tree they’d bought.”

“Too much work. What else?”

“Dancing,” you say, although you felt like that was pretty obvious. “And Himiko and Ochako have a photo booth.”

Shigaraki’s nose wrinkles. “Why?”

“As a keepsake for the guests, I guess,” you say. “Again. More of a couple thing.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki pours half a glass this time but still finishes it in one swallow. Then he stands up. “Let’s do it.”

You freeze in the act of pouring yourself another glass. “What?”

“I’m never coming to another wedding. You’re bored and drunk –”

“I’m not the one who’s been treating glasses like shots.”

“So let’s do it,” Shigaraki says, like you didn’t say a word. “If this is the last one I go to, I want to get my money’s worth. Do you have something better to do?”

You were this close to taking out your phone and opening up Tinder. You shake your head. “Finish that,” Shigaraki says, and you finish the half-glass you just poured and get to your feet. “Where’s the stupid photo booth?”

You lead the way. Even in heels, you’re faster than Shigaraki – he’s meandering a little bit, possibly due to all the champagne. You reach out and grab his hand to pull him back on course. He jumps, stumbles into an empty table, and glares at you. “What are you doing?”

“You wanted the wedding date experience. Holding hands is included.” At least you think it should be. If you had a real date you’d want to hold hands with them. Shigaraki follows you a little more closely than before as you make your way up to the photo booth. “It looks like they have props. Should we use them?”

Shigaraki hasn’t let go of your hand. He picks up a fake mustache on a stick. “Who would use this?”

“Me, maybe?” If you had a wedding date, you’d want to be spontaneous and fun. You lift it out of his hand and hold it up to your face. “What do you think?”

“No.” Shigaraki takes it away, puts it back, and picks up a flower crown. “Here.”

“No, that’s for you,” you say. Shigaraki argues, but you pluck it out of his hand and settle it on his head anyway. “See? It looks great.”

“If Dabi sees me wearing this stupid thing –”

“He’ll be jealous,” you say. The crown would look stupid on Dabi’s spiky black hair, but the pastel shades of the flowers look nice with Shigaraki’s blue-grey hair. “Okay. Now you can pick one for me. I’ll even do the mustache.”

“No,” Shigaraki says again. He sorts through the props and comes up with a headband with bunny ears. “This one.”

You two are going to look ridiculous. It’s hard not to laugh, and you haven’t even seen the full effect yet. You put on the headband, thankful that you went for a low-effort hairstyle that’s easy to fix, then pull the curtain on the photo booth and wedge yourself into it. Shigaraki follows you in.

It’s a really tight fit. You were pretty sure the photo booth was a couple activity, but now you’re sure – you love your friends, but you wouldn’t want to end up most of the way into any of their laps. You have to stop holding hands to try to get situated, and while you’re still trying to figure yourselves out, the photo booth takes the first picture. Shigaraki grimaces. “Wait. That probably looked stupid. Where –”

The booth takes the second picture while he’s talking, and you snort. There’s about a ten-second interval to get positioned correctly. You manage to face front in time, but your elbow lands on Shigaraki’s thigh as you’re trying to steady yourself, and he flinches away. You drop out of the frame as the booth snaps the third photo, and it occurs to you that the only part of you visible in the picture will be the bunny ears. Based on the location of the ears in relation to Shigaraki’s body, it’s going to look pretty compromising. You hope no one sees that picture. Ever.

Shigaraki’s snickering as you sit up. “Nice one. I want a copy of – hey!”

You’ve elbowed him on purpose this time, just in time for the fourth photo. The fifth photo’s probably going to be blurry. You’re both lightly shoving each other, trying to get each other out of your personal space without pushing either of you out of the photo booth itself. The sixth photo’s probably the only one that’s worth anything, and it won’t be very good, either – Shigaraki’s flower crown is off-kilter, and you’re pretty sure your headband’s falling off. The printer begins to whir, and the two of you sit in silence as the booth prints out two sets of photos. You pick one up. Shigaraki takes the other. A second later, you’re both laughing.

