#stranger things age swap
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Hi!!! I love your ageswap AU on your AO3 daily drabble fic! I am a general sucker for Age Swap fics because dynamics and I really enjoyed reading yours!
Oooo thank you so much!!!! @riality-check took it and ran in the coolest bestest way (if you haven't read her Sophomore Year post, check it out!) and there are sooooo many ideas!!! For now, take a little snippet from a future part. TW: Child abuse
“I hate him,” Jonathan spat out, staring daggers at the stupid baseball glove sitting on his bedside table.
“Jonathan,” Will sighed, in that ‘I know better tone’ that made Jonathan’s head feel like it was full of bees.
“No! He hurts you, and I hate him,” Jonathan said, turning his glare to his brother and daring him to say differently. Will met his eye without flinching, holding his gaze until Jonathan backed down, cheeks burning with shame.
It wasn’t fair. Dad was the one that hurt Will. Mom was the one that let it happen. Why was Jonathan the only one that felt bad about it?
It just wasn’t fair.
Jonathan dragged in a shaking breath, bitter roots growing jaded ugly flowers in his chest.
“C’mere,” Will said softly, coaxing his little brother over with a gentle touch on his arm.
Jonathan crashed into Will’s side with a sigh, letting the tension leak out of his body bit by bit the longer that they sat together in silence. Jonathan wasn’t a big talker, and Will seemed to be the only person in the world who didn’t need to fill all of the space in a room with words. He was content to just be, letting their shared energy make things better.
It was just one of the reasons that Will was his favorite person in the world.
“I know it’s hard for you to see all of this. I try to keep you out of it, but I know I don’t do a good enough job,” Will whispered, his voice tinged in a grief that sat heavy on his shoulders.
“It’s not your fault,” Jonathan immediately argued, looking up at his brother who continued to stare out the window.
“I don’t want you to be angry at the world,” Will said, powering through the debate that they had been having their entire lives, “I don’t want you to stop trusting people. Things are hard now, and Dad is…well, Dad,”
Will groaned, rubbing at his temple and clearly searching for the right words to explain what he wanted Jonathan to understand.
“Look, what I’m trying to say is there are good people out there, Jonnie. You’ll find yours, and they’ll be your family just as much as me and mom are. Like Mike and Max and the rest are my people, my family. I don’t want you to get so afraid of the bad people, that you stop looking for the good ones,”
#stranger things#stranger things au#stranger things drabble#st#st au#st drabble#stranger things age swap#st age swap#Jonathan Byers#Will byers#Tw: Abuse#tw: child abuse#breaking the rules#age swap au#Liam speaks up#Writing(withacapitalW)
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Is Gareth being a punk fan just a greatwise thing (bc of the byers and the clash lol) or is there something canon or from the actors or costuming or st that has people clocking him as a punk fan more than metal?
#gareth stranger things#gareth corroded coffin#greatwise#gareth#stranger things#i... may be back on my greatwise bullshit lol#one day i want to write for the ship but all og my gw ideas are all like side fics to bigger aus#like in the age swap au or a4a steddie au#walkie chatter
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anyways, until noah gets his head out of his ass i vote we recast the love of my life ty doran as will byers 😌🖤
#MY UNIVERSES ARE MERGING#noah schnapp#will Byers#stranger things 5#stranger things writers#stranger things#ty Doran#cal stone#he’s 25 but we can reverse age him lmao#or do a little swap#if they did a switch a roo in this show st can too
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"taste"
☆"you're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin', my body's where they're at"☆ Wearing Arcane characters clothes {fem reader}
cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel
cw☞ slightly pervy jayce, a bit of fluff, Viktor calls reader a whore, a bit suggestive for all of them
an: this is the case for all my titles, but I feel I should clarify; the songs are not meant to accompany the headcanons, I just get lazy when naming things so I cherry pick song lyrics then use the title lol.
♞Vi♞
♞Vi never thought she would have to worry about her clothes going missing. They're all tattered and torn, holey from all the times she's been cut or stabbed, blood stained from all her injuries throughout the years, and absolutely falling apart at the seams. Hell, her own shirts are so ruined she usually just walks around in chest binding bandages. Granted, stealing Vi's clothes started from an accident of convenience.
You didn't think anything of it as you slipped on the old thing, the writing so faded you could no longer make out the outlines of the letters and the color so sun-bleached it just looked a dull beige. There were holes along the shoulder blade, rib cage, and chest, the hems had long since unraveled, and the neckline had been cut. It Vi wasn't so averse to throwing things out, it's home would've been the garbage can ages ago. But still, it was comfy and clean and something of hers, so you pulled it over your head and carried on into the laundry room where you sat on top of your washing unit, vibrating along with the clunky machine beneath you. You decided to read as you wait, eventually become so engrossed with your book, you miss the sounds of Vi trudging her heavy feet across the floor as she returns from her most recent bout of getting her ass kicked. She hums her way around the space, painfully shrugging her jacket over her aching shoulders, enroute to the laundry room where she finds you, ankles crossed with some old mystery book in your hands. She gawks at you for a moment, not quite knowing what to say at the sight of you in her clothing. It looked good on you. Well, everything looked good on you, but this looked right. "Did you get all dressed up for me, pretty? You jump a bit at the sudden intrusion of her slightly gravelly voice, but eventually relax into her warm, musky presence. She knows how you feel about her smearing her bloody lips across your freshly showered skin, so she bites her lip to swallow her urges. "Depends, did you get yourself all battered just so I could patch you up?" She snickers, wiping the remnants of dried blood from her top lip. "Will my honest earn me a pre-shower kiss?" Of course, you nod your head. You have a very hard time denying her, not even bothered by the feeling of her gauze bound hands grip on your thighs and your skin beneath her shirt. She whimpers, leaning heavily onto the washer, her fingers likely leaving marks from how desperately she grabs at you for stability and her own sanity. She doesn't realize until the adrenaline wears off how much tonight did a toll on her, pulling away from the kiss to rest her head on your shoulder. "You need help to the shower?" "Yeah", she murmurs, hardly louder than a whisper, holding onto your waist as you hop down and sling your arm over her shoulder. "No more pit fighting for a while?", you question lightly, to which she responds by pulling a hefty bag of coins from her pants pocket. "Not for a few months."
★Ekko★
★Ekko has a commune, he is absolutely no stranger to sharing, especially when it comes to clothes. As many times as you have snuck a few of his jackets over the years, he has taken his fair share of your tops, liking the way they constrict and show the definition of his biceps and show off his sculpted lower abdomen. You swap rings, hair ties, and all sorts of accessories, it's another way that you two are visually all over each other. I also wouldn't be surprised if he was the type to buy things knowing they would eventually end up in your closet.
★This being said, you would have better luck getting a reaction out of him showing up wearing nothing rather than in his clothes, at least clothes that aren't important to him. He's so desensitized to the idea of sharing; a regular hoodie wouldn't get him going. Wearing something of his though, his jacket, his mask, replicating how he does his face paint, that would certainly get him. It's the explicit connection to him that gets him, it's you proudly wearing an echo of Ekko.
It was cold and wet and dreary. The sky was grey, and murky puddles formed in the innumerable cracks and crevasses in the dirty floor of the Undercity that the ground began to look like a muddy sea of water. It was the perfect day to be inside, maybe make some warm soup, put on a vinyl and pretend the crackley sound bites are early lightning bolts, and bundle up beside Ekko and call it a day before the sun went down. This was not the case as Ekko was out covering the gardens so they wouldn't be flooded by impure water and preparing for any potential storm surge, leaving you home alone, wrapped in his favorite jacket. You doubted it would be a big deal, it's not like he's ever been upset about borrowing his clothes without asking before, but his reaction when he returns home scares you for a moment. His eyes are closed as he walks through the door, carelessly toeing off his shoes, lifting up his already soaked shirt to wipe the running face paint before it gets into his eyes. From your place on the couch, you look out the window for the first time in hours to see it pouring down, the droplets pelting on your windows and the wind sending the occasional pebble flying at the glass. "I'm telling Scar to do this shit next time, it's too damn w- oh." He freezes, midway through yanking off his raincoat, eye's slightly irritated as they stare at you. oh? "Is that my jacket?" You falter a bit. "Yeah...is that ok?" You had no plans of going out in it, wearing only some old cotton shorts whose elastic waistband snapped years ago and a thin tank top. You didn't even have a bra on. He collects himself though, smirking as he looks you up and down, how good the color compliments your complexion, drinking in the slivers of skin, the sight of your nipples through your top. Of course it's ok, in what fucking world would it not be? "Yea, baby, it's fine." His mumbles, his voice lower and his eyes a bit wide. "You look good in it, too. C'mere, do a spin for me."
❂Jayce❂
❂This man is 6'7 and built like a brick shithouse, his clothes absolutely swallow you and he thinks it's adorable. He gets a fit of cuteness aggression, he just wants to squeeze and hug and kiss you until you pop. It speaks to that part of him that is quite aware of his sheer size, his biceps are the size of your head, you have to look up just to make eye contact with him, his clothes practically fall right off you. He's just so...big.
He awakes slightly startled and feeling empty, immediately feeling your lack of warmth in his arms and slightly panicking. It's too early in the morning to be rational and his frequent nightmares are doing him no favors. He hates waking up alone and cold, he feels like he's waking up in that cave again. His senses calm his rapidly beating heart, the comforting smell of coffee and something syrupy sweet, the sound of something sizzling on the stove. He throws the comforter off him, cringing at the feel of the cold floor on his feet before he throws on some socks and sweatpants to wander around half-asleep in. His brain short circuits when he sees you, his large shirt practically hanging off your shoulders, flowing around your bruised and kiss-bitten thighs. You moved lithely around the kitchen, going back from chopping strawberries for the waffles, stirring the eggs, flipping the bacon, and he's man enough to admit he's blushing a bit. You made breakfast for him! That's so cute. He slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, bending down to plant kisses on your neck. "My shirt looks really good on you, gorgeous." You giggle, turning around to face the big man behind you who picks you up by your hips to set you on the countertop, settling in between your thighs. "You think?" He hums. "Maybe a few sizes too big, but it's endearing. You look like a little fairy, like I could carry you around in my pocket all day." And his eyes are big and out of focus, that charming gap-toothed smile on display as his hands rub over your smooth skin, pushing his shirt higher and higher. Too big is certainly a familiar sentiment, how desperately you were crying that out just last night is still looping in his brain as he says it. "Maybe I'm normal sized, and you're just a giant. Have you ever thought of it that way?" He chuckles. More times than you can imagine.
☽Viktor☾
☽Hard immediately, next question. His work outfits look completely normal on him, but the buttons pop at your chest and the vests accentuate them in a way that's pornographic. Even his ties only serve to enhance the fantasy, even though they are the exact garments he wears to his lab every day. There is nothing innately sexual about it at all, but that's the fun of it. The fact thar you chose to wear that black lacy bra that you knew would show through the top, the way you wear his reading glasses low on your nose, the red bottom heels that you wear, which in any other context could be seen as perfectly appropriate work attire. It's the performance of it that he appreciates.
He knows exactly what game you are trying to play with him, no matter how hard you try and play coy. There is no way that you accidently shrunk your blouse in the wash, hell, he knows that's not your blouse because the buttons are on the wrong side for it to be female attire. He knows that's his tie, he is one thousand percent sure that if he was to yank you by it and check the underside, he would see his initials embroidered. He knows you left it loose on purpose, you have requested for the entire relationship to pick out and tie his ties for him, he knows you can make it tighter. Everything is utterly loose, for lack of a better word. The top button is undone, the tie isn't completely tucked under the collar, the slit of your skirt is not where it should be. It's a play at looking professional that you and him both know is just a test to see how long it takes for him to crack and rush you both home. At first, he's willing to play ball because you always crack first, but today, however, you decided to be serious about your productivity. He tries to focus, he really does, but after a while the clicking of your heels becomes too hypnotic, the fake attempts at adjusting your tie begin to pile onto the sexual frustration, and you lean over one too many times, giving him a good whiff of your perfume and oh you went with a red bra to match his red tie. He waits for Jayce to leave the room, slamming the book he was 'reading' shut as he lets out a very aggravated breath. "I want my shirt back." Cut and dry, his hand flipping the tie you're wearing to confirm that is indeed his. You smirk, and he would feel the need to wipe it off your face had it not been for the fact that he swallowed his pride hours ago after his hard on became too much to ignore. "You want it back now? Right here." And you're already slipping off the other buttons and he contemplates whether it's worth it to barricade the door with the table to buy you more time or be rational and tell you to stop. "Had I known you planned on being a whore today, I wouldn't have invited you over." You pout as he pulls the knot of his tie, grabbing your hands to bind your hands. "But don't I look pretty, Vik?" He rolls his eyes. "You look magnificent, love."
☼Mel☼
☼Like Ekko, she isn't a stranger to sharing clothes with you. Even if it's not hers, she has an exact replica tailored just for you. This being said, she loves playing dress up with you with her clothes. Anytime she needs to clear out her closet or has an article of clothing she doesn't know how to feel about or just gets bored, she'll call you to wherever she is and request you be her doll for a little bit.
Though you had been in Mel's closet for what had to have been hours at this point, you couldn't really complain. Never had you felt more pampered in your life, tens of gowns, trousers, and blouses gracing your skin as you twirled on the platform in Mel's closet as she analyzed the garment from every angle. Now you stood in something white and flowy, the sleeves long, the bodice double lined for winter weather, the hemline off the shoulders and trimmed with fur, the bottom thick and heavy. "What do you think lovey? Do you think it's too on the nose, you know I've never been the biggest fan of fur." Her hand feels across your chest, dusting off where some of the fluff had fallen and rubbing the soft material in her hands. "I don't see you in fur, it's too much of your mother's thing, but I do think it's nice. The lining is really nice on the skin, sorta has a fleece feel to it." She nods, moving her hands along your waist to connect with the silver zipper. She clucks her tongue. "Would I be silly to not wear it because the zipper isn't gold. I know it's a miniscule detail, but I really don't do silver." You chuckle as you look around her closet, a room larger than the bedroom you grew up in filled with racks of clothes that had some sort of golden sheen, be it from the color of the fabric, some sort of metallic accent, or a reflection from the general vibe of the room. "My love, you have so many clothes in here I doubt you would wear it regardless." She smiles. "Are you getting tired of this." You hesitate, which is plenty answer enough for her. You had been standing for hours at this point, and your back was starting to ache from how straight your back had been. "Do you have it in you for just one more. I promise, it'll be quick." She already has it out of the box, a very small party dress that you had never seen her wear before. "I bought it months ago but have been going back and forth between whether or not it would look better on me or you." Of course, you oblige, and she giggles as she zips you out of the dress, carefully sliding it off until the fabric pools around your nearly naked body. Her tunnel vision is briefly abandoned as her movements slow, lingering over the curves of her body, her fingernail tracing tiny hearts on the skin of your chest. "I know I say this every time, but you truly do look beautiful out of everything. Undressing you may be my favorite part of this." You playfully roll your eyes. "Stop being a flirt and just zip me into the dress, I want lunch."
#arcane#arcane x reader#arcane fanfic#arcane x you#viktor arcane#viktor x reader#arcane headcanon#jayce arcane#jayce x reader#mel arcane#mel x reader#vi arcane#vi x reader#ekko arcane#ekko x reader
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Would you write something about Cregan Stark getting married to a reader of a house of your choice and thus sealing alliances and being fluffy?
WINTER ROSE. ❨ cregan stark x tyrell!reader ❩
since your birth, the third child and only daughter of highgarden’s lord, your fate had always been a marriage for political means. your elder brother would inherit the title, the other set for life as a knight of the seven kingdoms. you were a girl and your purpose was to marry well and secure a strong alliance for your family.
it didn’t take long to come to terms with what your life would look like. you would come of age and be sent away to the lord that would benefit you most. for your family, you would do it. but, every night, you would kneel by your pillow and pray that your husband would at least be kind —- it needn’t be true love, like the stories you often read. as long as he wasn’t cruel.
“cregan stark has been named the new lord of winterfell and is in need of a wife,” your father announced one morning, amidst the feasting hall. “i have sent a raven to offer your hand and he has accepted.”
your mother beamed, grasping your shoulders proudly. “my daughter, lady of winterfell.”
“we are in need of his banners and he needs our grain and cloths for the winter,” lord tyrell explains, shrugging as though it were simply a swap of goods and not the life of his daughter. “it is a fair exchange.”
by the next moon, you were departing the green and gold covered fields of highgarden and journeying north on the roseroad. the colder it became, the more you missed the sweet sun and elegant surroundings of your home. northerners were rough and unforgiving to outsiders, each one you met along the way adding to the dreaded image of your husband.
the first time you laid eyes on cregan stark was when you were taken along the path to the godswood. he was handsome, you couldn’t deny that. but his tall build, stoic features and steady gaze made you shiver —- even under the furs you’d been given. he had the look of a northerner, but did he have the heart of one too?
“by the old gods and the new, i name you man and wife,” the septon concluded the ceremony, unbinding the cloth wrapped around your hands. expectant eyes looked on, forcing a blush upon your face as you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to cregan’s cheek.
if you were to confess under the eyes of the godswood, you were afraid of cregan stark. his eyes were unwavering, lips fixed in a permanent frown. other than his vows of marriage, he hadn't said a word. neither of you were elated to be trapped into a marriage of convenience, but you knew you hadn't any choice in the matter. at the least, he could look like he was enduring it.
sat now at the top table in winterfell's great feast hall, your new husband at your side, the celebrations were growing louder the longer the wine was being poured. you sat quietly, barely sipping at your cup. only when the loud, booming voice of cregan's men rang out did you come back to the present.
"a toast, to the new lady of winterfell! may she be as beautiful under our lord as she is beside him."
the laughs that emulated from it made you grimace, so used to being treated as the perfect lady, protected from all things becoming to a man. you knew of sex, the people of the reach having always been open about their bodies and pleasures, but the northern aggression that came with it was foreign to you.
"to the bedding ceremony!"
the ladies at highgarden had warned you of the tradition that came at weddings, the entire party parading around the newlyweds as they stripped and consummated the bond. it was daunting enough to take your new husband to bed, but to be watched by tens of strangers? it had your heart suddenly hammering out of your chest, every muscle tensing in a cold shock.
"enough!" the commanding voice of the man by your side cut through the cheers, silencing the hall in an instant. it was the first time he had spoken since the ceremony, current volume making up for the silence. "there will be no bedding ceremony. anyone who protests will meet the sword at once."
whilst everyone else cowered under the threat, you felt yourself relax with a warm relief. cregan turns to meet your surprise, both his eyes and tongue turning soft as he speaks just to you now.
"you may retire, if you wish."
nodding gratefully, you follow the gentle hand of your lady-in-waiting out of the busy feast and along the strange halls of the cold castle. even your chambers are cold, the climate seeming to cling to the stone around the bed. the silk nightdresses you had brought with you do nothing to shield you from it, so once your lady departs you begin to forage through the chests for something to keep you warm. eventually finding a smaller set of furs amongst the others, you drape it around your shoulders and relish in the heat that comes with it.
"is everything to your liking?"
jumping in shock, you turn on your heels to find cregan stood at the doorway, just about filling the whole space. his eyes flicker down to the furs -- his furs, covering you and a small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips.
"i'm sorry," you stumble quickly. "it was cold and it was all i could find."
cregan's head shakes, dismissing your apologies. "it's alright. everything here is as much yours as it is mine, now."
you smile, head falling bashfully to glance at the floor. "i hadn't expected everything to be so... different here. it will take some time to adjust, i think."
nodding in understanding, cregan crosses the room to stand in front of you. you feel yourself shiver under his gaze, watching him study you amongst his territory. hesitantly, his hand slips from under his own furs to reach for your own. you let him, both of you treading new water as your learn each other's touch; the smoothness of your palms, the rough pads of his thumbs, the heat that encompassed your chilled knuckles. the sensation is wonderful, like two puzzle pieces slotting together.
"whatever you need to help you enjoy your new life here, no matter the extent, it will be my honour to find it for you," cregan tells you, the kindness in his voice a pleasant welcome. "you are my wife now, it is my duty to make you comfortable."
feeling your cheeks warm, rounding with the first genuine smile in days. your heart swells and the feeling that this marriage might just be okay fills you, so much so that you find yourself reaching up to kiss cregan's cheek once more. unlike the bonding of the vows, this one is genuine and of your own volition, expressing the gratitude you could not find words for.
"i can sleep elsewhere for the night, if you would wish..." cregan continues, clearing his throat to distract from the small blush that creeps past his skin.
"no, stay," you tell him, squeezing his hand. "perhaps we could talk, learn more about each other."
the suggestion eases you both. cregan agrees, using your hand to guide you towards the bed, only leaving for a moment to fetch you more furs for the night. he potters around, changing for sleep, and the domestic scene lets you relax into the pillows.
it wasn't a marriage for love - yet. but perhaps it could be, with time.