The photos look even worse than you thought, and somehow that makes them better. The photo where it’s just your ears in the frame features Shigaraki staring down into his lap, looking all kinds of startled, while the photo where you’re pushing each other is blurry enough to be a still from a found-footage horror movie. In your opinion, the first photo is the funniest. “We look like that meme with the cat,” you wheeze. “The one with the loading circle over its head.”

“The last one looks like a mug shot,” Shigaraki says, his laughter so raspy that it borders on a witch’s cackle. “After a bar fight –”

The idea of getting in a bar fight in your wedding outfit sets you off. You slump sideways at an angle and end up with your head against his chest for a few seconds, surprised that you can hear his heartbeat and surprised at how fast it’s beating. “Which of us won?”

“We both lost,” Shigaraki says, and you laugh harder. The two of you look disheveled as hell, and not from anything fun. “Number two is the worst one. You look good and I look like a dumbass.”

“You just had your mouth open,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’re probably smearing your makeup, but who gives a shit. You didn’t do that good of a job on it anyway. “Anyway, that’s the wedding photo booth experience. What do you think?”

“I want to go again,” Shigaraki says. This time, you manage to turn to stare at him without throwing any elbows. “For good ones. No way do people’s girlfriends let them leave with just the stupid ones.”

You would, but then again, there’s not a big enough difference between how you look in bad photos and how you look in good ones for it to matter. “We can do one more,” you agree. “Let’s lose the props.”

Without the flower crown and bunny ears, the silliness factor drops significantly. Now you look less like a couple of drunk clowns pretending to be a couple and more like two people who could actually be together. It weirds you out, but you promised the whole wedding date experience. In the seconds before the first flash goes off, you tilt your head onto Shigaraki’s shoulder.

Shigaraki startles, and as soon as the flash goes off, he pushes you away – but only so he can tilt sideways. He’s taller than you, enough so his cheek rests against the top of your head. Four photos left. When you glances over at Shigaraki, you see that his tie’s crooked, so you fix it for him, burning another photo in the bargain. The fourth photo is Shigaraki shifting the neckline of your dress to cover your bra strap, which is weird but plausible for a couple’s photo booth experience. He has a birthmark just below the right corner of his mouth. You aim for it when you kiss his cheek quickly for the fifth photo.

Shigaraki startles again, and you sit back – but not too far. You’re still close enough that Shigaraki only has to lean forward a few inches for his lips to meet yours.

You weren’t planning to kiss him. It’s not much of a kiss, and it doesn’t last long, but your heart is still racing as the booth spits out your second sheet of photos. You’re almost scared to look. Shigaraki’s hesitant, too, and when you both flip the sheets over to check, he says exactly what you’re thinking. “Shit.”

The first set of photos were a joke. The second set – either you and Shigaraki are really good actors or you’re both really drunk, because they look way too plausible for comfort. The ones where you’re fussing over each other’s clothes are probably the worst offenders on that front, but you’re most alarmed by the last two. You’re smiling as you kiss his cheek. You can see the corner of your mouth turned up. And you didn’t see where Shigaraki’s hand was when he kissed you, but the photo’s preserved the evidence. It’s right by the side of your face, curved like he wants to cradle your jaw in his hand.

Exactly sixty seconds ago, the two of you were screwing around in here. Now it feels like there’s static running back and forth between you, and you scramble out of the booth in a hurry, almost tripping over your feet. Shigaraki gets out, too, leaning against the booth to steady himself. Without a word, he takes both of your sets of photos and tucks them into his suit jacket along with his sets, then fills your suddenly-empty hand with his own. “Now what?”

The static shock is between your hands now. “My hand is humming,” you say, like an idiot, and Shigaraki tightens his grip. “Um, I think there are some games outside.”

“Fine.”

It’s warm outside, but getting cooler as the sun begins to set. There are a lot of games, and most of them are being ignored in favor of a bunch of the goofiest guys from your office playing cornhole while their girlfriends/boyfriends watch. You determine instantly that you’re not coordinated enough for anything that involves throwing something, which leaves you exactly one option. “How about that one?”

“Jenga?”

“Jenga XL,” you say. Shigaraki snorts. “My hand-eye coordination’s too bad right now for a throwing game. This will be safer.”

Whoever was playing the oversized Jenga last left the blocks in a heap. You and Shigaraki can’t hold hands while you stack them up, and as you do, your assumption that Jenga would be safer than something else gets tested in the most embarrassing way possible – and of course Shigaraki points it out. “You’re short. If this thing falls on you it’ll flatten you.”

“It won’t fall,” you say with more confidence than you feel. “I’m good at this.”

“Go first, then, if you’re so good at it.”

You get a block out without trouble, but you have to rely on Shigaraki to re-stack it for you, which he does, wearing a really frustrating smirk. “You should have worn taller shoes.”

“I can’t walk in taller shoes,” you say. “Or dance. Are you going to want to dance?”

“If it’s part of the wedding date experience, yeah.” Shigaraki carefully extracts his block and sets it on top of the tower. He’s not all that much taller than you. If the game goes on long enough, he’ll have trouble re-stacking. “They don’t exactly teach dance classes in juvie.”

“It’s not that kind of dancing,” you say. Shigaraki looks relieved. “If it’s going to be that kind of dancing, they warn you on the invitation. A friend of mine who got married last year only played swing music at her reception. She sent out a certificate for free lessons with her save-the-date.”

“Control issues?”

“I think she just wanted stuff her way,” you say. You ease another block out of the tower and hand it over to Shigaraki. “Hers was nice. Everything ran on time, and she sent out thank-you notes six weeks after the wedding.”

Shigaraki stacks your block, then pulls out one of his own. You realize with a jolt that he’s missing the index and middle fingers from his left hand. “What’s the worst one you’ve ever been to?”

“Um.” You don’t want to say this. You really don’t – but you drank too much, and you should be honest. “Mine.”

“You’re married?”

“Divorced,” you say. “Three months after the wedding. I didn’t have the ring on long enough to get a tan line.”

Shigaraki doesn’t say anything. The tower is getting unstable, so you’re careful as you wiggle out one of the side blocks on a row about halfway up. You keep an eye on Shigaraki’s shadow as you do it, bracing yourself for him to walk away. Would you walk away if he told you he was divorced? No, but you’re divorced, so it matters less to you. “Three months,” Shigaraki repeats. “How’d that happen?”

“You’re lucky you aren’t asking me that six years ago,” you say. “With how much I drank tonight, I’d have gone off.”

“Go off. I want to hear it.” Shigaraki actually looks interested. “Anyone who fucks this up deserves it.”

He’s gestures at you. You don’t know what to make of that, and you’ve got a block halfway out of the tower. You go back to work on it. “How do you know it wasn’t me?”

“I know,” Shigaraki says. “How’d it happen?”

“This is pathetic,” you warn. Shigaraki gestures for you to go on. You sigh. “We were together since high school. Midway through college I got a bad feeling that we were drifting apart and I couldn’t take the suspense, so I tried to end it. And he popped the question. We got married six months later and three months after that he knocked up my cousin.”

“Damn,” Shigaraki remarks.

“They’re still together,” you say. “The kid’s in primary school this year. And every year around the holidays my aunt and my cousin pick a fight with me about how I need to be nicer to him, because we’re all a family now.”

You finally manage to extract the block, and Shigaraki takes it from you before you can offer it to him. You can’t read his expression, and just like when you sensed things with your ex were falling apart, you can’t take the suspense. “Pathetic?” you prompt.

“Your ex is a loser.”

“You haven’t seen what my cousin looks like.”

“He’s still a loser,” Shigaraki says. He pulls out a block. “I get it, though.”

Your stomach clenches. “What do you mean?”

“If my girlfriend was leaving me because I was dicking around, I might do something like that, too.” Shigaraki sets his block on top of the tower. Your options for blocks to pull are getting slimmer by the turn. “Popping the question. Not knocking up your cousin.”

“I have other cousins,” you say. Shigaraki snorts. “I thought you said you weren’t getting married.”

“I said nobody was going to marry me,” Shigaraki corrects. What’s the difference? “Your turn.”

You’re out of blocks at shoulder height. And chest height. And waist height. You crouch down instead, doing your best to balance in your heels, and start trying to wiggle a block loose on the fourth level up from the ground. Shigaraki’s voice follows you down. “If you were ready to ditch him, why did you say yes?”