#⚔️ ﹐ writings.#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd imagine#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon x reader#hotd drabbles#cregan stark#cregan x reader#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark imagine#cregan stark fanfic#tom taylor#hotd x reader
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we weren’t just friends - okkotsu yuuta
word count: 11.9k warnings: heavy second base action (no tops, dry humping) but no smut, swearing, drinking but it’s legal summary: their friends think that if there’s tension between new roomates (y/n) and yuuta, then they should just act on it. more info: college!au, aged up characters, roommate!au, childhood friends, unrequited(?) love
part one: “face it, you want it, you crave it” ___
Having Yuuta as a roommate was never all that weird for (y/n). Things sort of just worked out that way, and honestly she was so relieved that she didn’t have to scramble to find a stranger to split the rent with- or face homelessness- that she hadn’t really given it much thought until a few days after he’d moved all of his things in and had settled into their now shared space.
On paper, he was the perfect candidate after all. They’d been friends for years, having known each other since childhood it was easy to trust him in her space. He already spent so much time in her dorm when she still lived on campus that having him in her living space didn’t seem like it’d be that much different anyways. Not to mention she knew him to be tidy and a pretty good cook, so as long as he was able to supply half the rent every month, she was content.
The day he’d moved in she’d been so happy that she’d hardly focused at all on helping him unpack. Most of her time was spent dancing around to the moving playlist she’d made, and she insisted they jam out while they- he- unpacked his things in the empty room adjacent to hers. When she wasn’t dancing, she was rambling on about how delighted she was that he agreed to move in with her. Looking back it was probably a little much, but Yuuta wasn’t overwhelmed by her excitement in the slightest.
As soon as she’d mentioned being on the hunt for a roommate he hadn’t thought twice about offering himself. They both just so happened to decide to move off campus to find cheaper, and steadier housing. The market wasn’t all that great so living alone wouldn’t have been possible even if either of them had interest in the roach infested studios in the area. Even the two bedroom apartment they shared was rather tiny, the living space and kitchen was essentially all one room, and there was only one bathroom, but they made it work. It was still more affordable than living on campus, and that’s all they cared about.
For the first two weeks it had been fun, even. It felt like a sleepover with their best friend, but every night. They spent most nights in cozy pajamas curled up on the couch sharing their favorite movies and swapping snacks. (y/n) couldn’t believe how lucky she was to have him, and she was happy to tell him so every chance she got.
Yuuta couldn’t believe how lucky he was to get to spend all his free time with her. No longer did he have to coordinate around both of their schedules in order to have quality time with his favorite person. If she had to study for the evening and couldn’t hang out, he’d happily sit on her bed scrolling on his phone or reading. When their friends were free they’d come over unannounced, because either (y/n) or Yuuta were bound to be around to hang out with.
It was just so easy, it almost felt like a dream. The beginning of having their own space as young adults to do with as they please.
Yuuta bought a fish tank for their living room, a whole ten gallon aquarium for a pretty betta fish that (y/n) helped him pick out. They spoiled it with plants and cool rocks for decoration. They took turns feeding him every three days, and regularly sat in front of his tank to admire him. If one of them weren’t present, the other would spam their phone with photos and videos of it swimming around, doing next to nothing, with captions full of hearts and emojis to swoon for their pet.
(y/n) spent her freedom a little differently.
At first it was decorating her new room with a maximalist aesthetic. Posters, tapestries, string lights, and any strange pretty thing she’d taken a liking to covered her walls so thick that most of it began to overlap. It could be overstimulating to some- as Maki had remarked when she first visited the place- but she loved it that way. It took her a full three days to collage a whole wall full of her favorite photos. Ones from childhood, some from grade school, most from her most recent experiences and adventures through college. If she were to pull out her phone and snap a photo to make a proper memory of the day, it was likely getting printed out the next day and taped up to the wall. Soon, those too began to pile up and overlap, but again, she loved it that way. Even Yuuta began to take pictures for her, printing them out when he found the time and sticking them to the fridge to surprise her.
Once the project that was her room had been tackled and she was satisfied with the home she’d made for herself, her desire for freedom took the form of heavy drinking. It might have been concerning, Yuuta certainly panicked a little bit when he’d come home from a late study group session and find her dancing around the kitchen with her favorite handle in her clutch and the belting of her favorite song echoing in the small space. Eventually her time of drinking alone proved to be just a phase, one too many hangovers having taught her a lesson on time and place for drinking hard alcohol straight. But he did come to learn that she was quite comfortable as a social drinker. So if the Zen’in twins and Toge were coming over, it wasn’t odd to find a drink in her hand. At least she started taking his advice and ending the night with a full glass of water and an ibuprofen.
All in all, living together hadn’t been too strange of a milestone for them. It was fun, it was easy, and they really couldn’t have asked for more out of a roommate. Being best friends was an added perk that just made it all the more smooth.
Until recently. ___
“I’m tellin’ you,”
(y/n) huffed as she pulled the straw from her mouth as she spoke. A signature vodka cranberry mixed to perfection after months of honing the skill of a perfect pour. Her movements are a little delayed and awkward as she leaned back into the kitchen counter, her elbows coming to rest on it to hold herself up as she leaned her head back dramatically. Maki, who had only been semi listening to the girl’s ranting, remained silent as she raised a brow at the display.
“I think he’s doin’ it on purpose” (y/n) finished with a mumble.
It was difficult to hear her over the game of mariokart that Yuuta and Toge were currently playing in the living room- they got quite competitive when it came to that game in particular- but Maki caught enough of it to understand where she was going.
She looked over at her sister with only mild interest in her expression. Mai touched her fingertips to her mouth as she chuckled to herself, finding the situation far more amusing than Maki.
The situation began as simple as this: In order to save time in the mornings when both (y/n) and Yuuta had class, they’d been working on a bathroom schedule in order to optimize their time. For example, (y/n) had started doing her hair and makeup at a mirror in her room, where she’d sit on the floor and go through her skin care routine, and any other beautification and styling she’d felt inclined to for the day. That helped a lot with cutting back on hogging the shared bathroom.
Yuuta’s idea of helping to cut back on time, is to go back to his room directly after a shower to dry his hair and get dressed for the day. It was a great idea in theory, and would definitely save an extra five to ten minutes.
However twice now (y/n) had run into him in the short hall from the bathroom to his room. She shouldn’t have been so flustered. Realistically, she wasn’t seeing anything she hadn’t seen before. There had been plenty of times she’d seen him without a shirt. In the backyard of the home she’d grown up in they’d often set up a sprinkler to run through. In high school they’d gotten their volunteer hours in through lifeguarding together. In their freshman year of college they’d gone to just about every frat party, bonfire, and beach day that was thrown, just to be able to say they had taken on the party scene in their younger years. Seeing Yuuta shirtless was nothing new.
But twice now she’d practically run into him, with nothing but a towel held around his waist, damp hair sticking to his forehead and falling around his eyes, pale skin still littered with droplets of water, and had he started working out-?
Even thinking about it now she felt her face heating up. She shouldn’t have committed that image to memory- but it happened twice already so it couldn’t have been more than her mind staying sharp, right?
“If he’s doing it on purpose,” Mai’s voice had (y/n) snapping her head up as she crash landed back in reality. Her blush was obvious to the twins, but she hoped to play it off as the alcohol in her system.
Certainly not the thoughts that had started littering her mind, thoughts that you just don’t have about a best friend and roommate.
“Then why don’t you just do something about it?” Mai finished with a small smile on her face that suggests she has quite a few ideas in mind on how she could fix this problem.
(y/n’s) eyes widen, and she brings her drink back to her lips to ease her racing heart and spiraling thoughts.
“Like what?” She mumbles, as if there was a chance the guys could possibly hear their conversation.
Nothing could compete with the sound effect of a blue shell incoming, and Toge’s defeated screeches.
Maki scoffs before laughing, finally finding entertainment in this whole ordeal (y/n) had gotten herself so worked up about. The last ten minutes of their girl talk in the kitchen had been for nothing, it seemed, if she wasn’t going to act on her obvious infatuation.
“Just bone?” She suggests with a small laugh.
(y/n) swears her eyes were going to bulge right out of their sockets, and what was meant to be a small sip of her drink turned into a gulp as she sucked a little too harshly on her straw.
“Maki,” Mai hisses, smacking her sister’s arm, before turning back to (y/n). “She’s not wrong though, that would definitely solve everything”
“I can’t do that!” (y/n) squeaks. “I just- it’ll pass, it’s just a little crush, right? That’s normal, right?”
She looks between the twins for confirmation, validation in her silly feelings that were bound to pass with time. Mai winces. Maki rolls her eyes. This wasn’t looking promising. But perhaps they were just too eager to set up their friends and see some drama to unfold, so (y/n) decides that their advice might be a bit on the biased side.
“Just test the waters a little first,” Maki suggests, shooting Mai a look as she tries to telepathically tell her to reel it in. “Dip your toes in a little. No harm in that, right?”
“You live together, how have you not experimented a little already?” Mai mumbles, her brows furrowing together as her eyes glaze over, as though trying to process how it could be possible. The calculations simply weren’t adding up.
(y/n) gnaws on the inside of her cheek, and her fingers begin to tap on her glass.
“I guess…” She says, but her uncertainty is obvious. “Well… how much is a little?”
The twins burst into laughter, and they’re looking at each other like there’s an inside joke she’s not in on, and (y/n) pouts at them for teasing her in their silent twin way. This wasn’t the first time, she should be used to feeling like an odd man out when it came to hanging out with these two, but they were her last hope for guidance, so she took what she could.
For now, she determined that Maki and Mai weren’t going to be of much help as they snickered and muttered to one another. (y/n) couldn’t make out what they were saying exactly, but she gathered enough to realize they were slights against her, and she had enough of the bordering-on-friendly fire.
“I’m playing mariokart” She huffs, strutting out of the kitchen space and across the floor to the living room. In this small apartment it was an open floor so the couch was only ten feet away, but it was far enough that she couldn’t hear their laughter anymore, and for now that was enough.
Yuuta and Toge were sitting on the sofa, both heavily concentrating on the competitive game. Their wrists are flicking the switch controllers with precise movements as they steer, but when it comes to using items and drifting, their fingers are smashing buttons viciously. As she rounds the sofa she eyes the screen, seeing that the pair are battling it out for first place, with Yuuta currently claiming the spot.
That is, until (y/n) plops onto the cushioned armrest right beside him, and he glances up at her out of habit. The two seconds that he takes to smile up at her- even though she’s watching the screen- is all Toge needs to creep up Yuuta’s character and throw a green shell directly at his kart.
The remote tingles in his hands with a familiar vibration, his character having taken a hit. Yuuta’s head swivels back to the screen, as he desperately tries to make a comeback, but two other characters have already passed him, and now he’s in fourth place.
“What the hell!?” He groans as he realizes his demise is inevitable. It was the third lap of the game, and Toge’s Yoshi was about to cross the finish line. “That was so uncool!”
Toge’s cackling to himself, proud of his sneaky attack. He had a feeling it would work, all he needed was the perfect distraction. And nothing distracted Yuuta like (y/n).
As Yoshi crosses the finish line, Yuuta drops his controller to his lap with a defeated huff. He leans back into the sofa, head hitting the cushion as he glares at the screen displaying Yoshi’s victory dance, before he turns to (y/n), who gives him a sympathetic smile, before offering her drink to him.
“That was a dirty move,” She sides with him- typical, Toge rolls his eyes at the two of them, which goes unnoticed- “You’ll get him next time”
Yuuta takes the glass from her hand, sipping from the straw experimentally. There had been a period of time where her drinks were so strong he was about ready to cut her off from alcohol altogether. When a perfect mixture of vodka and cranberry juice hits his tongue, he’s pleasantly surprised that it’s not too bitter. His eyes light up at her before he swallows. She giggles at the obvious reaction.
“Yeah yeah” She mutters before he could even say anything. He didn’t have to for her to understand exactly what he was thinking.
Yuuta chuckles at her, before scooting over on the sofa, closer to Toge, so that there was some space for her to sit next to him.
“You want in?” He asks, holding his controller out to her.
She squeezes awkwardly into the small space, her legs still hanging over the armrest, and her back almost completely pressed into his side. Toge had shifted completely to one side of the couch, giving Yuuta more than enough space to also move so that (y/n) could sit properly. But neither of them seem to notice the blonde boy’s silent offer. Or, if they did, they didn’t pay any mind to it.
(y/n) takes the controller with a grin and a nod, and Toge starts up the next round. Yuuta had chosen Rosalina as his character, a favorite between them that they often fought over so much she was usually off limits when the two of them played.
Despite having a delayed start because Yuuta had finished the last race somewhere in the middle of the lineup, (y/n) makes a good comeback for the both of them. He cheers for her, leaning forward in his seat again as though he were still focused on the game for his own win. (y/n) remained in a relaxed position slumped back against him, her fingers moving with swift ease over the controller.
She giggled at the way Yuuta was on the edge of his seat, literally, sipping down the rest of her drink as he watched her play. He threw out advice when she picked up items, and winced for her when she took a hit.
“Use that! Throw it! Throw it at-!”
“Yuuta you’re being a backseat driver” (y/n) said calmly, keeping the red shell in her inventory despite his demands.
Toge barks out a laugh, still coasting in first place without much competition from the computers. But (y/n) was quickly gaining on him, drifting and gliding past the other spots with ease, and Yuuta began to realize her strategy. With a knowing grin on his face he leans back into the couch again, and puts his faith in her abilities.
She kicked his ass most of the time when they played one on one anyways.
Soon enough she was in second place and Yoshi was in sight. Yuuta’s hand happily tapped at her shoulder, giddy with his excitement. Toge had gone eerily silent as he put all of his focus in remaining in first. But his efforts were wasted, without an item to defend himself, (y/n) was able to take him out with one blow, stealing first place for herself and crossing the finish line on the final lap shortly after.
She raised her arms victoriously, but even more excited than her was Yuuta, who bragged in Toge’s face before wrapping his arms around his roommate and congratulating her on her win. She laughed, her head falling back on his shoulder as she laughed at his antics.
He beamed at her, and even though it was silly, there was no doubt in her mind that his pride in her was anything but authentic. Yuuta was just like that. He celebrated even the most minor of conquests.
Toge tossed the controller onto the coffee table with a string of curses muttered under his breath.
“Good timing,” Maki calls, dangling her keys in her hand and catching their attention. “Are you crashing here or are you leaving with us?”
(y/n) lifts her head up from Yuuta’s shoulder, peeking over the back of the couch at the twins who suddenly had their shoes on. She gives them a pout.
“Leaving so soon?”
“We’ve been here for eight hours” Mai giggles.
“It’s one in the morning you maniac” Maki rolls her eyes.
“You could just spend the night,” (y/n) offers, her features brightening up at the idea. “Sleepover-!”
“No,” Maki shakes her head firmly, despite Mai’s excited expression at the idea. “We have class in the morning, we’ll do it another time, okay?”
(y/n) nods, satisfied with that answer.
Toge shuffles off the couch, giving a bitter congratulations to the winning pair of mariokart, although he made it clear to Yuuta that he only won because (y/n) took over.
They bid their friends goodbye, promising to meet up again at some point soon, knowing fully well they wouldn’t make a plan, and someone was bound to show up on their doorstep without invitation tomorrow or the next day.
And then it was just (y/n) and Yuuta.
She was still tucked under his arm, he was still drinking the remnants of the drink she’d made for herself but had conveniently forgotten about so he could have the last of it.
“Are you going to bed, too?” She asks him, and he chuckles at her desire for staying up late.
They’d always been opposites in that aspect.
(y/n) was a night owl through and through, whether party mode was on or not. She was most productive when the sun went down. It wasn’t odd to find her studying or doing chores at odd hours of the night. He’d actually had to tell her she couldn’t vacuum in the middle of the night, claiming she was going to make their neighbors complain. But it was a treat for him to wake up and find the apartment spotless and organized.
Meanwhile Yuuta was an early to rise kind of guy. He had a decent morning routine for himself that involved an alarm going off at eight in the morning every morning, and it wasn’t often he broke that routine. He’d be up for a few hours before (y/n) would drag herself out of bed and into the kitchen for breakfast- which was usually waiting for her on the counter.
“It is the middle of the night now,” He tells her, before checking his phone. “Actually it’s not technically night anymore, it’s Friday morning”
(y/n) frowned at him. He chuckles again.
“Fine, fine” (y/n) starts to sit up, but doesn’t go too far. She pulls her legs onto the cushion beneath her, and then turns to face him properly.
For some reason when she looks up at him again, she’s brought back to her conversation with the Zen’in twins, and she can’t help but wonder what they would have advised her to do if she’d stuck around for the rest of their conversation. She wondered if Yuuta had ever experienced this dilemma, or if she was the only one creating the tension in the apartment. She wondered if he even felt it.
“Som’thin’ on your mind?” Yuuta asks after a few beats of silence pass. His eyebrows furrow in the slightest, and (y/n’s) expression eases into something calmer. She must’ve been thinking too hard, she supposes.
“Not really, just had a weird talk with Maki and Mai” She tries to brush it off as not a big enough deal worth talking about, but for some reason, this seems to catch his interest.
“Oh yeah?” He muses curiously. “Don’t tell me they want to move in-”
“No!” (y/n) let out a burst of laughter as she shook her head. “Where did that come from? Where would they even stay?” She asks, gesturing to the small space around them. Yuuta laughs with her, shrugging his shoulders.
“My thoughts exactly,” He agrees quietly, as though they were keeping it a secret just between them. “But everyone hangs out here all the time, I don’t want them getting any ideas,” He says, half seriously. “This is our sweet deal,”
Yuuta laughs again, but this time when she laughs along with him it’s soft, almost unsure. Her heart flutters in her chest at the sentiment he shares for having this place with her. Even after all this time, she feels relief in waves of warmth when he voices his happiness here.
“What is it then?” He asks. He leans back into the couch cushion, but keeps his eyes on hers. She tilts her head and hums in question. “Your weird talk,” He reminds her, “What was it about?”
“Oh,” (y/n) drops her gaze from his, her face warming up at the idea of admitting to him what they’d been talking about.
I’ve just been thinking about you shirtless a lot lately, and sometimes I can’t sleep over it just doesn’t seem to be an appropriate thing to say to a long time best friend who she now lives with.
“They were just asking questions about what it’s like to live together” She settles on a half lie. They had been curious about the living situation. She didn’t necessarily have to disclose that Mai found it unthinkable that they were able to share a living space and not tear each other’s clothes off… right?
“For us to live together?” Yuuta raises a brow. (y/n) tucks her hands into her lap and nods.
She tries to get comfortable leaning her back against the arm rest, but everytime his gaze falls on her, it feels heavier than usual, and she struggles to sit still. Her hands fiddle in her lap, she squirms in her seat, and she can only hold his eye contact for a minute at a time. Did he always look at her like that? She wondered when she dared to meet those deep blue irises again. Was it the few drinks he’d had that made them look darker? Or was she seeing things?
“Why was that so interesting?” He asks. “I mean, it’s been six months,”
Again, her heart flutters at the thought of him knowing exactly how long they’d been living together. Or maybe she was being stupid and he was just keeping track of the rent.
“What’s so interesting about now?”
(y/n) shrugs, a small smile on her face that she can’t help. “I don’t know”
But he sees through the statement, especially with that smile on her face that tells him there was more she wasn’t telling him. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he raises a brow at her.
“Well,” He ponders, “What were they so curious about?”
(y/n) drags her bottom lip between her teeth as she narrows her eyes at him, proving that she could read him well, too, and she could tell that he was trying to pry even though she’d been repeatedly dismissing the subject.
“Nosy tonight,” She scolds him as she kicks her legs out to throw them over his, stretching the sore muscles from sitting on her feet for too long. “Were you eavesdropping, Okkotsu?”
“No,” He lets out a small laugh. “Though now I wish I had been, since you’re being unusually cryptic about it”
“Unusual?” She repeats the word in a drawl, tilting her head and pretending to think it over. “I wouldn’t say unusual,” She argues softly. “I don’t tell you everything”
“Yes you do” Yuuta replies matter of factly, his expression doesn’t even flicker. (y/n) blinks at him.
“No…”
“Oh yeah? Tell me something you haven’t told me then” He challenges, his lips curling into a smile.
She huffs, and quickly tries to rack her brain for something she’d kept from him. Secrets and embarrassing moments fly through her train of thought as she tries to latch onto a memory that she was sure she hadn’t shared with him.
Her eyes light up as she finally remembers something she’s sure he didn’t know.
“Oh!” She leans forward with eager anticipation to prove him wrong. “Remember my first boyfriend? In middle school?”
Yuuta raised a brow, but nodded in confirmation.
“On our first date, he took me out-”
“Mhm,” Yuuta hums, recalling the details of that date without much thought at all. “Bowling” He said calmly.
“Right,” (y/n) chuckles, flustering a bit that he already seemed to remember the event as easily as she had. “Well, at the end of the date, when we were waiting outside for his mom to pick us up, he’d asked if he could kiss me while we were alone, before she got there,” Her words are a little slurred, which she was quick to mentally blame on the few drinks she’d had. “But I told him n-”
“- you told him no because you ate chili fries while you were bowling and you didn’t want him to taste it and then he kissed you anyways and you slapped him on instinct and he was a little whiner about it and said you did taste like chili fries and you smacked him again” Yuuta filled in the rest of the story, his head rested back against the cushion again, as though he was bored just from retelling it.
(y/n) blinked, her lips parting into an ‘o’ shape as she realized maybe he did know everything about her already. Should it have been obvious to her from his confidence on that matter? Probably. Did she still feel a determination to find something, anything, that he didn’t know? Definitely.
At her lack of response, Yuuta rolled his head to the side, a lazy smirk tugging on his lips when he regarded her soft surprise. Her eyes narrow in the slightest at him, playful mockery of his know-it-all attitude.
“Well, then,” (y/n) scoffed as she took on a refreshed attitude when it came to rubbing in his face that she knew something he didn’t. “I suppose you already knew that the twins were curious about how you and I seem to manage living together without some kind of netflix-romcom-level sexual tension”
The teasing tone in her voice and eager gleam in her eye seem to disappear as soon as the words come out and she realizes what she’s just said. In slow motion, and as her face falls into one of regret, she realizes two things.
One, that by addressing the sexual tension, whether it existed or not, it instantly thickened in the air. All at once she’s aware of it. Suddenly the weight of her legs in his lap is so heavy she feels a desire to curl up into him completely. Yuuta has one arm draped over the back of the couch cushions in her direction, his hand hangs loosely just in front of her shoulder. If she were to lean forward in the slightest movement, his fingers would graze her sweater. His other hand lays on her knee, and sporadically he taps his index finger against it. Sometimes she thinks he’s playing a familiar beat that’s been stuck in his head, too, but then he pauses and she loses track of figuring out what song that is. Even her breathing is suddenly manual, and she’s afraid if she sucks in a breath too sharp, he’ll question it. So she takes slow, shallow breaths, barely filling her lungs with oxygen. Was that why she was getting so dizzy?
Two, now that she’s admitted what her and the twins had been talking about earlier, (y/n) fears that she’ll have to confess that the reason they were talking about the sexual tension was because she’d created the sexual tension- and yet she had gone to them to blame him for it.
Yuuta blinks, his brows furrowing at first, as though to process the information, but he just as quickly relaxed his face and pursed his lips, giving her a small nod.
(y/n) doesn’t dare utter a word. Instinct claws up her throat and begs her to take it back, make a joke and apologize to smooth it over and hopefully they’d never mention it again. The words die before she can utter them. She remains frozen beside him, focused on his every microexpression, hoping to figure out what he was thinking before he voiced it.
“I see,” He says, a small smile gracing his features that has her relaxing just a little bit.
Yuuta can feel her weight shifting as she sinks further into the couch cushion. He could sense her nerves from a mile away, so he spoke carefully, hoping not to spook her into retreating early.
Comfortingly, his hand smooths over her knee, long fingers grazing her thigh from the short caress.
“I don’t think I would’ve guessed that,” He admits with a chuckle through his nose. His eyes flicker over to hers, watching her closely. Her cheeks are pink, and her gaze shifts between his eyes at a faster rate than usual. She’s still anxious. “But I can’t say I’m surprised”
Her lips twitch with a curious emotion Yuuta can’t read as well as before. Her brows pinch and then relax. She’s reading him, he thinks. His mind is a little hazy from the few drinks he’s had, so he might be seeing things that aren’t there, but he’s equally intrigued by the conversation.
“You don’t think it’s weird?” She asks. Her voice is quiet, but he doesn’t mistake it for uncertainty. In fact, he can tell just how genuinely interested she is in obtaining his thoughts. Just as he is, she’s on the edge of her seat, and only pushing further to see where this new line of thought would lead them both. “Living together, I mean” She clarifies, unnecessarily.
The pad of his finger taps against her knee, once, and then twice. His lips purse and she watches the movement with her breath hitched in her throat. The room was getting hot from the thickening tension that she’d created. It was almost uncomfortable, her body screamed for her to get up from this couch, pull herself from where she was half draped over his lap and put as much distance between them while she still could. She was approaching a line between them that she’d never even tiptoed across before, and she wasn’t sure what lied on the other side, but god, she was just dying to find out.
“Weird? Not in the slightest” Yuuta murmurs honestly. She can tell from the way his eyes lock onto hers that he does mean it, and relief flooded her. Before it came back in the form of excitement, and now her skin was buzzing everywhere that their bodies were touching.
“You’re not just saying that?” She double checks, leaning forward off of the arm rest to study him up close.
They were already close enough, but there was a quiet desire in the back of her mind longing to push closer, until she could make out the individual swirls of blue in his irises. Her lips curve into a soft, lovely smile as she admires him, and Yuuta fights the way his own breath chokes up in his throat.
“You really don’t think it’s weird we’ve never…” She trails off, her head shaking in a small movement, just enough to make a few stray hairs fall into her eyes. “I dunno, like, even kissed or anything?”
His eyes grow rounder at the question, widening just a little bit, but enough for her to notice. She knew such a blunt question would make him nervous, Yuuta always grew nervous at any sort of romantic prospect. He’d been that way since they were kids. If he had a crush on someone it was obvious, but as soon as (y/n) would press about it, he’d get red in the face and begin to stutter. It had always been cute, if not a little silly. But now it had her curious as to why. They’d been friends for so long, and even now that they were older, it was like his initial response to such questioning would make him shut down.
‘You could bring girls here, you know,’ She’d told him once, shortly after they’d settled into the apartment. ‘I could even leave for the night. Stay with the twins, or somethin. That way it’s not weird’
He’d laughed, and given her a puzzled look, like the mere idea was ridiculous, like he didn’t even understand what she was suggesting. The pink in his cheeks told her he knew fully well what she was saying. She’d returned the confused look at the time. ‘Don’t you want to bring girls here?’ She’d asked point blank.
‘N-no, well, maybe,’ His response was immediate but he had no clue what he was saying. ‘I just haven’t thought about it’ He’d said instead.
She’d teased him for it, but dropped the subject. It might’ve been entertaining to watch him squirm, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. So she’d simply reminded him that it was alright with her. Followed by, ‘I mean, you wouldn’t mind if I brought someone here, would you?’
He’d stared at her for a minute, his answer not as instantaneous as the last. His heart lurched to his throat, or perhaps it had been bile, and he found himself biting down on his tongue to keep from speaking too quickly. His expression hadn’t flickered even for a moment, remaining neutral as she stared at him, awaiting his response.
Yuuta hadn’t said a word. He simply shook his head, and then left the conversation completely by returning to his studies, hoping that giving his attention back to his textbook would drop the topic. It had worked, she’d moved on right away, and it hadn’t been brought up since.
Neither one of them had brought a visitor to the apartment, besides their friends who frequented regularly. There were no dates, no lovers, no visitors of the night snuck in, or even mentioned. Pondering it now, Yuuta supposes there were very few things she didn’t tell him. Then again, he didn’t exactly have an interest in knowing those things. In fact, the mere idea of it had bile rising in his throat.
Yuuta arched a brow at her, silently questioning her train of thought. Since that conversation early on in their roommate-ship, (y/n) rarely brought up this sort of topic. Occasionally she had a date, but nothing seemed to last longer than a couple of weeks, and she didn’t talk much about those events in detail. Always beginning with a simple ‘I have a date tonight’ and later followed up with ‘it didn’t work out’ and a shrug as she’d cozy up to him on this very sofa. Yuuta never met any of the people she’d go out with. (y/n) never offered him to. They left it that way, unspoken, and simple.
Well, it wasn’t all that simple at all. The nights she’d spend out of the house on these mystery dates Yuuta found himself sitting frozen and staring off into space, letting time lapse slowly as he waited for her return. A part of him hoped no one ever lingered at the door, so he wouldn’t have to see who it was she spent her time with, who it was that was her type.
But another part of him, the part that he tried to bury deep down, longed to look one of these men in the eyes, just once. He wouldn’t even say anything, he was sure he wouldn’t need to. If he could get one good look at them, he was sure he could make it clear just how undeserving of her time they were. Because at the end of the day, she had him, and she had him in every way that mattered. Since they were children, he’d been there, showing her what true love really looked like, felt like. He was there for every important event and milestone. He was here now, sharing a living space with her. And he’d be there for everything that came next. Because he cared about her. Because he loved her.
And when she had him the way that she did, wrapped around a perfectly manicured finger, how could anyone else be remotely deserving of her?
The gears in Yuuta’s mind are operating as fast as they can, spinning and whirring as he tries to decipher where exactly she’s going with this. But the alcohol in his system has him under a haze, and he realizes he has yet to give her an answer to her question.
He clears his throat, and his lips twitch into an amused smile as he locks eyes with her.
“Is kissing the true evaluation of roommates?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his voice that has her blushing and rolling her eyes at him.
A chuckle rumbles from his chest as the back of her hand smacks into his shoulder, the action soft, as though she were trying to be gentle with him, as though he were fragile, even with his broad shoulders and lean muscle built into his body.
He can’t help but tease again, for the sole purpose of seeing her continue to fluster before him. The idea of making her forget how to behave around him after all this time has his heart skipping a beat, and a mischievous glint flashes in his eyes.
“What exactly are the Zen’ins feeding you, hm?” He asks, and she struggles to look him in the eye now.
“I wasn’t trying to suggest- they just- they got in my head…” She huffs defeatedly, her bottom lip sticking outwards in a small pout. Yuuta’s eyes catch the plump pink skin, and they linger there for a moment longer than they should’ve before meeting her gaze again. Her eyes have noticeably widened, proving he’d been caught, but he doesn’t feel as much anxiety about it as he should have.
“So what,” He speaks curiously. “Are you asking me to kiss you?”
A small laugh escapes her, a tinkly little sound that is exhaled with the breath she’d been holding. Yuuta’s lips quirk upwards at the nervous response, his excitement getting the best of him the longer he watches her shift her gaze and fluster. Why this had been on her mind, he didn’t quite understand, but in their current predicament, he didn’t care too much to peel it back layer by layer.
“I didn’t-” (y/n) starts to shake her head, but her uncertainty overcomes her and she tries to switch gears. “I don’t know… I guess they made me sort of… curious” She admits bashfully. Her eyes focus on her fiddling hands in her lap before turning the question onto him. “Is that weird?” Her voice is quiet again. “Have you ever… I dunno… thought about it?”
The hand that he had resting before her shoulder reached out then, fingertips barely grazing along the soft material of her cable knit sweater. His gaze followed the motion as his fingers twitched and moved further on their own accord, stopping at the hem of the neckline, just before skin could touch skin. He looks back at her, surprised to find her attention locked on him again.
All of the fucking time, his brain is so loud it almost overpowers the heartbeat pouding in his ears. I don’t think I’ve ever truly stopped thinking about you.
“I suppose you’ve got me thinking about it now” Is what he says, quiet and smooth, although the blush on his cheeks betrays him and makes him appear a little softer than he was going for. (y/n’s) lips twitch into a smile nonetheless, relieved again that he hadn’t made a fool out of her for admitting such a thing.
When she leans closer to him, his fingers finally graze against the side of her neck, and he wastes no time in sliding his large hand around the nape of her neck, not quite pulling her any closer than she’d already brought herself, but the presence of his hand is firm, making sure she won’t distance herself too soon.
“Do you want to?” She asks, her eyes lighting up with an excitement he’d sparked as soon as he’d validated her curiosities. Her voice holds the silly eagerness of a girl much younger than she is. A schoolgirl with a crush, Yuuta thinks to himself as he eyes her bright eyes and slowly growing grin.
The hand on her knee flexes with anticipation, giving her leg a slight squeeze. He wants to say all the right things, he wants to do all the right things, because jesus christ this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and Yuuta could not afford to waste even a second of it. He wanted to commit it all to memory, her soft voice, the smell of her perfume, the curve of her lips, the stars in her eyes- there was so much of her to take in, and not nearly enough time for him to adore it all properly. With hooded eyes he studied every feature as best he could, wishing he could slow down time, or even freeze it altogether.
“Yeah,” He mumbles, and the word drawls out of his mouth in a long sigh as his eyes move between hers and her lips with a longing she’d never seen on him before.
If she didn’t know any better, (y/n) might have thought that look was desperation.
“Yeah, I want to,” He repeats a little louder, and he moves closer to her then, invading her space and clouding all of her senses with him.
His eyes, dark from how blown out his pupils had grown, his low almost raspy voice, the lingering remains of his musky cologne, the way his tongue barely poked out of his mouth to wet his lips- her heartbeat was racing, and her hand trembled as she reached out to place it against his collarbone. Her touch was feather light, almost experimental despite having touched him on plenty of occasions before, just never quite like this.
Her long lashes flickered quickly as she too struggled with where to look. When their gaze caught in passing, Yuuta gave the back of her neck a gentle squeeze, silently instructing her to hold his stare.
“You’re sure?” He asks softly, and she almost laughs at how thoughtful the question is. How thoughtful he is. But she doesn’t. Instead, she gives him a sweet smile and a shrug of her shoulders.
“It’s just a kiss, right?” She murmurs, blissfully unaware of just how worked up Yuuta’s gotten himself over the prospect of just a kiss.
He doesn’t wait for further confirmation. He simply draws her closer by the back of her neck. Her eyes flutter shut and she tilts her chin forward in the most miniscule of movements, and yet he can read her anticipation with ease.
Her breath hitches in her throat, and Yuuta’s closing the rest of the distance as his lips touch hers.
For half a second they’re both frozen, paralyzed by the sudden fear that there was no taking this back, there was no going back from this. (y/n’s) blood ran cold in that brief moment, worried that Yuuta also realized this was a grave mistake.
But then his mouth moves over hers. His warm lips catch hers with a soft yet determined kiss, and she gives into every temptation that consumes her.
Her hand presses into his chest a little harder, before her fingers are curling into the soft cotton of his tee shirt. Her other hand falls against his shoulder when he tugs her closer in a moment of thoughtless desire. Yuuta pulls her by her knee, sliding her closer until her legs drape completely across his, the curve of her ass flush with his thigh. As soon as he does it he panics again that he’s made a mistake and taken this experiment of a kiss too far, but she responds so eagerly, with a quiet hum against his mouth and her hand curling around his neck as she deepens their kiss.
For a kiss on a whim between friends, (y/n) kisses him with the fervor of a woman starved, and Yuuta internally struggles on where the boundary between them currently lies. His hand twitches on her thigh, squeezing the plush of her leg and aching to move, to explore the rest of her warm and inviting body, to touch her everywhere he could reach. He has to hold her a little tighter just to fight the urge.
(y/n) is less worried about taking strides across the gray area of a boundary between them. The hand on his neck slides into his hair, scratching at his scalp before her fingers tangle into the dark tresses. She gives it a small tug, and his lips part against hers as he gasps, before chuckling quietly at her curiosity. He feels her smile against him before she’s pressing closer again. Her tongue darts over his swollen bottom lip, and she gives him no time to react to the hot and wet sensation before she’s capturing his lips again.
Yuuta wasn’t sure what he should’ve predicted when they’d drunkenly admitted to sharing a curiosity for kissing one another, but he hadn’t expected this. Her hands have a tight hold on him, on his shirt and in his hair, and her sweet, cranberry flavored lips feel relentless as she slots them into his again and again. He supposes he’s treating this little experiment the same, meeting each of her kisses with the same amount of heated excitement. He tries not to think about when he’s supposed to stop, when he’s supposed to pull away and say ‘well that answers that. Goodnight!’. So for now he pretends that moment won’t come.
On the other hand, (y/n) knows she should stop. She knows she should pull away from his addictive lips and release her shackles from him before she gets carried away.
But she’s already too far gone, isn’t she?
Shakily, she releases his shirt, and her hand blindly maps across his shoulder, then down his arm. Her touch is light but the tips of her fingers burn across his skin. His muscles are taut, and she wonders if he’s flexing to be impressive or if he’s filled with so much anticipation he’s fighting the urge to go further. When her hand reaches his it stills, and she presses her palm into the back of his hand where it lies on her leg.
A shudder escapes her and she pants softly into his mouth, breaking their kiss as she grabs his hand a little tighter, and moves it.
Yuuta breaks away instantly, wide eyes meeting hers and an apology on the tip of his tongue. But before she can pull his hand away from her, he realizes she’s holding it to place it somewhere else, not to pull it away.
She blinks her eyes open lazily as she sits up further, curving one of her legs across his lap, setting her knee down beside his hip. Yuuta follows her movements in a daze, his hooded eyes flitting across her body as he watches her straddle his lap and settle back into him carefully. She’s slow, agonizingly slow, giving him ample time to halt her, to say the word that he was done and his curiosity had been satiated.
He doesn’t.
Her hand pushes his again, guiding it up to her waist, and then down over her hip.
“This okay?” She mumbles, and his gaze moves from where she’s still lowering his hand. He tilts his head back as he looks up at her, and the look in his eyes has her melting right in his lap. Her free hand spreads out over his chest, fingers stretching as far as she can reach to feel as much of his heated skin through his tee shirt as she could.
He looks at her with his pupils so blown they almost eat up every last splash of blue in his irises. His lips are swollen and parted as he takes in quiet, heavy breaths. He nods at her lazily, drunkenly, and she wonders if it’s from the alcohol or from her.
When she pushes his hand under her ass, she doesn’t have to guide him any further. He squeezes into the supple flesh right away. She giggles quietly before his other hand is pulling her into him again and smashing her lips against his.
They’re much closer now, it had taken little to no effort for him to pull her into his chest, and their hips collided at the sudden movement.
All she thinks about as she tangles her hands in his hair and parts her lips for his tongue to lazily explore her mouth are those couple of times she’s caught him in a towel fresh out of the shower. How she’d scurried into her room and tried to ease her mind of the dark thoughts he’d made blossom. She thinks about how there hadn’t been anything to quite satisfy those thoughts. Ignoring them did nothing, acting on them in the safety of her room and her hand down her panties made them worse, and even now she feels tortured by the image, making her ache for more, more, more. Nothing was quite enough.
His teeth sink into her bottom lip and she whimpers, her brows pinching as her hips stutter against her will. She feels as though she should apologize for grinding on him so shamelessly, she could feel what this makeout session was doing to him after all, but he doesn’t seem to want an apology. His hands grip her hips and he pulls her down again, dragging her slowly over the growing hardness in his pants with a low groan.
The guttural sound reverberating from his chest only spurs her on, and she complies with the rhythm he sets on her hips, slow and painful. Their kiss breaks as she lets out a few soft pants, but she never fully catches her breath as she grinds into him.
She can’t help but peek her eyes open at him, falling in love with the way his eyes are screwed shut and his lips are parted as small moans fall from his mouth. The sight makes something spark send a jolt of pleasure down her tummy and to her core. She knew she should’ve given him a quick peck of the lips and called it a night, because she’s not sure she could muster the strength to stop where she so desperately wanted this to go.
As though annoyed that she’d stopped kissing him for too long, Yuuta pulls her in again, his hand curling around the back of her neck as his lips plant hot kisses down her throat. A high pitched gasp escapes her as his mouth drags along her skin between each kiss, and her hands are curled into his long hair again. Her hips stutter in their pace, but he has no issue with grabbing them tighter and guiding them back through his favorite rhythm.
His mouth lingers at what little of her collarbones are exposed, leaving wetter kisses there as he appreciates them as fully as he could, before traveling up the side of her neck. His teeth barely graze the sensitive skin, and he’s dying to mark up every inch of her, but he restrains himself from doing so, instead compromising for lingering nips and gentle sucks against her skin.
“So fucking beautiful,” He praises in a husky murmur, biting down on a particularly sensitive spot just under her jaw. He’s rewarded with a sudden rut of her hips and a pretty little moan as she angles her head further back to expose more of her neck to him. He soothes the spot with a painfully slow drag of his tongue before kissing it sweetly. “So perfect, so perfect f’me”
The praise sends her into a dizzy spell so strong she’s not sure she’s still on earth with him. This must be another universe, maybe heaven, maybe a dream. Her fingers fall from his hair, tugging at the collar of his shirt with an irritated whine.
When she tugs a few more times and he doesn’t get the hint, she throws her hands against his chest defeatedly.
“Yuu” She whines, and the sound of his name has his dick twitching in his pants, which he’s certain she could feel. His face flushes with embarrassment, but she just as quickly grinds into him with a roll of her hips.
He hums questioningly against the side of her neck, before tilting his head and kissing his way to the other side to give it attention too. She sighs, half irritated, half pleasured, as he sweeps her hair to the other shoulder with one brush of his hand. (y/n) continues to paw at his shirt, bunching up as much material at his shoulders as she could, her desperate attempts were weak, barely exposing the skin of his abdomen. When he still didn’t comply with her unspoken desire, she opted to reach for the skin that she could get her hands on.