Now you’re at a real risk of crying. Six years of intermittent only-when-you’ve-got-the-money counseling hasn’t made a dent in this one thing. You remind yourself that Shigaraki can’t see your face and work on keeping your voice steady. “I was the one who asked him out in the first place, back in high school. I always had this weird sense that we wouldn’t be together if I hadn’t. So when he proposed I thought it meant he was choosing me, like I chose him. Which was a stupid reason to say yes.”

You wanted to believe. You wanted to believe so badly that you were worth it, and now you’re divorced at twenty-eight, barely talking to the half of your family that took your cousin’s side, going on a grand total of one real date in the entire time since then that you got up and left partway through because you couldn’t fake hope or excitement for one second longer. The kiss you planted on Shigaraki in the photo both was the most action you’ve gotten in two years, and you’ve put more effort into the fake wedding-date experience than you have into even looking for a hookup. You’re pathetic. This is pathetic. You should be embarrassed, and you are.

But you got your stupid block out. You straighten up and hold it out to Shigaraki, who stacks it for you. You can’t read his expression, and you’re a little too dysregulated to be anything but blunt. “That’s my tragic backstory. What’s your damage?”

“What, going to juvie doesn’t count?” Shigaraki crouches down to pull a block from the opposite side of the same row you just weakened. He’s doing it right-handed; he’s waving his left with its missing fingers at you. “This doesn’t count? The fact that I don’t have eyebrows doesn’t count? Your problem is being a dumb kid with a shitty family and a shitty ex. My problem is that I exist. We’re not the same.”

He straightens up and drops his block on top of the tower. You can see that he’s tenser than before, and you can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound patronizing. “I didn’t notice about the eyebrows until you said something.”

“Great.” Shigaraki won’t look at you. “Your turn.”

You crouch down again. The row below the row Shigaraki just knocked down to one block seems like the safest bet. You start pulling at it, frustrated at the way it sticks. “Careful,” Shigaraki says after a second. “If you don’t watch out –”

The tower topples. You’re crouched down, with no chance of getting out of the way in time, and all you can do is sit there, stunned, while three dozen giant Jenga blocks crash down around your head. The corner of one catches your temple, digs in, and you flinch. But the blocks are light. You’re startled, and humiliated, and possibly bleeding a little bit, but you’re fine. “Are you okay?” Shigaraki asks. You give a thumbs-up, and he crouches down next to you. “I don’t believe you. You look – shit, your face is bleeding.”

“I’m good,” you say. “It’s a good thing we took pictures already. This is not part of the wedding-date experience.”

“I’m done with that,” Shigaraki says, and your heart sinks. Even though it shouldn’t. Even though none of this mattered to begin with, even though you know better, you hoped. You weren’t hoping for anything much – just to keep having fun, just to not spend the rest of the wedding alone. “You have a purse, right? Do you have napkins in there or something?”

“Your suit comes with a pocket square.” You pluck it out of his pocket and press it to your temple. “I’ll pay for cleaning it.”

“Don’t bother. It was my dad’s. He doesn’t have much use for it in solitary.”

Shigaraki helps you up while you’re still processing that one and tugs you away from the wreckage of the Jenga tower, onto a bench. The view of the sunset is really good from here. Further down the lawn, you can see Himiko and Ochako and their photographer doing a last round of pictures, and you slide your feet out of your shoes. It’s that point in the wedding. You’ll probably stay here for the rest of the night.

“Do you need ice?” Shigaraki asks. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt, or maybe the fact that the sinkhole in your chest is eating the tarp you put over it just hurts more. “Do you still want to dance?”

“You said you were done with the wedding date thing.”

“Yeah. I’m done with the part where it’s fake.”

Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought you did. “What do you mean?”

“Seriously?” Shigaraki sounds annoyed. “I let you put a flower crown on me.”

“Is that some kind of mating ritual in juvie?” The instant you say it, you feel bad, but Shigaraki laughs. “If you’re trying to say something, say it. I don’t do very well with ambiguity on my best night and I’m still kind of drunk.”