Yuuta’s abs tensed and he shuddered as her fingers ghosted over the exposed skin. At first she barely trailed her fingertips over the muscle, but watching him twitch and shiver had her eager to slide her hands up his stomach, eagerly mapping their way up his chest, and pushing the rest of his shirt upwards on their mission.
His face is completely red as he watches her heavy gaze admiring his body. He wants to laugh and remind her that she’s seen him without a shirt many times before now, and he’s never seen her look at him like this, but her eyes are darkened with lust and his voice is stuck in his throat, so he doesn’t say anything.
Instead, when the hem of his tee shirt is bunched up at his chest, he leans forward off the couch cushion, and takes his hands off of her hips so he could grab his shirt from the back, lifting it over his head in one quick yank. (y/n) watches with her lip between her teeth as his hair falls back in his face, and he’s left shirtless before her.
The idea of slowing this down now is far from either of their minds. She hums with appreciation as her hands smooth along his collarbones, fingers drawing loopy shapes into his skin as they travel down his chest, slowly exploring the skin she’d been fantasizing about for weeks now. His blush runs down his neck and stops just short of his collarbones, and (y/n) admires every inch of it.
Eventually her stare is too intense and Yuuta begins to stir, wrapping his hands around her hips once more to pull her against his chest before his lips meet hers. It’s a slow kiss at first, and her tongue brushes over his in a way that almost feels sweet. He could still taste the vodka and cranberry juice in her mouth, and he swears it's enough to get him buzzed. But as his hands climbed her hips and dipped below the hem of her sweater, she picked up her pace, and he could feel quick puffs of air from her nse hitting his cheek.
She’s getting worked up again, and he’s eager to see just how far he could push her before she gives in completely.
He pulls her in close enough that her hands dart back into his hair, gripping at the back of his head tight enough that he couldn’t tear his lips from hers if he wanted to. Not that he’d want to, with how drunkenly she’s sucking at his lower lip and whimpering into his mouth with every roll of her hips.
Learning she’s so vocal when she’s turned on was a mistake on Yuuta’s part. Because now all he longed to do was find all the right things that made her tick and do it more. Every strained whine and whimper was music to his ears, wordless praise that he was doing something right, and he’d be damned before he found every spot that had her making those sweet noises for him.
Calloused hands roam over her abdomen, feeling it dip as she inhales sharply, and smirking against her mouth when he reaches higher, skimming the hem of her bra.
Unlike him, she wastes no time at all. Leaning back from their kiss abruptly, and grabbing her oversized sweater from the bottom and pulling it over her head with great urgency. Yuuta’s eyes fall to her chest instantly, wide and eager as they take in the simple red bra and how pretty the color makes her tits look. The thin lace on the edges complimenting the swell of her chest so beautifully he hopes he commits this image to memory.
Now it’s her turn to fluster and blush while he unabashedly stares. And she could tease him, remind him that he’s seen her in a bikini, that this was the same amount of skin he’s been gifted to see before, but she finds herself growing bashful under his heavy gaze. She can feel the way his eyes take a mental picture of her before he finally leans forward to enjoy the exposed skin further.
“Fuck,” He mumbles, lips brushing over her clavicle before kissing downwards, between the valley of her breasts. “You really are s’fucking beautiful, y’know that?” His words are slurred as his hands roam up her sides and hesitate just before reaching her chest. “Can I touch you, pretty girl?”
The praise and pet name swirl in her mind in a sweet haze that gets her high. She gives a soft mhm and a nod of her head before his hands gently cup over her chest, squeezing with a surprising softness into the warm flesh. Yuuta continues to kiss along the exposed skin he could reach, her collarbones, the swell of her tits, her shoulders, his lips dragged over every inch, making sure to disperse his attention diligently.
“So beautiful,” He sings praises between each kiss, noticing the way it has her squirming in his lap. “So perfect, every part of you”
He grabs her hands by the wrists, pulling them up to his shoulders, until her fingers twitch and reach for his hair again. Her hips roll over his with a quiet moan. He lifts his head at the noise, a lazy smirk on his lips as he gazes up at her. She furrows her brows at him as she moves her hips again, trying to get more friction between them.
His hands squeeze her tits simultaneously, before his left thumb drags over the thin material covering them, finding her hardened nipple with ease and rolling over it teasingly.
“Yuuta,” She sighs, tilting her head at him as her gaze drags slowly down his body, the desire in her eyes obvious.
It made the room thick with sexual tension, and they both only grew hotter in temperature the longer this was dragged out. When her eyes met his again it was undeniable what she was thinking. Her every want and desire was clear solely from her eyes focused on his, and how her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him close to her face, but not quite kissing him.
His hands slid up her chest, fingertips prodding at the lacy cups of her bra until it gave way and he could slide his hands over the soft skin beneath. Her bottom lip quivers with what she wants to say next.
“Yuu, I-”
A sharp rap of a fist against their door has them jolting back to reality with a harsh swivel of both heads turning towards the sound. Without thought Yuuta’s hands fall to her waist and he pulls her into him, instinctively covering her barely exposed body if someone was to let themselves into the apartment. But the door doesn’t move, and the knocking persists.
“What the- it’s two in the morning,” (y/n) mumbles with a brow furrowed in confusion. “Who could-?”
The pair lock eyes as realization floods over them at the same time. Oh.
“Shit” Yuuta curses, and (y/n) quickly scurries off of his lap as she begins searching for their discarded articles of clothing.
Yuuta’s faster, tossing her a shirt and pulling one on for himself as he gets up off the couch and quickly heads for the door. He glances down at his pants with a wince, trying to adjust the obvious hard on, but to no use. He tugs as far as he can at the hem of his sweater to cover it. It’s a half decent job, and as he approaches the door he hopes it’s enough to hide it. He gives (y/n) a quick look to make sure she was decent.
She’s still sitting on the couch, her head peeking over the cushions curiously as he goes to open the door. Her hair is a mess, and her cheeks are flushed, both obvious giveaways to what she’s been up to for the last fifteen minutes. Yuuta’s sure he doesn’t look any better, and his hands rush to his head to smooth his hair down before he finally grabs the door knob and swings it open.
“What?” He greets Toge with more annoyance than usual, and the blonde on the other side of the door raises a brow at the tone.
Lavender eyes sweep over Yuuta’s flushed face and messy hair. He points into the apartment, vaguely towards the living room. Yuuta steps aside, letting his friend in for whatever it was he’d forgotten.
Toge gives (y/n) a friendly smile and waves as he strides into the living room. She returns the smile with weak lips.
Their visitor grabs a hoodie off of the arm chair to the left of the couch, something neither (y/n) or Yuuta had noticed left behind. He shrugs it on and stuffs his hands into the cozy fleece-lined pocket with a satisfied smile before waving goodbye to (y/n) and walking out of the room just as quickly.
“Sorry I didn’t notice it sooner,” Yuuta says sheepishly as Toge passes. “I could’ve brought it to you tomorrow”
Toge waves a dismissive hand, before twirling his finger around and shrugging. He must’ve still been in the area, Yuuta realizes.
He’s about to step out the door and leave without a catch, but he hesitates just as he steps over the threshold, his eyes doing a double take as he notes the dark green cable knit sweater Yuuta’s wearing.
His eyes linger on the article of clothing, brows pinching with familiarity, before he lifts his gaze to Yuuta’s, who’s also suddenly aware of the shirt he was wearing.
Before he can stop himself, Yuuta’s head is swiveling to where (y/n) was still watching them both from the couch. She’s sporting a tee shirt too loose on her frame to be hers. Toge follows Yuuta’s gaze, his eyes widening with realization.
“Anyways!” Yuuta clears his throat as he turns back to Toge with a grin so forced his cheeks hurt. “I’ll see you later?”
Toge opens his mouth, a grin of his own forming and a small laugh coming from his throat, but before anything could be said, Yuuta was ushering him through the rest of the doorway, already trying to shut the door in his face.
“Yeah, later, goodnight, Toge!”
The door closes a little harsher than he meant it to, the frame shaking as the latch clicks into place. Yuuta locks it just as quickly, before groaning and hitting his head against the wood. It felt like his heart was beating in his throat. He worried he might throw up from the anxiety coursing through his veins.
“That was close,” (y/n) says quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.
He’s too anxious to look at her. He squeezes his eyes shut and stays put against the door. Distantly, he remembers his dick is still hard.
He can hear (y/n) stirring, getting up from the couch and padding closer to him. She pauses just before she reaches him.
“Do you think he noticed the shirts?” She asks quietly.
Yuuta sighs, finally lifting his head from the door only to throw it back and stare at the ceiling. He doesn’t want to see how worried he’s sure his expression looks. He doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea about the regret pooling in his stomach.
“Probably” He admits in a quiet groan.
(y/n) shuts her eyes as she winces, covering her face with her hands.
The tension in the room is no longer due to sexual desire overtaking their inhibitions. It was awkward. Painfully awkward.
“I feel so stupid,” She mumbles into her hands.
Yuuta’s head snaps towards her, taking in the shame in her body language. His heart sinks towards his stomach. Had they made a massive mistake? (y/n) drags her hands down her face before looking up at him, her brows drawn together with a knot of worry between them. Had he made a massive mistake?
“I am so- I’m so sorry,” She tells him weakly. “I shouldn’t have- that was- I was-”
She can’t even finish a thought, much less an explanation on how ridiculously impulsive and embarrassing that was. Her face is growing pale and she feels sick to her stomach. She couldn’t believe she’d just ruined one of the greatest friendships she’s ever had over a silly conversation with the Zen’in twins about a silly crush. She couldn’t believe she’d just ruined the perfect living situation with the perfect roommate over a crush that probably would've gone away on it’s own had she just handled it maturely.
“It’s okay-” He starts to say, trying to find the right way to explain to her that he wasn’t upset in the slightest about what happened between them. He’d only been embarrassed about practically getting caught. He knew their friends well, and he was sure that Toge wasn’t the only one to notice the swap of shirts. Surely Maki and Mai had already been given an earful about the whole ordeal.
Before he can say anything else, (y/n’s) cutting him off.
“I should go to bed,” Her voice is too soft to overpower his, but he shuts up as soon as she speaks. “I’m… I’m really sorry, Yuuta,”
His eyebrows furrow as he takes in her sad, apologetic eyes. She really meant it. She really felt guilt over what had happened. His stomach twists with disturbance, and fear.
“Please forgive me, I… I hope you can forget about… that”
Forget? No…
But she’s turning away from him, running her hands through her hair in a stressful manner as she quickly darts for her room. Yuuta’s left standing at their door, wide eyed and open mouthed in his shock.
Did that all really just happen?
His palm comes up to cover his mouth, the realization settling into his bones and making his blood run cold.
God, it did, it really did.
He’s slow as he puts the switch remotes back on the console to charge, before turning off all the lights and going to his own room. He unzips his pants and kicks them off somewhere in his room before crawling into bed, not bothering to change into something proper to sleep in, or take off the sweater he’d accidentally stolen. He lays on his back, eyes focused on the blank ceiling of his bedroom as he replays it all over and over in his mind.
(y/n) also sits awake in her bedroom. But she’s far from frozen. She repeatedly kicks the covers off herself before tugging them back on, undecided on if she was hot or cold. She’d abandoned her pants and laid awake in Yuuta’s tee shirt, the scent of his cologne and something else that was distinctly him still clinging to the fabric. Tears welled in her eyes as she curled in on herself, hugging her pillow to her chest in a desperate attempt to seek comfort.
Neither one of them gets much sleep. ___
xoxo ~ jordie
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think fast / childhood bsf!tsukshima kei x reader
genre(s): childhood best friends x soulmates???? past lives and normal people by sally rooney coded im a sally rooney MEATRIDER!! angsty, gut-wrenching longing, bittersweet / hopeful ending so it's not all bad!! nostalgia is going to carry this fic so hard it's going to be a fun, fun time...
warning(s): eventual smut!! all characters are aged up to 21!!MDNI (at least up until the observatory)!! unprotected sex here remember to wrap it before you tap it!! (sorry kids), female leaning anatomy because smut but pronouns are gn all throughout and honestly you could read it as gn anyways:)) dead dad warning (my dad is NOT dead this was just convenient to kick off the thing), i fw the timeline of the world??? pretend flip phones were still in use in like 2012 or something idk
wc: ~6.3k
tldr; time has a way of reminding Kei of its presence, and its escape. you are the reminder it has been sending to him for six years.
Fate: A power believed to cause and control all events, so that one cannot change or determine the way things will happen.
It is a sunny afternoon when you step foot into Sendai, Miyagi. A beautiful day of golden warmth beaming onto petals of pink, red, and white, wrapped in coffee-stained newspapers and tied together with a spool of twine. The bouquet lies on browning grass, a contemptible reminder of the time that has passed since your last appearance here, six years ago, and you crouch down to the ground. Now face to face with the engraving of a full name on a slab of polished granite, you hesitate. Your father lived in a language that you can no longer speak, died in a country you no longer call your home. When you whisper blessings and apologies at the gravestone in broken Japanese and slurred syllables, you sound like a stranger. A stranger who sits in a graveyard at noon, with nothing but a bouquet from the nearby florist in hand, and a promise, stuttered out in half-decent Japanese, to return again the next year.
When a second bouquet falls to the ground behind you, and you turn around, Tsukishima Kei thinks this is what English speakers like you would call fate. He’s a little taller now, and bulkier too, and you have to crane your head higher than you remember just to meet his eyes. You don’t recognise the glasses he dons anymore, the black rectangles from his teenage years swapped out for rounded squares and silver frames. But he has a towel in his hand, a towel that has his initials poorly stitched into the corner with red string. You wonder if the matching one he made you, eleven years ago, is collecting dust somewhere in your dormitory, halfway across the world.
“You’re back.”
“It’s been a while, Kei.”
You can no longer differentiate Japanese syllables clearly, and your statement jumbles into nonsense in your head. Kei hears the English woven into your accent in the way you roll your tongue like foreigners do, and in the odd intonations that don’t exist in your mother tongue. You don’t even remember your father’s dislike for white flowers. London has truly done a number on you.
“Why? Why now?”
You bite your nail, a persistent habit that Kei frowns at. He picks up his flowers, and steps towards the gravestone, just close enough for your knee to brush against him for a moment. The bouquet in his hand is wrapped in plastic and filled with red and pink, the white from your own sticking out like a sore thumb when he places his flowers gently on the grass beside yours. He tosses the towel in his hand, opening it up against his palm, and you take it from him. If you cannot get the language right, or the flowers, this is the least you can do. Cobwebs stick to the fabric as you sweep at the granite slab, watching soot and dust fall to the grass. The curves and dips of the gravestone are familiar once again, and you dig the towel into every nook and cranny. You feel Kei’s body shift, before his knee is touching yours and his face is finally level with your peripheral vision. He glances at you, waiting. His knees bounce in anticipation.
“Never had the chance, college has been a lot.”
Your phone rings as you finish cleaning. The ringtone is familiar, unchanged from when you used to have a flip phone, in fact. Kei hums along to the jingle for the four seconds that the call is left unanswered, before it cuts off into a flurry of English. He catches something about research, and a thesis, his shabby English unable to fill in any more than that. He’s never known you were interested in research, let alone what it is that you’re researching. All he’s known is your aspiration of becoming a librarian when you were six, and his promise to borrow books from you for the museum that he swore he would one day work at. Now, he works at the museum, sorts antique scripts and yellowed books into cabinets and display shelves. He does not borrow books from you. Now, you talk, but nothing makes sense to him.
You end the call, mumbling foreign curses as you shove your phone back into your pocket. Clicking your tongue, you turn to Kei, who stares at the flowers on the ground. He pushes his glasses up when they slide down his nose, and you resist the familiar urge to nag him about buying the right frames for his face.
“Yeah, college has been mostly phone calls like that.”
He nods, a half-hearted chuckle huffing from his nose. He’s forgotten what it’s like to sit at a graveyard with somebody else, the annual reminder of a lonely death replaced by another this year as you dust off his towel, and drop it onto his thigh. He swipes it from his leg, folding it into quarters and sliding it into his pocket.
“So you choose to come now, without a word? Not even a heads up? Six years after leaving?” Kei’s voice rises at each question, the same way it did six years ago when you broke the news of leaving Japan to him. This hurts him to ask, that much you can still recognise.
“I would have come sooner if I had the chance. I’ve missed everyone so much.”
You pluck a petal from a white flower in your bouquet, then another, until all that remains is the naked bulb, and scatter them onto the ground beside you. Perhaps the next person that’s been buried under six feet of dirt used to have a liking for them. Kei remains unmoving, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. His knee stops bouncing.
“How long will you stay for?”
“Today, then Friday and Saturday too. Flight back is Sunday night.”
Six years of waiting, and this is what it amounts to. A weekend and a bit. Despite that, Kei still thinks this must be fate, in all the languages that it exists in. Six years of life, and love, and hurt, all to be condensed into four measly days. Yet as Kei pushes himself off the ground, dusting his trousers off, he still thinks that this unlikely, yet conveniently timed visit must be the answer to his pleas for your return. That this must be some heavenly reward, good karma for visiting your father’s grave annually on your behalf. You watch him turn to leave, and he calls out to you as he walks away from your father’s grave.
“Everyone’s at Hinata’s old place tomorrow. You should come by if you can.”
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Change: to replace (something) with something else, especially something of the same kind that is newer or better; substitute one thing for (another).
All it takes is one coincidental exchange of panicked glances at the first throw up of the night for you and Kei to leave together. Hinata slurs a drunken farewell, tries to embrace you as you slip your sneakers on at the door, and you make a note to yourself that you really do not miss most of the people here, spare for the volleyball team. Kei waits at the door, holding it open for when you finally shake Hinata off of your back, and step through. The night is chilly, the warmth in your skin from the indoor heating system emanating into the midnight air. You kick rocks along the pavement as you walk, scattering pigeons that remain awake and active at this time, and Kei smiles at your antics. You still hate birds, and you still remember the trick he taught you when you were nine for chasing away pigeons that flocked around you for food.
“Who are you staying with?”
“My mom’s.”
The road leads the two of you to a high school. Kei has not come back to Karasuno since graduation. You squint in the dark, scanning the school, and you don’t recognise the new building that stands in place of the old auditorium. He watches you crouch at the plaque next to the front gate, tracing the letters engraved on it with the pad of your thumb. Some part of him blames Karasuno for being a bad place to you, the other parts blame himself for not being good enough to outweigh it.
“It’s changed.”
“Everything has.”
You rattle the locked entrance, the chain and padlock hitting against cold metal. It won’t open, so you look up through the gap of the gate. Six years ago, on that rooftop, was where you stood over a cold lunch box and emptied convenience store drinks, back against the wire fence, saying to Kei, I’m leaving tomorrow. On that day, you had packed yakisoba for his lunch, and nothing for yourself. He could barely respond to your announcement, only dropping his chopsticks and asking you, why? You told him something along the lines of being an expat, and a better school for what you wanted, all in the fluent Japanese you once spoke. Nothing made sense to him anyways.
When you turn back to him, his hands are in the pockets of his jacket, and his nose is red from the cold air. You stand beside him, staring aimlessly at Karasuno from outside its barriers.
“Do you still play volleyball?”
“Yeah, Sendai Frogs.”
You hum, and then wonder why you only asked tonight, and why you’re surprised. He shrugs, clouds of white puffing from his mouth when he breathes out. He tries to blow a wisp of hair away from his face, and you suddenly realise that his hair has grown too, along with his height. It fails, and he tries again. You reach up to swipe at his bangs, before running your fingers backwards through his hair. It parts itself as you lift your hands from his head, and falls into place neatly. A cold breeze whizzes by, and undoes your work, sending strands of gold into his face once again. You snicker a little.
“You know, you could ask my mom to trim it for you like she used to.”
“Nah, I prefer this.”
It isn’t until you turn to look at him properly that you see how much time has passed. He likes his hair longer these days, the choppy hairdo of his teenage years now nothing but an old preference, and you wonder if he is still a loyal customer of your mother’s salon. When he pulls his hands from his pockets and blows hot air into them, calluses line the bases of his fingers, the blisters of his high school years hardened by trials of time and effort. There are bags under his eyes, eyes that are now a little rounder, and softer too. When he speaks, monotone and tired, you realise his snarkiness has dissipated into general frustration. You stare until his eyes dart to you, and turn away quickly, ashamed. Leaving Karasuno has taken your hand and led you to a purpose that you never knew you were capable of. You wonder what the hell it has done to Tsukishima Kei.
“It looks good.”
He breathes in sharply, then exhales with a huff, shoulders relaxing as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets. You suddenly realise that your fingers have gone numb from the cold of the night, fingertips tingling like a million frost-bitten needles poking into your skin. You also stuff your hands into your pockets, rubbing your fingers against each other to generate some heat. Then, Kei’s looping his arm around yours, and pulling you away from Karasuno High School. He keeps on his straight path, and you stumble along behind his leaping steps. When you round a corner, the night breeze grows into something less imperturbable, and more vicious, pushing the two of you forward from behind in slashes of cold. The sea is near.
“Is this the beach we used to go to?”
“You still remember it.”
He drags you down a flight of stairs to Fukanuma Beach, and the misty sea air rushes to your head. When he leads you to the shoreline, you hesitate. The sea has been off limits since the two of you were five, a regulation put in place in remembrance of the Great Sendai Earthquake. An earthquake that saw Kei and yourself hunched beneath the same table in the middle of class, huddled next to each other as you cried for your parents. Now, in your final years of college, as the water slips beneath the soles of his shoes, pushing and receding in layers of aqua and bubbles of white, it seems that time has slipped by just as easily too. Time, that saw the fading of the earthquake’s devastation, despite the loss of thousands, including your father. Time, that frayed the string connecting yourself to Kei as you moved through life halfway across the world from Japan. Time, that passes through you like sand spilling between your fingers on a beach you once thought you knew, but has changed like the unprohibited water that seems to push further up into the shore at each tidal wave.
“They lifted the ban?”
“A few months ago, yeah.”
You step into the next wave that fizzles into foam, and the water crashes into the toe of your shoes. Crouching, you push mounds of wet sand into a cylinder, flattening the top and pushing divots in equal intervals. Kei joins, moulding shorter ones beside your own and drawing windows into the side. You finish, and he stands, smiling at the creation. You cover the top, afraid he will stomp on it, a trademark of Kei’s whenever you built sandcastles with him in childhood. Instead, he laughs, and walks further into the water. When you get up to join him, the hems of his trousers are soaked, shoes also covered in a sheen of wetness. You hop over the castle, and the next wave that comes sends its foundations crumbling back into the sea.
“We used to do that. You’d destroy it every time.”
Kei chuckles, and looks back to see the half destroyed castle. Clicking his tongue, he returns to the rubble, and you watch his hands push mounds of sand towards what is left standing.
“I’d always build a better one for you afterwards though.”
He dusts his hands off when he finishes, and the waves fizzle out just before they hit the two-tiered sandcastle. You sniff, holding your arms close to your chest. When Kei looks up, he feels like the summer of being seven years old again, smiling at you with his missing front tooth when you sniffle and laugh at the improved castle he’s put together for you. Now, it is winter. He only grins with the corners of his lips. You only sniff because it’s cold.
“Kei.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s really been a while. How have you been?”
He steps over the castle towards you, careful not to break it. Your hair blows in your face from the beach breeze and your eyes squint from the sand that flies into the air, and Kei takes it all in when you’re face to face with him. When he opens his mouth, some selfish part of him thinks about casting his words into shackles of regret, so heavy that they weigh you down and keep you in Japan, in Sendai, on this beach, somewhere close to him.
“Do you want to stay the night? Like you used to?”
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Nostalgia: A sentimental longing, or wistful yearning for a return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.
Kei does not take you to his family house. He leads you up stairs that make no sense, and hallways that stretch on forever, until you finally reach his flat. He wipes his shoes on the doormat, throws his keys into a glass bowl upon entry, and hangs his jacket on a hook mounted to his front door instead of the coathanger that used to stand beside it. You look around, searching for the shells you once collected in a jar for his tenth birthday. When your eyes land on a jar filled with conches and cowries, you let go of a breath you were unaware of holding. They sit on the top of his bookshelf, above textbooks and file organisers. A knot forms in your throat at the realisation that the jar sits alone in its compartment, with nothing beside it. You’ve done the same to the jazz vinyl Kei gifted you at the airport before your departure. You don’t realise that he’s disappeared somewhere as you stare at the shells, until a shirt and a pair of shorts are thrown into your chest. He stands at the entrance to a hallway, donning sweatpants and an old hoodie, one that’s clearly a size too small. The pocket is lousily sewn on, a result of a mishap that occurred when you had borrowed it once. He doesn’t know that you spent the night learning to sew fabric just to fix it.
“Change. It’ll be more comfortable.”
You scurry through the hallway to his bathroom, pulling the shirt and shorts on hastily, before balling up your clothes and returning to the living room. Kei sits at his couch, now bound in leather instead of fabric, and clicks at the television. You join beside him, legs splaying across his own subconsciously. He doesn’t move. He stops at a movie, one you’ve seen hundreds of times before at his old house. It drones on in the background as he watches in silence, his arms now draped over your knees. The first time he watched this movie, it was in his old home, cross-legged on the carpeted ground with you on the couch behind him. Your hands used to press into his shoulders from above, shake them whenever your favourite scenes came on, squeeze them when you laughed until tears rolled from your eyes. Now that his new flat lacks a rug, he’s willing to settle with your legs on his own. Flashing lights illuminate the dark room in sequences that you can still recall perfectly from memory. He watches the movie. You watch him.
“Have you been doing good, Kei?”
Turning to you, he pushes his glasses up into his hair, leaning further back. You shuffle closer, legs bending as your shoulder digs into the leather couch. A strand of blond falls into his face, and you lift his glasses to tuck it back, before smoothing your hands over his mess of hair, combing and pushing with your fingertips.The words from the television melt into gibberish when he hums in satisfaction, what is unspoken between you two is more glaring than ever.
“I’ve been okay.” He cuts off, then finds himself thinking of what to tell you first, amongst the recollections of life that rush through his head. “Started working at the museum a couple years ago.” He wishes that you still remember the building, where the marble floors squeaked beneath your slippers, and glass panels lined the walls, hiding away treasures and artefacts that have withstood centuries, maybe even eons of erosion and weathering.
You nod, mind filling with the many museum visits you had with him there. He’s always liked the dinosaurs more than the shells. When you breathe out a chuckle, he knows you’re recalling the time he almost pissed himself at a life-sized, moving tyrannosaurus rex model.
“What about you?”
“Research. I’ve been doing research about…” you sign in the air, searching for the Japanese words that have slipped from your mind. Surrendering, you whip your phone out, searching for a translation.
“Archaeology?”
“Yeah, that. No more librarian dreams for me. More dinosaurs, though.”
A smile finds its way onto Kei’s face, one that softens his cheeks and flattens his eyes into crescents. He wonders if amongst the silver plaques and digital displays, your work is engraved in there somewhere. If each time he explains something to some bright-eyed child, who scuttles around the museum as you and him once did, he is unknowingly speaking in your language, translated until he can decipher the thoughts that run through your mind in your research, your memories, your dreams too.
“Maybe it’s in the museum somewhere. I’m willing to bet.”
“I hope it is.”
Your conversation fizzles back into silence, and the characters on the television do too. The two on the screen sit in a field, mere inches apart. The two of you look at each other, your knees now leaned into Kei’s chest and one of his arms draped along the back of the couch. When he pulls his glasses back to his eyes, and studies you all over again, it hits him that you really haven’t changed all that much, even after your six year separation. Six years older, with the exhaustion of a functioning adult, but you still gnaw on your cheeks, and tilt your head as you ask questions. Six years apart, and you are still you, who taught him to build sandcastles, and introduced him to his favourite movie, and fixed his hair whenever it stuck up in stubborn peaks of gold. When you let your eyes close, and drop your head onto his shoulder, you wait for lost time to tick backwards, until you’re on the rooftop with him once again. In this version of time, you blush when you tell him that you’ve chosen to stay in Japan instead. Pushing your head further into the crook of his neck, Kei’s chin reaches over to rest on the top of your crown. The credits of the movie roll in the background, and you mumble into the skin of his pulse.
“Can you take me there? I’ve missed it.” Your words send vibrations down his spine, sending his head into a frenzy as he pushes his hands against the couch harder.
“The museum?” It will be closed for the weekend, but Kei nods anyway. He’s sure he can find his way in through the back. Maybe he’ll take you to the fossils again, let you run your fingers along smooth amber and stone engravings. Perhaps he could show you the new exhibitions, ones that you won’t miss this time, as you have for the past six years. For now, he thinks he will let you sleep on his shoulder, listen to your soft snores, tremble at every hot breath that fans onto his neck.
The credits roll to the end, and come to a stop. Kei removes his arm from the couch to grab the remote from his coffee table. He rewinds the movie to the start.
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思慕 [しぼ, shibo]: yearning; deep longing, especially when accompanied by tenderness or sadness.
On the final night of your stay, you learn that Kei still giggles when he breaks rules, as he drags you through the back entrance of the closed museum. He maneuvers through hallways of antique paintings and repurposed junk, slips into dark stairwells illuminated by the flashlight of his phone, traps your wrist between his fingers and chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he takes you higher, and higher, and higher. You’ve lost count of how many flights of stairs have gone by when he taps his keycard against a sensor by a backdoor, and pushes it open. The museum observatory, once a mess of bamboo scaffolding and green covers, now allows silver moonlight through its glass dome, boasting billions of iridescent stars nestled in a blanket of hazy midnight. A decade of your anticipation has resulted in a circular space, hundreds of plush recliners lining the circumference of the room, and you wonder how many eyes have watched the stars from those seats before you ever had the chance to. When Kei leads you further into the observatory, you step foot onto the north star plastered on the ground in the centre of the room, where nothing but a telescope remains in a ten-foot radius. He takes a spot on the ground, back pressed against the cushioned edge of a seat.
“I figured this is the best spot. Better than any of the seats, actually.” He plants his feet on the ground, bending his knees and spreading them just wide enough for you to sit in between. You cross your legs, wagging them up and down as your hands hold your shins, and he lowers his legs, stretching them out in front of him. Leaning back, your spine hits a spot between his ribs, the same way it did when you were thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen, staring at stars from the grass of his backyard. You pity the visitors that have yet to discover the simplicity of stargazing from the ground, hands pushed into the ground for stability, dirt and moisture seeping into the fabric of clothing. Pushing further into him, his breathing is heavy against your back, chest rising in rhythmic ups and downs. For what feels like hours, you sit in silence, eyes trained on your fingers that pick and fiddle. At the realisation that you haven’t looked at the stars in years, something bubbles in your stomach, pervasive, relentless. When you finally loll your head backwards to fall on his shoulder, and the tip of Kei’s nose grazes your cheekbone, you wonder how long he has not looked at the stars for as well.
“Why’d you stop calling?” His sudden question sends a haze rushing into your head.
You swallow thickly. If the passage of time were a sin, you’d burden it with all your explanations. Telling him that now would seem like some lousy excuse.
“It stopped going to your line a year after I left.” You pause, searching for the right words to use amidst the sea of Japanese and English that you must now sort out. “I only stopped trying after another month, the voicemail just said your number was no longer in use.”
Kei wishes he could dig his fingers into his chest and rip his heart out. If only he hadn’t stupidly broken his phone that night, five years ago during volleyball practice. If only he had checked his pockets before entering the court, just as he has done hundreds of times before. If only he had this, if only he had that, he might just torment himself for the rest of his life. His breath hitches, shoulder freezing rigid. Time does not differentiate between the knowing and oblivious. It slips and leaks beneath the noses of all that it encompasses, and it is but the cautious few that know to grab it, and join in on its journey. He knows now that he is not one of them, not after he’s cursed at the passage of time over and over and over for his own blunder.
“I broke my phone in a game. Got a new one so the number changed as well, fuck me.”
You laugh dryly into the empty observatory. The occasional twinkling of the stars above do nothing to make his explanation any easier. You think you’ll blame it all on doomed fate that you’ve spent five years trying to find somebody that felt the same as Kei did, to no avail. Blame it on cursed luck that you’ve clawed and grabbed at anything familiar enough, archaeology, jazz vinyls, old DVDs of the movie shared between two, all to remind yourself that he too, was once within grasp. You say nothing, because you don’t see a reason to. Instead, you push your head into his neck, drown in the scent of his cologne, ease yourself into his now grown body. You don’t see him wipe a hand across his mouth, then rub his eyes with pinched fingers.
When Kei decides to speak again, it is what feels like another hour later. He’s readjusted his posture about fifty times by now, arms removed from the ground and draped over your shoulders. The sensation of your hair against his skin is suddenly more prominent than ever when your hands find his own, holding them closer to yourself.
“If I didn’t find you at the grave, would you have looked for me?” His question is heavy, weighing his chest down as the words leave his throat in a hesitant cluster. You turn to look at him, and your eyes linger on his own when you squeeze his hands once, twice, then a third time.
“I’ve been looking for five years. Nobody else could take me home.” Your heart rushes to your mouth at your confession, and the bob of Kei’s throat does not go unnoticed. One of his hands comes up to hold your shoulder, pushing it towards himself until your body twists, rubbing against his. You let go of him, pressing your fingers into the ground between his legs instead, and he breathes out shakily, his windpipe suddenly cleared of its uncertainty.
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yes, I am.”
His fingers slide down to grab your wrist, before going numb completely. His unoccupied hand peels itself from the floor and settles on the side of your waist. Your mouth goes dry when Kei breathes, hot and heavy, his eyes travelling to every inch of you. A bout of heat rushes from his chest to his head, and his legs, and his arms too. The air between the two of you is thick, and it sends your head into a feverish blur. The ground collapses beneath your knees as they shift to press into the floor, and you come face to face with Tsukishima Kei, who prefers his hair parted in bangs on the sides of his face, and wears silver frames instead of black ones. Tsukishima Kei, who has been visiting your father’s grave on your behalf for six years, and still plays volleyball even in his adulthood. Tsukishima Kei, whose eyes are finally finished with their ventures across your figure, that is pushed up against him on the ground of an observatory, and is learning whatever he can about you when his fingers tighten around your wrists and he kisses you without a warning.
Once, at the young, innocent age of seven, Tsukishima Kei kissed you in this museum. You had run a little too fast, stepped on your loose laces and fallen onto the ground face first. You sulked at a bench facing some random painting of melting clocks, red dots scattered across a purple patch right beneath your eye. When he kneeled in front of you to grab your face, and pressed his lips onto the bruise for a fraction of a second, he must have kissed the pain away, mending the leaking capillaries beneath your skin as he separated from your cheeks with a pop. Now, he pulls against your wrists to push himself closer, traps you in the embrace of his legs around the back of your thighs, wheezes and stutters against your lips at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. His head is running in circles instead of straight paths, and everything is spinning. When your hands reach to grab at his shirt, and palm at his chest, he pulls away only to rip his glasses off and toss them to the ground. Beneath the glow of the moon from above, everything but your flushed cheeks and swollen lips is a blur. You take half a breath in, before it is interrupted by Kei’s palms pulling you in by the sides of your neck, and his mouth on yours again. At seven years old, he ripped bruising pain away from your face with a kiss. At twenty-one, he forces his pain, and grief, and regret rushing into your heart by pushing himself against you, fingers tangling themselves into your hair as he kisses you, desperate, almost distressed. Every tug at your lips is a confession left unspoken, every time Kei opens his mouth apologies spill out into you in choked groans and sighs. At the sensation of his hand leaving your neck, your arm searches for him aimlessly, before he’s palming at you through your pants. He swallows your sudden gasp, and your fingers grip his wrist until your knuckles go white.
“Did you ever like me?” You can do nothing but choke out a question against his lips, one you’ve pondered about, day in and day out, since your departure from Japan.
By the way that Kei nods frantically, you’re certain that this is what six years of separation has amounted to.
Sparing no time, your fingers tug at the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to release himself from the fabric constraints. He does the same, hands roaming until they find the waistband of your pants to push them down, fingers tugging your underwear to the side with a flick. He grabs you by the waist beneath your shirt, yanks your body towards him until something feels right and he can’t help but let out a trembling sigh into your shoulder. And when you finally begin to sink yourself onto him, agonisingly slow, you wish that you had never left Japan in the first place. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you wish that you could spend the rest of your life in this observatory with Kei, your hands wrapped around the back of his sweat-slicked neck.
When he pulls you down to push further, more pervasively, you fall into him, head hanging over his shoulder and arms squeezing around his neck. His inexperienced hands rock you back and forth against his hips, pulling a flurry of gasps and moans from your throat. He lets himself learn how you taste when his teeth tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it down to expose your bare shoulder. His lips latch onto your collarbone, biting and sucking a trail of red marks up to the side of your neck. You shudder at his advances, and he studies the way your walls flutter around him, the erratic pulses that draw stars around his head, how your nails dig into his shoulders, and send his mind into a senseless orbit.
When he pushes and pulls at you a little harder, you whimper his name into his ear, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess that nibbles at his neck and kisses up his jaw feverishly. First friend, first kiss, first love. The notion that this is another first that Tsukishima Kei has brought upon you sends your mind spiralling. He should have been your first prom date, first roommate, first dance too. If only you hadn’t left him first. You push your head off his shoulder, hands moving to hold his face instead. A wave of pleasure washes over you when his palm presses against your stomach, and you hang your head low again, a shaky sigh released from your chest.
When you look up, there are tears in Kei’s eyes. He rolls his head back onto the plush seat behind him, hands lifting you off himself fully, just to push you back onto him again. You collapse into his body, palms pressing against his heaving chest.
“I- fuck! I fucking loved you! I still do!” He speaks it into the glass ceiling as one hand reaches for his face. He wipes his palm across his eyes, only for more tears to form. They are uncontrollable, relentless as he turns his head away from you. He isn’t sure how he will live again tomorrow, not when he’s finally come to a reckoning with the pang in his chest at every thought of you. He thinks he could die the second you step onto that flight back to London, ripped away from him once again. The reality that he cannot stay buried inside you for any longer than the next couple of minutes haunts him to no end, the idea of being separated from you a second time unbearable to even imagine. When he turns back to see you, head on his chest and fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, he decides that reality can wait until he’s finished with you.
“I love you too- shit, Kei! I never stopped!”
You rut against his hips senselessly now, chasing some unfamiliar high as your vision fades to black and you scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. Kei barely gives you time to breathe, before he’s coming undone from right beneath you, shuddering and groaning as you relax against his body and go limp. He holds you against him, one hand pushing your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your back. He tucks your damp hair behind your ears, places kisses along your temple so he can hear the hums of satisfaction that sound from your curled lips.
“Can you stay forever?” He mumbles into your hair, and you turn to press your ear against his chest. His heart pounds as he pushes his cheek into the crown of your head, and your hands crawl up his chest to wrap around his neck. When he looks up through the glass ceiling, the stars have not moved one bit.
“I’ll find you again, wherever you are.”
Time may slip away from Tsukishima Kei like petals that fall off the buds of flowers, water that seeps beneath the soles of his sneakers, stardust that hovers above the atmosphere. Yet he has learned that it has a way of always coming back to remind him of its presence, and its escape. You are the reminder that it has been sending to him for six years.
author's note:
ERM! never writing nsfw again that's for sure but this piece defs had some stuff that i was very, VERY proud of coming up with!! sorry to my minor moots who probably won't read this in its entirety bc of the big MDNI warning... but I honestly don't know how to feel about this piece as a whole... i was super excited to write it but i think i got a little impatient towards the end esp since im always writing at like 3am LOL but i hope you guys liked it anyways!!! i tried really hard to make the dynamic work and i hope it did!!!!!
also ps they exchange numbers again js a little extra bonus that i didn’t get to put into the actual thing
anyways tags!!
@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @laughingfcx @writingsofanomnivore @t0rchknight @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @hiraethwa @fiannee @catsoupki @anonymity-222 @wishi-selfships @kuroppiii
ok love u guys thank u for being patient
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu angst#haikyuu smut#tsukishima x reader#tsukishima kei x reader#tsukishima kei#tsukishima smut#tsukishima angst#haikyuu fluff#tsukishima fluff#haikyuu timeskip#hq timeskip#hq tsukki#tsukishima#haikyuu tsukishima#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu imagines#hq smut#tsukishima kei smut#haikyuu#haikyuu au#haikyuu!!#tsukishima imagines#tsukishima scenario
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Sorry I just need to type this out because it feels so perfect if this was the intention. Baseball represents conformity… but what about our most iconic Stranger Things baseball bat?
Let’s talk about this particular bat’s journey, shall we?
Our first scene with the bat is when Nancy is practicing to attack the Demogorgon in her garage. At this point in the story, the bat is still a regular baseball bat. Steve comes over and Nancy is still emotionally invested in him. She has not quite realized she is on the path of conformity. She pushes him away here, though. She has plans with Jonathan to find the monster, so she takes a rain check at the invitation to go to the movies under the guise of Will’s funeral and Mike. I would argue this is at the beginning of the bat’s transformation.
The bat was originally meant to be wielded by Nancy. The revolver was also supposed to be Jonathan’s weapon. However, upon learning that Nancy’s a sharpshooter, Nancy takes the revolver and Jonathan takes the bat. They have swapped roles. This is when she’s finally begun not to conform. Nancy has taken the more “masculine,” powerful role in this relationship. She wields the stronger weapon and thus takes the lead in their relationship. During this scene we learn that Nancy believes her parents to be the image of conformity, detesting the idea of ever becoming them.
While wandering through the woods, the two have an argument in which Nancy finally has to confront that she is conforming just as much as her parents did at her age. She’s no different and she needs to realize that she and Steve are the image of Ted and Karen. The bat remains in Jonathan’s hands.