“Same here. Otherwise I’d sit on this, and my friends would spend the rest of their lives listening to me bitch about how I didn’t ask out the girl from Toga’s wedding.” Shigaraki’s hand lifts from his lap, rises to his neck, then falls back. “I want to dance with you. Toga and her wife are having an after-party at their place, and I want you to come to it with me. And I want your number so we can hang out again sometime when we’re not wasted. Because I like you.”

You must have hit your head really hard. “We met three hours ago.”

“So? Toga said she knew she was going to marry the wife the first time they made eye contact,” Shigaraki says. That sounds like something Himiko would say. You’ve met her a few times at work parties and she’s always struck you as a little intense and a little off-the-wall. “Do you want to dance or not? Make up your mind.”

You want to say yes. What comes out is something really stupid, so stupid that you can’t look at him while you say it. “This is the kind of thing that happens to other people.”

“What, meeting somebody who asks you out?”

It sounds stupid when he says it like that. You keep his dad’s pocket square pressed to your temple and try to explain. “The whole thing where you meet somebody when you weren’t expecting to meet anybody and things click, at least on your end, and since you know it’s just on your end you try not to get your hopes up – but the other person tells you that it clicked for them, too –”

“That’s dumb.” Shigaraki doesn’t sound like he’s being mean. You could almost call it affectionate. “Forget who it happens to. I’m asking you out. Do you –”

Screw it. If this is some kind of hallucination, you want to enjoy it. If it’s real, you don’t want to miss out. You turn back to face Shigaraki. “Yes.”

He grins, and you notice a scar over his mouth, too. “Good. Now what?”

You think about kissing him. You decide to try hugging first, which involves getting at least as close to him as you did when you were in the photo booth, on purpose this time. Shigaraki isn’t particularly tall or bulky, but when you hug him, you’re surprised to notice that he’s hiding some muscle underneath his suit jacket. Kind of a lot of muscle. Huh. Shigaraki notices that you’re investigating a little bit. “What?” he asks, his mouth against your ear. “Did you think all I do is game?”

“I don’t know what you do all day,” you say. “We didn’t get to that part yet.”

“We will.” Shigaraki draws back from you, and you loosen your grip even as his hand rises to cradle your jaw. This time you see the kiss coming from a mile away, and this time, you lean in.

Everything’s different this time, except the thing that startles the two of you apart – the bright flash of a camera going off. “Tomura-kun!” Himiko squeals from somewhere nearby. “I told you you’d have fun at my wedding. Who is that? She’s so cute!”

For a second you’re worried Shigaraki doesn’t know your name, but he must have been paying more attention than you thought he was when you introduced yourself, because he introduces you to Toga without missing a beat. “She’s one of my coworkers,” Ochako explains, smiling at you. Even through the smile you can see the incredulity on her face, and you know you’ll be getting a lot of questions about this when she gets back from her honeymoon. “I’m so sorry we had to put you at that table. I wanted to put you with everybody from work, but they all had plus-ones –”

“It’s fine,” you say faintly. Himiko’s photographer takes another picture, this time of all four of you talking. “It worked out.”

“She’s coming to your party,” Shigaraki informs Himiko. “I invited her.”

“Oh, good!” Himiko turns her attention to you. “It’s going to be so fun! We have games and movies and we’re going to stay up all night.”

“You should come inside now,” Ochako says. “There are mosquitos out here, and we’re supposed to have cake soon –”

“And we’re going to do the Time Warp. I put that on the playlist for you special, Tomura-kun,” Himiko says. She glances at you. “It’s the only dance he knows.”

Shigaraki flushes, grimaces, but you tilt your head against his shoulder again, lacing his fingers with yours for the third time tonight. You don’t know what he does all day when he’s not at weddings he doesn’t want to go to. You don’t know if what he said about his dad being in solitary confinement was a joke or not. You don’t know what happened to his hand or where he got his scars, or even where his eyebrows went. But you know he likes you. You know you like him enough to give things a shot, at least for tonight, and that’s better than you’ve felt in a long time.

And you know he can dance, even if it’s only the Time Warp. For right now, you don’t need to know any more than that.

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