The two once more swap roles upon finding the dying deer. The two decide to put the animal out of its misery, but it’s too much for Nancy to handle and thus Jonathan offers to do it himself. They swap weapons once more. You could interpret it two ways:
Their willingness to swap their roles fluidly offers more to the idea of nonconformity. They are not concrete in the roles they choose, unlike the societally acceptable dynamics of the time. Men and women had concrete gender roles and were expected to follow them, whereas Jonathan and Nancy are able to go against that norm and be what role is needed depending on the situation.
Jancy are willing to do what the other needs from them and are already complementing each other from Season 1. Jancy endgame.
After this scene Nancy and Jonathan split up, with Nancy discovering a small gate to the Upside Down. She leaves the bat and her belongings outside the gate. I would like to say that her going to the Upside Down is quite literal for her character and for the baseball bat. Their identities are changed after this. Nancy from this point forward becomes incredibly tactical and combative. She goes shopping for weapons with Jonathan, definitely going against the norm. Her form does not change, she remains herself, preppy and kind, but now she has spikes. In her next scene with Steve she’s angry, she’s pushing him away and recognizing him for what he is. She could have been submissive to Steve’s actions, but the first thing she does is slap him and assert herself. She is no longer conforming.
While we do not see the baseball bat for the rest of the episode or in the following episode, we do see it again in the finale.
Here we see the baseball bat change into our easily recognizable icon. Together, Jancy decides to kill the Demogorgon and hatches a plan to do so. They set everything up in the Byers’ home and during these preparations we see Jonathan modify the baseball bat. He hammers nails into the head of the bat and it transforms almost to match Nancy. Baseball bats are a blunt object, but by adding the nails, Jonathan has flipped the baseball bat’s identity Upside Down, transforming it into a sharp object. It can be argued it’s both blunt and sharp, and maybe it proves the point I am trying to make further by viewing it that way. Jonathan is meant to wield this weapon once more, but Steve enters the ring and wields it instead (more on that later).
By the finale you’re almost certain that Jancy will happen (if not now then later). Jancy is a heterosexual relationship, but it is not heteronormative. To me, that’s what the bat represents. The bat is conformity, the norm and heterosexuality, but the spikes represent non-comforming and non-heteronormative behavior. In Jancy’s relationship, Nancy typically takes the lead and continues to be the one who wields a gun. Jonathan remains the more sensitive of the two and the one who wields no weapons (you could argue the axe in Season 3, but even then Lucas takes control of that). The behavior of Jonathan and Nancy in their relationship as stated prior, is not conforming to the norms of the time despite being a heterosexual relationship.
Now, what happens to the bat after the events of Season 1? Steve continues to be the one who wields it, which is very important to his character development. He’s becoming nonconformist as well, especially with his blossoming friendship with the kids and his new role as “babysitter,” a job that is considered feminine. During his time holding the bat, I would also like to mention he most certainly became more accepting of people different from him and even befriends them. He went from calling Jonathan Byers a queer derogatorily in Season 1 to being supportive and accepting of Robin’s sexuality in Season 3. He learns that popularity is not important despite what societal pressures and expectations exist. It’s almost like the bat being in his possession helped to facilitate his growth.
After Season 2 we have yet to see the bat again, but an honorable mention would also be Max, a nonconformist tomboy, wielding the bat. She does this to defend her nerdy, outcast friends and her love interest: Lucas. Max and Lucas are another heterosexual relationship, except they also defy norms for being an interracial relationship in a time period where it was still not as acceptable.
TL;DR: the spiked baseball bat is a symbol of nonconformity/norms of the time being flipped Upside Down/on their heads as opposed to baseball in general representing conformity. It transformed in Season 1 with Jancy to become this symbol and in Season 2 facilitated growth/was wielded by characters who didn’t conform.
Hope you guys enjoyed this post please don’t let it flop 😭
#byler#stranger things 5#mike wheeler#will byers#byler brainrot#byler endgame#byler nation#stranger things#byler is canon#jonathan byers#nancy wheeler#jancy#max mayfield#lucas sinclair#steve harrington#lumax#robin buckley
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Williamson v Williamson
Summary: It’s the Semi-Final Match against England, you’re playing against your sister for the first time, you lose, but an absolute legend wants your shirt.
A/N: Just a short one, can’t decide if I like it or not but oh well. (Tried to keep it as real as possible but obviously some things are fictional)
Today’s match was a monumental one, not just on a team level but on a personal level. Today was the Matildas’ Semi-Final match against the Lionesses, it was make or break. It also meant you would be versing your sister today, someone would finish the game better off than the other.
The game was going well, you were even, 2 all, you and Sam had both managed to score and so had Ella Toone and Lauren Hemp, it was looking like a large chuck of added time would be needed and then possibly penalties, that was until Alessia Russo scored England’s third goal in the 86th minute, that was it, there was no way you could come back from that now.
The final whistle blew, and you just collapse onto the ground, you played so well and tried so incredibly hard, but it wasn’t enough. Your team isn’t going to the gold medal match now, there is no guarantee of a medal, all because you couldn’t get a second goal past Mary Earps. The media and public caught many heart-warming moments of Lionesses comforting their fellow Aussie club teammates, Aussies comforting Aussies, but the moment that had grappled the world’s attention was when, one of the Lionesses defender’s and their goalkeeper sat down on the pitch either side of the youngest player of the match, a young Matilda, a complete stranger, club rivals if anything. However, they weren’t strangers, they had been to your house many times, they were your sister’s friends but somehow no one had thought about that. However, them not being strangers doesn’t lessen their gesture in anyway though.
Mary Earps and Millie Bright had come to comfort you, they sat down either side of you, “Hi,” you mumbled to them, wondering if they heard you as your head was in your hands.
“You’re a good player kid, you-” Mary started speaking but was interrupted by you “Obviously not good enough though, I wasn’t good enough score another fucking goal, a single goal” you yelled.
“Hey, none of that, you know you had the most attempts and the most shots on target for the whole game, they said it could even be for the whole tournament, you were fucking incredible,” Millie told you as she pulled you in for a hug.
“You truly tested my abilities today Kid you did really really well, and you should be proud of yourself, one of the hardest strikers to keep for I would say.”
“Thank guys, I’m sorry for yelling, you both played really well today too, well at least Mary did” your comment sent the three of you into fits of laughter, you then chatted to them for a few more minutes, they were friends after all, and even though you did just loose to them you hadn’t seen them in ages.
“We better go,” Millie said as she saw your sister walking over to you “But first, can I swap shirts with you kid?”
“Sorry Millie, but there’s already a shirt with my name on it,” you nodded you head in the direction of your sister.
“I see what you did there, Leah’s not wrong about you being smart too” Mary said as she grabbed your hand to pull you up.
“What can I say, I can’t help being the better Williamson,” “Shit, I think someone heard that, run” Marry said to Millie as she started running.
“I must admit today you were the better Williamson,” you hear you sister’s voice say as she placed a hand on your shoulder and turned you around, “Now, I think that shirt is mine, it does have my name on it after all,” she joked, you both quickly took off you shirts before putting the others on, you both posed for some photos, before you were called over for an interview.
“Well, I think it’s time we let you go, best not miss the team huddle” “Yeah probs shouldn’t miss that one might get in a bit of trouble, thank you it was great chatting with you” “Likewise good luck”
“I think yellow looks better on you,” Tony said as you joined the team.
“Yeah, so do I,” “Well, I’m relieved, saw you talking to Sarina before, got a little worried.”
“Too bad you already gave your shirt away, Beckham messaged me, asked if I reckoned he could have your shirt, he was thinking about coming down from the box,” Sam said, she had a serious tone in her voice so you couldn’t tell if she was lying or not, but then you caught your sister talking to a guy out of the corner of your eye, it was the David Beckham.
“Wait, you’re not joking, you’re being real” Sam nodded, “Shit, I need to go get my shirt back from my sister,”
“Nah, it’s all good, he said he’ll just make sure to get your Bronze Medal mat-” “Girls focus, I’m pretty sure I’m more excited about Beckham than you are but can we just debrief quickly?” Tony said cutting Sam off.
“So, I guess this isn’t a good time then?” an ever so familiar voice said as a pair of hands you could recognise from a mile away were place on your shoulders. Everyone looked to the person standing behind you, you didn’t bother you knew exactly who he was, “Tony, if you don’t mind, maybe they’ll listen to the real DB,” you internally cringe at those words, when you were little you idolised Beckham so instead of saying MVP or the real VP as some might say you instead insisted on saying the real DB, you hadn’t heard it in years, luckily your family forgot about it, but obviously someone remembered and told him.
“Take it away,”
“Girls, wait move over let me in,” you all shuffled and he slotted in between you and Charli. “Okay let me start again. Girls you played amazingly today, but you were outplayed, your attempts were good, there were some I can’t believe she managed to save let alone believe they were from a sixteen-year-old,” you blushed “but some of them were too clumsy, a lot of those shots could’ve gone in if they had more power behind them, you hesitated to much, questioned whether you should pass or shoot, your decisions need to be instantaneous, but overall amazing work, great defending and great goal keeping, its England you are always going to concede to England especially to that team right there, their hungry and so are you but you know what the difference is, they believe they can’t get there but I’m not fully convinced you lot are. Great game though, very entertaining, thanks girls, and thanks to the real DB, I’m hoping I get picked for the shirt next game” he said to you, you nod at him, before heading down the tunnel.
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[Image description. Image reads “Tropetember Prompt List”, in the background, a picture of a mug placed on an open book in front of a blanket invokes a cozy feel. End id. Thanks to @supericelight for the image description!]
Enemies / Friends / Strangers To Lovers
Case Fic // Police / Detective / (Super)Hero // Crime / Mafia / (Super)Villain
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High School / College / University AU / 80’s Teen Movie AU
Historical (Regency, Ancient Greece/Rome, Prehistory, etc) / Modern / Futuristic AU
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Business Partners To Friends To Lovers / Competitor Businesses / Office AU
Huddling For Warmth / Sharing A Bed / Touch Starvation
Slice Of Life / Domestic / Found Family
Monstrous (Human/Monster Romance) / Cultural Differences / Language Barrier
Marriage Of Convenience / Arranged Marriage / Matchmaking / Blind Dates
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Accidental Baby Acquisition / (Single) Parent AU / Babysitting
Mutual Pining / Requited/Unrequited Love / Angst With A Happy Ending
Fake Dating / Didn’t Know They Were Dating / Accidental Dating / Accidental Marriage
Repression / Emotional Constipation / Sexuality Crisis (Gay Panic)
Holidays & Celebrations / Proposals / Prom / Songfic
Fusion / Crossover / Harlequin / Rom-Com (eg: Hogwarts, Pacific Rim, Daemons, Hunger Games, The Princess Bride, Pride & Prejudice, Love Actually, 10 Things I Hate About You, etc)
FREE SPACE
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#tropetember#payneland#renegade nell#dead boy detectives#timerogue#one piece#dungeon meshi#hazbin hotel#namivivi#dragon age#interview with the vampire#rhaenicent#polin#destiel#tarlos#madney#hannigram#bakudeku#erasermic#my hero academia
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The heat of imposition
John “Soap” Mactavish x f!reader x Simon “Ghost” Riley
Summary - Rugby AU. While watching a rugby match with Kyle you happen to catch the attention of not one, but two of the players. Neither of them like the fact that the other wants you too. [part 1/2]
Wc - 4.8k
An - I know fuck all about rugby so ignore any inaccuracies, we’re here for sex not rugby
It isn’t by chance that you find yourself at the pitch.
Your arm had been twisted- hands tied. You’d lie and say you had no choice, but the truth is that you simply have nothing better to do on a random rainy Saturday in October.
Kyle hadn’t given you much of an alternative when it came to making plans; his idea of fun might be sitting in the cold as he nurses a cheap beer and ogles a cluster of beefed-up middle aged men while they run around tackling each other- but you? It wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when he’d texted you and asked if you were free to hang out.
You know him well enough to know that he’s called you in to be his wingman; someone to keep the beers coming to feed his already brimful confidence, someone that will push him if the chance for him to chat someone up arises. It’s what usually happens when the two of you meet for a drink or for dinner, his eyes wander and his intuition carries him toward the closest thing to a decent lay.
You’ll wave him off with a smile and mouth at him to call you when it’s convenient- usually to update you on how incredible or lacklustre the sex he’d abandoned you for was. You’re not bitter about it, not really, you have to give it to him. At least one of you is getting something. You suppose it’s for lack of trying, what with work and a sheltered nightlife- you can’t exactly say you’re putting yourself out there.
Kyle has tried time after time, sliding folded pieces of paper with your number scrawled on it to punters as they sit at the bar waiting for their drinks or pulling you with him as he ventures to the dance floor- accidentally bumping you into strangers, drawing their eyes and their attention. You appreciate his efforts, but you’re not exactly looking, it’s all the same to you. You’d slept around abit at uni and enjoyed it to a point, chasing that high and filling the endless void of assignments and work placements- you need something more now.
Settling is a scary thought. You’re not sure that’s what you’re after, but you don’t want a meaningless one-night stand either. You haven’t found that happy-healthy medium yet, you can’t be sure it exists. At least not to the men in this town, everyone knows everyone- it’s hard to get away from that.
You grit your teeth hard, feeling the way the cold ebbs its way into your bones. Even the beer isn’t keeping you warm, and that usually does the trick.
“Is it nearly over yet?” Your teeth chatter around the words, Kyle tuts at you.
“You can’t be serious” he turns to look at you, noting that you are in fact very serious. He frowns slightly. “It’s not even halftime yet”.
The sound that’s choked out of your throat makes him quirk a brow. Yet, Kyle’s attention is drawn back to the pitch by the sound of a whistle, some kind of swap between players has stilted the gameplay.
You’re not that well versed in rugby. Have kept up with it here and there, mainly because of Kyle and your boss because it’s all they talk about at work. They put it on every telly in the pub when their favourite team is on and they start to become idle when it comes down to the last few minutes of gameplay- stood there like toddlers that are transfixed by dancing fruits on a screen.
It’s quite funny really, watching Kyle as he barely tries to make it look as though he’s still working- rubbing a dry cloth over an already cleaned down table.
“Oh shit” Kyle’s breath carries on the breeze, drifting across your face as he speaks. It’s just that cold.
“What’s happening?” You mimic Kyle in the way he leans forward in his seat, watching carefully at what’s unfolding on the pitch.
Kyle doesn’t answer, instead watching as the away team’s players crowd together, meanwhile the home team congregates closer to their benches- they’re swapping someone on.
You see a wide smile crack across his face from out the corner of your eye, it pulls you to look at him fully. Seeing his wide-expectant eyes and gaped mouth, you grimace, slightly put off by just how much he’s enjoying watching on- you think you’d rather watch paint dry.
“When do they start brawling, ay? This is boring” you smack your lips together and take a heavy swig of your beer. It warms your throat, barely. Kyle turns to look at you, smiling like an idiot.
“Funny you should say that” he raises his brows and jerks his head in the direction of the players they’re swapping- you follow his gaze, it doesn’t enlighten you in the slightest.
You open your mouth to question him but Kyle beats you to it, already preempting your confusion and overall lack of culture for his favourite sport and his favourite team.
“They’re putting their main prop on, Riley” Kyle’s eyes watch the player in question and so do you, observing his team mates as they pump their fists and clap him on the back- following on as he moves further onto the pitch.
“He fight often?” You ask, eyeing the dark ink that stretches across both of his arms and retreats under the sleeves of his jersey.
There’s skulls and bones and snakes and gnashing teeth that make up a portrait of something that might be a dog. It’s hard to tell from all the way up in the stands; you’re sat within hearing distance of their shouts as the players go over strategy- but your eyes can’t quite focus enough to read the letters that brand his knuckles and the blocks of black ink that cover the backs of his hands. Shame.
Kyle laughs, something deliberate and knowing. “Yeah, you could say that”. His smile is hiding something, you just know it. You raise a wry brow.
“That why he was benched?” The look on Kyle’s face alone tells you all that you need to know, he nods as you shake your head with an unamused sigh.
“He’s been benched the last few games, close to being banned altogether from what I hear” Kyle observes Riley as he speaks, they’re about to restart play with a scrum.
You continue watching the game, noting another player that’s almost as big as Riley is. The back of his jersey reads Mactavish. He has a sharp smile on him, even with his mouth guard, you can’t closely see the rest of his features all that well, apart from his grown out mohawk- you didn’t realise this was the 70s.
Mactavish is quick to be on Riley, jumping high and wrapping his arms around the bigger man’s neck, hanging off him like a scarf. Their mouth-guard-smiles are wide and Riley swats at Mactavish, manhandling him until he’s got him hoisted off the ground entirely- that’s when he pushes him away and kicks his legs out from underneath him. Sending him skidding across the grass.
It’s rough housing. Simple play fighting. Kyle tells you it’s common practice for these two in particular, spending half their time butting heads and charging at each other like rhinos. Much to the dismay of their coach by the sounds of it. A whistle blows and it’s shrill in your ears.
“Pack it in bellends! Head in the game!” There’s a gruff looking man shouting from the side lines, he’s tall and broad with a beanie that’s pulled tight over his head- there’s specks of salt and pepper hairs in his mutton chops.
The two men snap their necks toward the coach and do as their told, trying to kick each others legs out from one another as they run toward where the rest of their team is forming up to restart play.
It’s starting to get interesting, because they’re not half bad to look at, these two, not half bad at all. Mactavish especially, bar the haircut. Riley on the other hand, he’s got that unconventional attractiveness about him; with his wonky nose and ashen blonde hair, hooded eyes that contrast heavily- they’re as dark as his tattoos. Perhaps it’s the way he carries himself too- his wide shoulders and thick chest, strong and solid and unbothered by the way the other men move out of his way when he passes the opposite team.
You don’t realise you’re gawping until Kyle waves his hand in front of your face, making you blink. He laughs to himself.
“Like what you see?” He asks, amused, watching as your cheeks flare. You bristle.
“Fuck off” you hate being caught out, especially after giving Kyle gripe this whole time about how boring all of this is. You stand abruptly, “I’m off to get something to eat, you want something?” Kyle eyes you, a smirk creeping up his face.
“Something salty if you don’t mind” he wags his brows and you smother your palm into his face as you squeeze past his legs to retreat down the steps toward the food kiosks. You hear his laugh follow you as you reach the bottom of the steps.
You keep an eye on the game as you walk, flitting your eyes from the pitch to the ground so you don’t slip on the steps. As you steal another glance over toward the home team, you find a pair of bright blue eyes looking right back at you. So blue they practically glow, burning right through you. As blue as celestite, something shines in them when he looks at you- but you’re quick to look away and scurry down the steps. Cheeks heating once again, for reasons even you’re not sure of.
It’s without your knowledge that Mactavish’s eyes follow you the entire time as you retreat. His stare trained on you. Distracted completely. Riley is quick to bring him back to earth, watching Mactavish watch you, he grunts as he steps toward the Scotsman, yanking out his mouth guard with a wet shlack sound.
“You ‘aven’t got a chance, now move your arse” Riley smacks the back of Mactavish’s head when he doesn’t move, watching you right up until the point you disappear out of his view. The Scot smiles wildly around his mouth guard, then spits it into his hand.
“Wanna bet?” he turns to Riley and Riley has seen that look before, many times, and it’s never ended well. Yet, he raises a brow as he looks down at the Scot, matching that same look himself.
After paying extortionate prices for a portion of chips and a burger to split you forego another beer each and go for water instead. It’s blatant daylight robbery.
You make a point not to look out onto the pitch as you make your way back to Kyle, save yourself from embarrassment and ending up falling on your arse. Kyle moves his knees to allow you past and you slump down into the seat, offering up the food to him so you can take a swig of water.
“You okay? You look flush, was it a long walk?” He picks up a few chips at a time as he shoves them into his mouth, chewing quickly and blowing air through his mouth from how piping hot they still are. You throw him a look, an unimpressed look.
“I’m freezing my tits off Kyle and I’m hungry, allow it” it’s a whine that leaves your mouth and Kyle soothes you mockingly, offering you some chips- you take them gladly.
Halftime comes and goes. The food has sated you, if only a little bit, but it saves Kyle from any more of your complaining. You find it easier to follow now, a belly full of food and the rest of Kyle’s beer that he didn’t want to finish- it makes you more palpable, makes you sit a little less stiff in your horribly uncomfortable plastic seat. Kyle appreciates it.
Mactavish and Riley don’t escape your eyes, not for the remainder of the game. It’s easier to gawp at them from up here, if they glanced over they wouldn’t exactly know that your eyes are fixed on them specifically, all they’d see is a pair of eyes looking in their general direction- obviously just following the ball as it passes hands. Little do you know, that they are indeed glancing over, as fixed on you as you are them, they’re just better at being sly with it. Only moving their eyes and not their heads and necks, not making it obvious. Not until Mactavish ups the ante.
It’s as you’re distracted for a second, turning your attention to your phone- your boss, Nik, asking if you can come in tonight. You text back quickly, letting him know you’ll see him at six. Looks like Kyle isn’t getting away from me at all today. That’s when you feel Kyle’s elbow in your ribs.
“Ow” you make a point to overemphasise, nudging his arm away from you like his touch burns.
“Look” his hand pats down repeatedly on your thigh as his opposite hand points towards the pitch, your eyes follow the point of his finger and your face pales.
It’s Mactavish. Waving both arms to get your attention, and when he has it his face beams- it makes you sink down into your seat, beyond blushed and embarrassed. He continues to wave as he rejoins the play, you watch the teams come back his way and then he winks at you, moving to turn fully to flank a teammate.
“Lucky bitch” Kyle’s mouth hangs open in shock, looking from you to Mactavish as he darts across the pitch. You groan.
“You have him then” Kyle laughs but you don’t, as nice as the player is to look at, you’re not in the mood for games.
“He wasn’t waving at me, love” he wags his brows and grabs your arm, flailing it around as he giggles like an idiot, far more excited for this than you are. You sit stock still and ignore Kyle, hoping he’ll pack it in. He does- eventually.
Before long, the game finishes and it’s the home team who are victorious. They jump and shout and knock into one another, again pulling each other into embraces and slapping each other’s backs with closed fists. It’s all well and good, you stand and pull Kyle with you- you’ve had enough of Rugby for one day.
Kyle lets himself be pulled along, filtering out amongst the thinning crowd. You’ve both got a few hours before you’re due to go into work, a quick nap wouldn’t go amiss, you guess it depends how fast Kyle can drive.
You’re walking in step with Kyle, careful of the slippy stairs, you clutch the sleeve of his jacket for stability and then there’s a voice that rings out. Thick with a Scottish accent and with an abundance of audacity to go with it.
“Oi! She yer lass or wha’?” It’s Mactavish, and he’s looking directly at Kyle, jogging over toward the stands.
Kyle stiffens and you glance at his face, he looks startled. Or would it be star struck? These players are celebrities to Kyle, you imagine this isn’t how he would want his first interaction with them to go. You watch Mactavish as he vaults over the first set of barriers, coming closer to where Kyle is now frozen to the spot- you’re stuck alongside him.
The stands are completely separate to the pitch and are raised up off of the ground instead of starting right at the pitch side, so Mactavish can’t actually get that close to talk. He instead has to settle for standing about ten foot beneath where you and Kyle are stood, craning his neck to grin up at the two of you. From this improved distance you can see him a lot clearer. There’s a prominent scar that cuts through his right eyebrow and reaches down his cheek and there’s the slight growth of stubble coming through on his cheeks and chin. He’s more handsome close up, you’ll give him that, it goes with the brashness he exudes. He knows he’s pretty.
He’s out of breath as he stands there, hands on his hips and so sweat slicked that you can see the way it drips down from his chin to his chest. It’s his eyes, still, they’re hardly natural. So bright and pale and beautiful to look at, you could fall right into them.
“Well?” The Scot wants an answer, you’re sure he won’t move until he’s got one.
Kyle wets his lips to speak but you cut him off.
“I’m no one’s lass, mate” there’s certain ways to hit on women, and coming right up to them and asking whoever they happen to be with if they’re single or not isn’t the best way- not in your humble opinion at least.
“Good news f’me then” his smirk cracks across his face, impossibly wide, your face doesn’t change at all. Still not impressed.
“What makes you think that?” It’s a honest question for him, does he think that because he plays a sport (sometimes)professionally that you’ll let him get in your pants? Does he seriously think that?
The man dips his chin as he stands there, shaking his head, it messes up the sweat-soaked length of his mohawk, when he looks back up at you again it’s messier then it had been. His smile is just as wide as before, his eyes crinkle from the autumnal sun as it beams from behind you. He flattens a palm to his chest and taps against it.
“Names Johnny” you raise a brow at him but it doesn’t deter him, not even in the slightest.
You’re not giving him clear indicators that you’re completely uninterested, more so that you don’t appreciate how he’s gone about the whole thing. Again, you must admit, he’s very lovely to look at.
It’s quick when you walk away, a game of chase, he can suffer for his pig-headedness. Kyle stands there, a little more than dumbfounded, while he wants to follow you- he also wants to speak with Mactavish, he’s been a fan for a long time. When he turns to look at the Scot down below, he finds him still smiling up at him, there’s a look of mischief in his eyes.
Only a few feet behind him stands another, it’s Riley, and he’d heard every word of your conversation with Johnny. He guesses the game is set now they know for sure that you’re single, but let’s be honest, they would have both been game even if you weren’t.
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“Hold on a second, say that again?” Your jaw is locked tight, molars grinding, he can’t be serious.
Kyle scratches at the back of his head, sheepishly, there’s worry lines that are creasing his forehead as he looks between you and Nik. Good, he should be worried where you’re concerned. He fucked up.
“Look I said I’m sorry, alright? What was I supposed to say to him?” Kyle sits on a stool at the bar, opposite to where you and Nik stand side by side on the other side of it.
Nik throws you a glance and you shake your head at him, he’s just as unimpressed as you are, you both know that Kyle is smarter then this- at least, he is most of the time.
“How about not telling him where I work? Thats a start. May as well tell him where I live, Kyle” your tone drifts, while Kyle is your friend, he clearly hadn’t thought before he’d spoken. Thinking more about impressing his rugby idols than the safety of his best mate, these guys could be any breed of weirdo for all you know.
“I agree with her Kyle, you need to think before you say things like that” Nik folds his arms over his chest, thick brows furrowed as he stares at Kyle, who is scratching a single finger against the polished wood of the bar top.
You aren’t trying to gang up on him, he knows he shouldn’t have told Mactavish anything, but he still did- that wouldn’t change just because he suddenly felt bad. He’s got some grovelling to do, to say the least.
“Do you want to head home? I’m sure we can find a way to manage, doll” Nik’s eyes find yours, he’s always been a softie, always looking out for you like you’re the kid he never had. Your brows furrow.
“Absolutely not, I’m not about to be bullied out of work by a bunch of thick skulled ball chasers. Let ‘em try something Nik, they’ll soon find out” you leave the conversation at that, following the repeated wails of the glasswasher in the back as it lets you know it’s ready to be emptied.
—————————————————————————
For the most part, the night is typical. It’s a busy Saturday night in a louder part of town and there’s everyone from regulars to students to tourists. It’s an easier night for you thanks to Kyle, his want to get back in your good books means he’s doing all of the shit jobs. Cleaning the bogs and serving tables. Clearing the glasses away and scrubbing the sticky tables. All while you’re tucked behind the bar pulling pints and making drinks, it’s something you could get used to, Kyle should piss you off more often if this is the treatment you get.
You watch the clock out of habit and notice it’s almost half nine, only an hour and half before you close, not long before you can go home and wash the day away and sleep all of this off. You just have to get through another hour and a half unscathed, that’s it.
Mactavish dashes those plans.
Before you see them, you hear them. It looks like the whole team might be here, they pile in through the door and already look as if they’re half Irish. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, knowing you’re in full view of not just them but other customers too.
Mactavish squeezes through the bodies as they linger around the booths and seats, not all able to fit comfortably, Mactavish sings your name.
“Fancy seein’ you here, bonnie” he grins wide, no longer obstructed by the mouth guard.
Compared to earlier when he was covered in grass stains and sweat, you hate to admit that he scrubs up well. Dressed casually with a shirt that’s close to matching his eyes, he doesn’t seem like the type if you’re honest.
“Oh yes, what a coincidence” the sarcasm reaches, you watch it in his eyes, the way his jaw flexes. He smiles and shakes his head.
“Tough nut to crack, ain’t ya?” He’s unapologetic with the way his eyes wander, the music thumps loudly in your ears but you can still hear the heaviness the alcohol adds to his tongue.
“What makes you think I wanna be cracked?” You make a point to busy your hands, to do anything to distract you from his eyes, there’s lemons in front of you that need slicing- they’ll suffice.
He raises a brow at that. Sliding his elbows onto the bar, bringing his height down to yours, eye to eye, if you’d just look at him.
“Saw the way you were lookin’ at me bonnie” he drops his tone, practically husks the words, he’s teasing. You laugh.
“Bein’ pretty bold to say I’ve got a knife in my hand” you hammer the point in, bringing the knife down heavier then before against the chopping board only to raise it up to slide your finger across it to catch the juice. He watches you carefully.
“You know how to use it?” He asks, again teasing, seeing how much he can get away with. He wants to soften you up. It’ll take more than that.
“D’you wanna find out?” It’s an open question, depending on how he behaves he could very well lose a finger, you’d deal with any charges he might want to press tomorrow. He just grins at you stupidly.
“I wanna take you out” he leans forward, reaching an arm over the bar to swipe a lemon slice, you watch as he sucks it into his mouth. Never breaking his eyes from yours, he’s got you.
“I want a lot of things, doesn’t mean I can have ‘em” you haven’t clocked him yet, not completely, he seems pretty harmless. But don’t they all?
He hums, sliding the lemon out of his mouth between his fingers, considering you. “Could give ‘em to you” his eyes meet yours but you’re quick to look away, returning to the lemons.
You scoff. “If I agree to a date will you go away? I’m working” just because you agree to something doesn’t mean you’re obliged, you’ll think on it more clearly when you’re not at work- being stared at by those burning blue eyes.
“Pretty rubbish conditions if ye ask me” he slurps at the lemon obnoxiously, you see the flash of a tongue piercing.
“Well forget it then-“ he interjects.
“Chill yerself bonnie, I’m goin’” he holds his hands up in surrender as he stands back to his full height, the lemon slice is replaced back between his teeth- for a brief moment.
He moves to step away but he’s quick to turn on his heel, chewing the lemon down till it slots inside his cheek. “Be back for yer number to arrange that date” he wags a finger in your general direction as he speaks, quickly turning back toward the booth where his teammates are all squashed in together.
—————————————————————————
Half an hour. Just half an hour and you can start to close up. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel.
Mactavish had behaved since leaving you at the bar, hardly looking in your direction, which you appreciated. You didn’t need him and his stupid blue eyes knocking you off of your concentration, not when you’re handling this much glass. You steal a glance over at his table from time to time, hearing his roaring laugh and watching the way he interacts with his mates. They all look close. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, making them soft, sitting on each other’s thighs with arms slung around each others necks. You imagine it’s normal that they’re all so close, they must spend hours and hours and hours together just training let alone at matches.
It’s quietening down now as a whole, some tables still linger to chatter, like the rugby lot. Most have gone now, moving onto the better clubs, this is just a pit stop usually- somewhere to line their stomachs before they get so paralytic that they’re soon laid in the streets laughing their heads off or spewing their guts up.
It’s an opportune time to start clearing glasses, now that the bar is quiet if not ready to close. Gaz is in the cellar doing whatever it is that he does down there, you hate it down there. So you’ll take the better job of clearing glasses and shoving them in the washer, fully prepared to forget about them until you’re back tomorrow.
This is usually the case, balancing a dozen glasses on one tray because you’re too lazy to make two trips. You’re so close to the bar, almost within reaching distance, and then someone from the rugby table throws his hands up and throws you off balance.
You close your eyes as you feel yourself tumbling, you’ve had too many shards of glass blasted out of your eyes by Nik and his saline bottle of doom, so you squeeze them shut tightly. There’s suddenly a warm pressure that coils around your waist but you’re too distracted by the sound of the glasses smashing to think about it. You dare to crack your eyes open, gaze immediately falling to the ground and seeing the mess that you’ve made. For fucks sake. Your eyes skate from the broken glass on the floor to the hand at your waist, gripping you tight, flush with something solid.
From up close you can see now that the tattoos on his left knuckles read soul.
Riley’s breathing is heavy against your spine and you don’t move, you daren’t move, and it seems Riley is much the same. Not until you hear a whistle from across the rugby table.
“Looks real cosy, Simon” that accent, it’s Johnny.
#call of duty#simon ghost riley#lichwrites#john soap mactavish#simon riley#ghost x soap x reader#simon riley x john mactavish x reader#ghost x soap x you#simon riley x john mactavish x you#call of duty soap#soap mactavish#soap call of duty#soap cod#ghost cod#simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley x you#john soap mctavish x reader#simon ghost riley x female reader#john soap mactavish x female reader#soap x ghost x reader
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Jock Cock, Part 2
Check out Part 1 here.
"Excuse me, Professor Jones?" I wasn't expecting to be recognized out in public, but I did live in town, and it wasn't unheard of for a few of my more friendly students to engage in small talk if they happened to see me out grocery shopping or what have you. I'm usually too introverted to develop deep bonds with students, especially over a trivial intro course, but some people just want to be social.
"Please, just Mr. Jones. Or Kevin. I'm a teaching assistant, not a… Jared?" I certainly wasn't expecting a member of the basketball team greeting me out in public. "Do I… I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting to be recognized. I don't think you've ever been enrolled in one of my classes?"
He smiled at me, letting his bags drop to the ground. "Well, we've crossed paths before, I just didn't make much of an impression on you. I don't take it personally, I was a pretty non-descript guy." The thought of Jared ever blending into a crowd was… ridiculous, to say the least. My skepticism must have shown up on my face, because he started laughing at me. "The real me, not Jared. I'm the same guy who swapped with Adam last month."
I could feel the heat radiating from my cheeks as I recalled that night. He dumped three different loads in my ass once he was no longer my student. It was one of the most risky hookups I have ever had, but that made it all the more exciting. Especially since the man inside of Adam's body clearly had experience. Most guys with a fuck stick over seven inches were terrible in bed, but he was diligent about both foreplay and aftercare. Snuggling against a tight chest of rippling muscles, breathing deeply the manly aroma of his musky pits, gazing deeply into his eyes as his fingers ran through my hair… I didn't even realize I was daydreaming until I felt the strain of my cock against my boxer briefs.
"You wanna do it again?" he said, whispering softly. "Jared hired me to take care of Summer School exams for him. I've still got two more days inside of this body, and I'd love to see you again. That razor sharp mind of yours is just… the fucking sexiest thing about you, Kev. I want to be near you, I want to pull you in close and hold you tight." The stranger's hand slid down to his crotch and cupped his junk. "And I want to rail you with this jock cock until you scream."
I started to fidget with my suit jacket. "Jared... Adam... whoever it is that you are... look, it was risky enough when you were in the body of someone who graduated. Jared is... what, a junior? He's barely 21. And he's still a student"
"But he's not your student," countered the stranger. "I looked up the university policy. It only matters if there is a conflict of interest, like student and teacher. And age means nothing as long as the body is legal, which it is. Besides, you're... what, mid 30s? A bit older? That's nothing for hookup culture."
As always, the man had a point. Was he always this confident, or was that a side effect of wearing a jock's skin? "I mean, you're right, I just... I'm not a big fan of hookup culture. I know we had that night when you were Adam, but... I'd much rather go on a date and get to know you first. And I can't help but feel guilty that these athletes don't know you're having sex in their bodies, so that plus the hookup guilt is... it's a bit much for me. I really should say no. It's not personal."
Jared, the man inside of Jared, just smiled at me. "I don't know what sort of operation you think I'm running, but I make them all sign contracts that outline everything I'm allowed to do while I'm inside in their body, sex included. So if you don't want a hookup, I guess I'll just have to hang out a bit before we fuck. Why don't you come back to my place? We can hang out at the pool before we head upstairs."
"Pretty nice apartment complex, right? Jared's parents are loaded." He smiled at me as I glanced around the property. I knew the buildings in this part of town were incredibly expensive, but I didn't realize just how extravagant they were.
My eyes were drawn to the water droplets running down his muscular pecs. "Well, honestly, I assumed it was due to his status as a star athlete," I said, trying to keep my eyes focused on his face.
He shook his head. "Nah, they barely get paid anything, and the regulations around it are pretty bullshit. The scholarships cover the classes, but anything else is a crapshoot. Most of the athletes I hop into, I have them pay me by giving me extra time in their body. I don't think I could ever develop all this," he gestured at his chest for emphasis, "on my own. Being a jock is a lot of hard work and dedication, but borrowing it? Much easier. I love being able to borrow bodies like this, and doing their schoolwork is a breeze. It's a pretty sweet gig for someone like me."
"It sounds like you're being a bit hard on yourself, Mr...?"
The man in Jared's body shrugged. "Call me Mike, if you want. Or you can call me Fuck. That's what you'll be screaming later, when I'm balls deep in that ass of yours." It was one of the dumbest lines I'd heard, but the delivery was aided by the absolute stud who said it. "Come on, let's head upstairs. If you want a date, we can have coffee between rounds."
"You are going to be the death of me," I said, panting for breath. I could feel the sweat dripping down my thighs-- among other fluids, given that I'd already taken two loads from Mike's current body. I was falling for him, hard. "Okay, I have to be awkward. You clearly have a crush on me if you're trying to find me when you're in these hot bodies. But if you're not going to let me return the favor… where do you see this going?"
He just started laughing. "Why does it have to go anywhere? We're just two gay guys enjoying a series of casual hookups. It happens all the time."
I rolled off of the mattress and walked over to where I had tossed off most of my clothes. "Because I want it to go somewhere, Jar-- Mike. I don't want to have a series of casual hookups. I know a lot of guys are fine with that sort of culture, but… I'm not. I need more than this."
"Whoa, hey…" He came up behind me and pulled me close, and I could feel the warmth of his body. "Kevin. My guy. You don't even know what I look like. Are you in love with me, the idea of me, or the jock cock that I can provide to you?" He started grinding his growing erection against my bare ass for emphasis-- God, of course Jared's body was already prepared for round three. "I promise you, a relationship will never live up to your dreams. Don't ruin a good thing by trying to get even more. Just sit back and enjoy the dick, for as long as I can supply it."
I brushed his arm off my shoulder and stepped further away. "I can't… Mike, I'm not going to settle for 'good enough' in matters of love. And if that means ruining a good thing to chase what I want… what I need? That's what I'm going to do." I kept waiting for him to say something as I started getting dressed, but he just stared at me with his arms crossed.
He followed me out of the apartment, though he remained silent as he walked behind me. I guess he thought I would realize that his dick was too good to leave, and he had been right all along? I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. We were both too stubborn to admit defeat.
"I'll… see you around in some other college stud, I guess."
Check out Part 3 here.
#male body swap#gay body swap#after the swap#nerd to jock#muscle jock#male body magic#queer romance#gay male story#jock cock
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I saw the swap question but what if the swap was Y/N was the new rare harpy at the casino and Sun,Moon,and Eclipses were charged as their animatronic handlers.
(Note, this y/n is male, but unlike the original reverse au, this one has a more shy personality)
The Birds of Paradise casino had always had a hard time getting their harpies in line. Not that the creatures were very aggressive, but when they fought each other or had to be given medicine. Human handlers would constantly be at risk from the harpies. So the casino bought three high quality animatronics to help. That worked quite well! So well, the casino wanted to test if they could become actually handlers. And the harpy the animatronics were assigned to happened to be you, a newly imported rose gold peacock harpy.
You had been at the Birds of Paradise casino a day, and you had hidden yourself in the corner of your room the whole time. You were a shy thing, and didn't like big changes, which is what this place was. The smells, humans and other harpies were foreign to you. You have been moved around company to company for most of your life, but this place was different. It was larger, and therefore had more humans and harpies. Too many for your liking. You would need time to get used to this.
The door to your private room creaked open, and you shuffled farther back into your makeshift nest of purple pillows and blankets. It was a human with a clipboard, a doctor, presumably, and he seemed to be talking to someone behind him. Someone you couldn't see because the door wasn't open wide enough. You couldn't hear him very well as he was whispering, but the word "medicine" caught in your ear. Medicine? You hated taking medicine! It tasted awful most of the time, and you didn't like things being force fed to you.
One of the reasons you were always being sold off was because you always made a hassle about medicine. Well, that and you having a hard time adjusting to things. The doctor moved away from the door, and someone else took his place... or something else? It was tall, taller then you, and had a round face, half black and half magenta. Sharp rays around it's face made it look almost like a flower. It's body was mostly black, with a red neck and grey arms and legs. Bright yellow eyes scanned the room until they found you. You didn't like this.
It moved past the doorframe and into your room, two more of it's kind following suit. The second was a yellow one with a half orange face, golden rays, blue neck and grey-white eyes. The third was mostly white. It's two toned face of white and blue made it look like a cresent moon. It's red eyes were very eerie. It had yellow neck and no rays. Instead, it wore a long night cap sort of thing. The yellow and white one were a little shorter than the black one, around your height most likely. As the three entered your room, the doctor shut the door behind them. A click could be heard. Fuck. You were now locked in here with these... things.
The three were all looking at you. You backed away further. Without a word, the black one slowly paced forward, careful with each step. You noticed he had a small plastic jar in his hand. You quietly bared your teeth at the stranger, but it held up a finger and shushed you.
"Easy, sweetheart. We're your new handlers! I'm Eclipse. That's Sun."
It- no, he noded his head to the yellow creature.
"And that's Moon."
He gestured to the white one.
"We want to take good care of you, okay? And to do that we need to give you some medicine to make sure you stay healthy."
His voice was weird and metallic. Actually, his whole body looked like metal. Then it clicked. These creatures weren't creatures at all. They were machines. You've never seen machines like this before, and you weren't sure you like it. Meanwhile, he was still slowly creeping towards you. The other two were making their way over as well. It felt like ages, but all three finally reached your nest. Eclipse opened the lid of the small jar and shook a three pills onto his palm. Every feather on your body bristled.
"The quicker you eat these, the quicker we can go get you some food. Doesn't that sound good?"
He held them out to you, but you were already upset at the mere sight of the pills. With in angry hiss, you tried to slap his advancing hand away. But you were caught by the white robot, Moon. Grabbing you firmly, yet not hurting you. He dragged you out of your nest, whimpering and kicking. You tried to free your hand from his grip. When that failed, you calmed down a bit, only a bit, and looked away. Moon smiled mocking at you, before repositioning himself behind you, moving his hand to your wrist and using his other to prop your back. Sun came on your other side and grabbed your free arm. He, too, placed a hand on your back.
Eclipse walked behind you before placing one hand on your shoulder. He gently placed the other before your mouth, the pills still there.
"Open wide, sweetheart. I'm not going to pry you mouth open, but we won't let you go until you take them. It's for your own good."
You could tell he was serious, and the three of them where stronger then you. You couldn't wrestle your way out of this. Looking down you scrunched your face in disgust. You reluctantly licked them out of Eclipse's palm. To your surprise, they didn't taste bad. They tasted like strawberries. You were tempted to chew them, but it seems like Eclipse guessed that. He put his hand under your chin and massaged your throat, and used his thumb to rub your cheek. This coaxed you to swallow, and the pills were soon gone.
The three robots let you go. As soon as they did, you immediately rushed back into your nest, going so fast you almost bonked your head into the wall. Only when you where out from between the three of them did you notice how much the feathers on your cheeks were puffing up. It wasn't because of aggression, though. You were thoroughly flustered. You tried to calm you beating heart, trying to think of anything besides the way they hand held you and how it made you feel. But the more you tried to ignore it, the more the recently made memory kept playing back in your head.
You turned your back to the watching animatronics and covered your face with a pillow. Before leaving, Eclipse spoke.
"You did well, sweetheart. Now, what would you like to eat?"
You peeked back a little before pathetically squeaking.
"Just some strawberries, please."
"Of course."
With that the three left you alone in your room.
...
A few days later, you've gotten a whole lot more comfortable. Comfortable enough to start performing. So you did. It wasn't easy at first, but the stage fright was soon gone. But something that had never left you was that feeling you had for those animatronics. And they didn't make it any easier for you to forget. They had taken quite the liking to you. They teased and flirted with you on a daily basis. They were good handlers, but man, they knew how to get you good. You were shy around them and almost never participated in direct flirting, sure, but any time you noticed them watching your performances, you found yourself trying to show off. Dancing more gracefully and purposely giving them teasing glances. Flustering them. Challenging them.
They couldn't get enough of it and neither could you.
#dca au#wine and feathers au#reversed au#digital art#peacock y/n#fnaf moon#fnaf sun#fnaf eclipse#answered#missterious drabble
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About the soul-swap partners:
I love that neither of them decided to stick to their given roles. In either universe, really.
You’ll get what I mean.
Cale, who was Kim Rok Soo, does not keep up the image of trash. He calls himself trash, he is called trash. He does not keep his reputation. Not the alcoholism, and he doesn’t throw bottles at gangsters. No, he takes care of the underworld and other nobles in his own way (ie, recruitment or utter destruction). He does not have his old reputation in this world either. He’s not known as this cold leader who doesn’t care when someone dies, he’s known as a brilliant young man who cares way too much. He’s known as an idiot who would rather pass out from exhaustion a week later than leave things to fester for one minute.
And then there’s Kim Rok Soo, who was Cale Henituse once upon an apocalypse. (First the fuq of all, nobody knew jac squat about him in the first place, and being the son of his mother probably made him something of an automatic anomaly. I assume just being a Thames makes you kinda weird. But anyway!) He lived as trash, an alcoholic who threw too many bottles back and then at the wall. Then he lived through 20 years of a losing war. And he got tired. Tired enough to listen to a voice in his head in his last moments, to switch worlds and bodies with some stranger. And he chose the motto that reflects the sentiments of his soul swap partner to a T: let’s live peacefullly.
And he smiles now, as Kim Rok Soo. He sits back in his office chair, with an easygoing attitude. He’s not the trash that would only shout; he is sly, and he knows how to use his status to properly put punks in their place. He’s the team leader who refuses to be mistreated by anyone. He will not be used, he would rather do his work as he needs to. He isn’t a lowlife with no responsibilities in the wake of a war he would be just about useless in; he has a niece he has to go home to. He drinks casually, not too much. And he smiles in a way that’s too bright for the cold Kim Rok Soo. He’s too happy now to be called cold-blooded. It’s like there’s a fire in his eyes that had been lost ages ago. Something that was rekindled when he had someone to go home to.
Despite changing their own lives so much, they wound up being nearly the same as one another and that drives me a little insane.
And let's not forget the best part. One famous line they have in common in every world:
“Should I flip everything over?”
Another thing: I think Cale's gonna start resembling Kim Rok Soo. As in, he'll start relaxing a bit as the work goes on, he'll learn to rest as he goes (as in actually rest) and delegate work properly. He won't brush past comments like he used to, he will look a person in the eye and go 'I can just leave this world and leave you to your fate' which I would love to see, honestly. I feel like their individual capacity to be petty increases with age, and that's probably one of my favorite things about these characters. So them finding new ways to piss off people who don't like them could just be made into its own series and I would sell my soul for it.
#lout of the count’s family#trash of the count's family#tcf cale#cale henituse#og cale henituse#kim rok soo#headcannon#character analysis#how i feel about these two anyway#they're so silly#and stupid#and smart#look at these grandpas (neither are even 50 yet)#love characterizing cale as a grandpa when he's actually a father and is barely in his twenties physically#thats so funny to me#the relatable idea of 'im too old for this' and you're like 22#did this make sense
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Call Me Up Again - pt. 2 Mike Schmidt x Reader
Part two of All Too Well Angst!!! So much angst everyone I've decided to turn this into a miniseries, this post being the second part. I'll continue to link chapters as I post them This is also being updated on ao3 (cough cough) No warnings this time 1.9k words
Snowflakes fall silently, coating everything around them in a white dust. The wind blows with a crisp chill, nipping at all the rose-pink noses. It sends shivers down the backs of those who dare be out in this weather. The pumpkins and fake graveyard decor that had once littered every home’s front yard has long since been swapped for tinsel garlands and pine wreaths.
The Schmidt residence beams with colored string lights and holiday music. A tall, sturdy evergreen sits patiently by the window. Its branches are decorated with years worth of homemade ornaments, ranging in all size and age from both Mike and Abby. The red skirt beneath it falls relatively empty of presents, only donning the few small ones Mike could afford to buy this year. They’re wrapped pathetically in an old birthday paper, the only wrapping Mike could find to reuse.
Usually, the tree is so full that he’s had to store things in his closet, but that was when you were still a part of their Christmas. Stockings hung happily above the fireplace and a love so innocent it wraps the house in a warm glow. However, it’s void of that feeling now, instead Mike is left to pick up the pieces that you once fit together. Abby doesn’t understand why you don’t come over anymore, or why Mike has been so quiet lately. All she knows is that something went wrong, and now everyone is upset. She’s stopped bringing up your name in conversation when talking to Mike, because it always ends with him withdrawn and retreating to the solidarity of his room.
That didn’t stop her from drawing you, though. Sometimes she’d sit at her desk, tears collecting in the well of her eyes, and doodle old memories of the three of you. She remembers them being happy, but by the time the crayons were set aside and the picture was finished, it was a glum mess of dark blues and frowning faces.
After a drawing is finished she’d slip past Mike’s room, quietly tiptoeing out the front door, and make a break for the house across the street. Your house. She’d work fast, her feet carrying her quickly to and fro. It was unclear from her perspective whether you paid attention to what she’d give you, but by the time she slipped a new piece of paper underneath your door, the old one she had gifted you was gone.
Mike was unaware of it all.
He had found a new job in town where he could bury all his thoughts. It was working construction for a local contractor, a job that certainly wasn’t ideal but it paid better than what he’d been used to. Unfortunately, it required longer hours and ate up all his free time, meaning Abby needed a new babysitter. A job that was once happily filled by your company, now replaced with an afterschool program suggested to him from a flyer he found at work. He hated the thought of her sitting in essentially another classroom, surrounded by strangers and snotty kids, but it was his only option left.
With a third of his paycheck dedicated to it, Abby now spends her weekdays at the nearby YMCA.
The first time he told her about the new program didn’t go over very well. He remembers it clearly.
“Abby please,” his irritated voice interrupts her incessant protesting, “listen, it’s the only place that can watch you.”
“No it’s not!” She yelled at him, her finger pointing to your house across the street, “I want her back!”
A pang of guilt struck his chest at her words. The lack of your presence has clearly been taking a toll on the both of them, but it’s the first time Abby’s ever been so vocal about it. He crossed his arms with a sigh, watching his little sister stare up at him with solemn eyes. Her lip quivering ever so slightly, evident that she’s holding back tears.
He crouches down to her level, just like he had done to you so many nights ago, “I’m sorry,” he pleaded with her, “but she’s not coming back right now.”
Her head shook with disbelief, stubbornly stuck in her spot, “Then make her come back.”
–
You’re not sure when the Mike shaped hole in your heart stopped aching, but it’s significantly less sore compared to a fresh wound. That’s not to say the constant reminder of him and Abby living across the street from you doesn’t sting. It’s hard enough to ignore all his calls, but trying to get to your car while avoiding his gaze is even worse. Eventually, he gave up on contacting you by the third month of radio silence. It hurt both of you, but you knew deep down neither of you could continue functioning like how you were.
The back and forth pull of his affection took too big of a toll on your mental well being. You can remember every moment down to the exact detail of how much you craved for him to just do something, anything.
All those times you held him in your soft embrace whispering sweet nothings in his ear, reassuring him everything will be okay, just for him to turn around the next day and never bring it up again. Or when you’d run your warm fingers through his hair to calm him down after a panic attack, and he’d let his head rest in your lap. Words of affection dripping off his lips like a rich honey, warming you up from the inside out. Then he’d disappear for a while, claiming he needed some space to figure stuff out, all the while you’d beg and plead for him to tell you what’s on his mind, only for him to give you nothing back.You stood by him regardless though, keeping a silent promise that you’d always be there for him when he needed it, a love that was never reciprocated back.
A long sigh escapes from you, eying the new delivery that just appeared by your door. You shuffle towards it weakly, unsure if you really wanted to torture yourself by looking at it. It’s one of those things that curiosity will drive you to do, unable to ignore it like a pedestrian passing by a car crash. The paper crinkles under your touch, unfolding it reveals the familiar childlike style of Abby’s drawings. A man drawn in green crayon frowns up at you, holding hands with an equally sad looking child. Your gaze drifts over to the other side of the paper, highlighting a person relatively similar to you standing alone with their arms crossed, angry. Your heart hurts at the sight of it, knowing that Abby is implying that you’re angry at the two of them. You shake your head quickly, trying to evade any tears that threaten to spill. It’s not fair for Abby to be caught in the middle of whatever is going on between you and Mike, and you realize that.
The sound of your phone ringing breaks your train of thought, and when you check the caller ID your breath hitches. Standing in the middle of your living room frozen with indecisiveness, you stare at the screen while chewing on the bottom of your lip. Without thinking, you accept the call.
“Hello?”
There’s a sound on the other end of the line, somewhere in between a choke and a gasp, and then your name is mumbled out in disbelief.
“I didn’t think you’d actually pick up…” Mike’s voice is still a little startled, mimicking the internal panic in your chest.
You suck in a deep, steady breath before answering, “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.” There’s a slight pause from both of you, unsure how to continue the conversation. It’s felt like years since you last heard his voice.
“Are you…doing okay?”
“...Yeah.” Your answer is unconvincing, but Mike doesn’t have any ground to be able to question it. So it’s left like that, timidly dangling in the air between you both.
You hear shuffling in the background, and a smaller voice asking a question before he dismisses it. Your heart lurches thinking about how Abby is there, trying to figure out who her older brother might be on the phone with. It almost makes your cool demeanor crack, urging you back into your savior complex.
“Uh, sorry about that,” your phone crackles back to life, “anyways, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh okay.”
“Can you,” he stops, leaving you on edge, “meet me somewhere?”
The lack of response from you causes him to start rambling, going on about how it would be better to talk in person, and how it would be easier if you could see each other’s expressions. Soon afterwards, a string of apologies ensue, and you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.
“Okay Mike. Promise me this will be worth it.”
“I promise.”
–
A young waitress stares nervously at your booth. Orders continually piling up, hungry customers giving her rude looks whenever she ignores their impatient huffs. It’s been a good thirty minutes since you first showed, and she’s checked up on you at least a handful of times by now. Mike had suggested this little diner down the street from your house, and you agreed to meet here.
However, it seems like you’re the only one who showed up.
Your back is pressed against the uncomfortable foam board of your seat, a leg bobbing rapidly out of habit. You pick at the pills on your sweatshirt sleeve, trying to avert your gaze from the sympathetic waitress. Prior to your predicament, she had asked if you were dining alone, and you told her no. However, It’s starting to look like you just might be. With anger bubbling inside of you, a voice in the back of your head is saying you should have seen this coming. It’s so typical of Mike to make promises that he’s unwilling to keep.
The air smells like grease, mostly from the old fryers sitting in the back of the kitchen. Oil bubbling and brooding in their tanks, waiting for someone to drop a morsel of food so it could shrivel in the scalding lard. Stomach stirring with disgust, a wave of nausea washes over you. It’s unclear exactly what’s causing it, you’d like to give credit to the sleazy restaurant, but something deep down points to the lack of a certain person’s company.
You keep your attention trained on the dwindling heat of your coffee. Both corners of your mouth scrunch downwards at the smooth ceramic now held in your cold hands. When did watching a cup of coffee become so interesting?
“Would you like some more?” The sweet but timid waitress asks you, now back at her spot beside your table.
A joyless smile flashes across your face, a futile attempt at masking your dejection. Pushing the cup forward, silently accepting a fresh refill from her kettle.
“He’s not worth it.” She adds, tipping off your mug. Her eyes refuse to meet yours as she does so, and you are thankful for that fact.
“No,” you respond back, “he never is, I guess.” Your voice is shaky, as are the hands that are folded in your lap.
Mike is not worth the years of being hurt and pushed away. Not worth the tears that fall after coming home from a night spent at his house, inconsolably sobbing because you know no matter what you do it leads back to the same thing. To give up all your time, love, and patience just to receive nothing in exchange.
It’s not worth the unrequited love.
“Can I have the check please?” You ask quietly, still avoiding the gaze of the girl next you.
Her head shakes with pity, fingers wrapping around the arm of the kettle, “it’s on the house.”
TAGLIST - @wriothesleysbimbo @psbc @victimsofadownn @that1lxnlybxch @callsignwidow
#mike schmidt#mike schmidt angst#josh hutcherson#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmidt x y/n#taylor swift#all too well#angst#fnaf
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major hornets nest moment here but i must speak my truth. its so fascinating to me how will byers was clearly written with the driving motivation and intention of making him a beloved fan favorite character and instead he falls so flat that, if you asked the average casual viewer of the show who doesn't engage in the fandom like, say, your coworker, the odds of him even being in their top five of favorite characters is pretty low.
will's disappearance kicks off the plot, singlehandedly. the first episode is literally called the vanishing of will byers. his name is shouted so much in the first season that most people would recognize the reference if you used the right cadence and desperation that winona ryder does. after not being featured much in season one, you'd think season two would've just like launched will/noah schnapp into stardom with how much more screentime he's given and how dramatic his plot is that season. but instead the fan favorites of season 2 were by and large el, hopper, dustin, steve, max, even bob who's barely there. that's not to say that there AREN'T will fans out there (and online i understand there are like entire armies dedicated to him/byler, but i'm talking about the average opinion of viewers as a whole, not just in fandom spaces) but think about all the stranger things merch you see in stores, the halloween costumes, the characters that appear in promotional materials when the show has partnerships with brands....will is so rarely featured. idk if any of yall ever got the chance to visit the stranger things pop up shop in any of its various locations, but there was such little mention of will in the stores theming or merchandise that it was almost funny. actually it WAS funny, to me, someone who does not care for him
i think the flop can be attributed to many things. one, noah schnapp is just not a very good actor and he doesn't have the same appeal in his performances that millie, sadie, caleb, gaten, priah, or finn do (although finn i've noticed is also kinda falling out of favor from majority audiences). one could argue that noah schnapp intentionally isn't given much to do, which is true and i'll circle back to that, but the decline in his acting between seasons 2 and 3 is truly a sight to behold. when he's not like tied up and screaming, he reallllllly struggles on the smaller scale performances compared to the other cast members his age. he doesn't really have the charm that gaten does or the humor that priah does or the depth that caleb does. (i don’t feel bad about saying this, btw, given noah schnapp’s behavior)
back to the vanishing of will byer's screen time. my beloved prettymuchit's eric striffler commented on how diminished will and mike's roles in the story have become in s4. "noah schnapp is below the grips on the call sheet" is my fav line, but he also makes an observation on finn's role that i think is soooo accurate. when mike and will are kneeling down next to the pizza dough freezer and watching el just kinda twitch while she fights vecna in her mind, eric and his co-host miles say "this is so embarrassing! finn's like, 'oh so gaten's fighting the monster? and i'm kneeling next to a tub at a pizza place? i used to be this show" and i think the same exact sentiment can be superimposed onto will
but i think this happened naturally, as the nature of the show is to shift its focus from character to character. not to mention the duffer brothers' obsession with tweaking their story to give audiences what they want. i've always held the belief that there isn't one main character of stranger things, rather a rotating circle of characters depending on the season you're watching. season one is mike, season two is hopper, season three is el, season four is max imo. again that's a little subjective and arguments could be made to swap those a little, but overall i think those characters stories and point of views take center stage during each of their respective seasons. by season 3, the duffers wanted to kick things up to a larger scale. the UD is no longer targeting just will, it's targeting the entire town. this works because a THIRD season in a row where this one kid specifically gets possessed would just be bonkers, so they kinda had to let him take a backseat. i'm not sure why they didn't let will be more involved in the mystery-solving portion of season 3....to this day that decision baffles me, but what's done is done and the will that everyone watched in season 3 literally just kinda follows everyone around and gets a small little slice of a plotline about wanting things to go back to normal, but alas
it like totally worked, though. though there are MANY complaints commonly made about season 3, i've never heard anyone offline complain that there wasn't enough will byers. i think the group in s3 that had the most success like, commercially, would be scoops troop and then a bit farther back i think most audiences enjoyed hopper/joyce/murray's dynamic. i think if there had been a huge outcry in the minimizing of will's role, the duffers would've backpedaled immediately. they aim to please. they can't even commit to killing of a main character out of fear that audiences will lose interest if we permanently lose hopper or max, so they just do some creative writing that allows them to milk the emotional consequence of those characters deaths without actually writing them off. if audiences on a large scale demanded that will be center stage, he would be. but they dont!
final point: i think will gets fucked over by the duffers obsession with romance. in season one, two of will's strongest dynamics are with his mom and brother. which like, yeah. theyre his immediately family and he is 12. but in seasons 2 and 3, jonathan spent all his screen time with nancy and from 2-4, joyce has spent all her screen time either with hopper or in the pursuit of finding hopper. these characters are written together as a package deal, typically. it was refreshing and unexpected to see jonathan get a whole season with a friend of his very own and his siblings, but they barely took advantage of that. jonathan and will get ummmm one (1) scene to talk about their emotions in a fucking 20 hour season. it's hard for will to be a main character when he rarely gets to interact with the people that make up the other half of his main dynamics.
as for byler, im of the belief that it will not be endgame because i just don't think they're going to break up mike and el at this point. i could be completely wrong and stand corrected, but im like 90% sure lol. i do think that will's s4 storyline resonated with a lot of people. even eric striffler! i think the issue is that the vastttt majority of people who watch this show above the age of like 15 do not feel invested about the romantic relationships between any of the kids. because why would they!!! theyre literally in middle school for 3/4 of the show. you would be hard pressed to find a vocal will stan online who doesn't also dedicate 90% of their engagement with the show to byler. which makes sense, because most if not all of will's scenes revolve around mike to some degree. but according to neilsen, the majority of stranger things audience is consistently in the 18-49 age range season by season. its more likely for adult audiences to identify with adults (or characters who are narratively treated like adults, like steve and nancy) than with any of the kids. esp when the kid in question, despite being written as the focal point of the show, has less relevant plotlines, less interaction with other characters, and an actor who just doesn't deliver on charm the way his fellow younger costars do
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