#maybe like. rearrange the scenes and put one in the cafe in the middle?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ellewords · 3 years

Note

his smile is colder than you remember. or maybe it’s his eyes. his once vibrantly warm brown eyes now look a little dead.

“tooru, hi!” you chirp nervously, looking around the large cafe like there might be more people to recognize while you grip the hot cup of tea in your hands tightly despite the way it was beginning to burn your palms through the sturdy paper. “when... when did you get back from argentina?”

he doesn’t respond at first, gaze penetrating your face, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to take in your aged features or make you uncomfortable. you figure it’s the latter when you start to squirm and only then does he look satisfied enough to speak.

“i’m just visiting for a few weeks. needed a break. how have you been?” he asks kindly, but something in his tone is just a little bit off. strained even.

“i’ve been... i’ve been good, actually,” you mutter, huffing a tiny laugh as you realize that it feels true for once. “just got my dream job, so things are probably going to get hectic pretty soon, but i’m excited, you know? it’s what i’ve been working for for years.”

oikawa looks like he wants to smile—a real, genuine smile where the corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly and his cheeks flush a pretty pink from how wide it is and his face eases up just a tiny bit—but he hesitates, biting his lip instead.

“that’s amazing, (y/n),” he says, and try as he might, he can’t hide the affection coating his words. “i’m so proud of you. we, we should celebrate. i know you must’ve worked hard for it, so let me treat you.”

your cheeks warm at the offer, nodding happily. maybe things aren’t as tense as you thought.

“that would be great! how long are you here for? we should make sure it isn’t too close to your leaving day so you don’t stress—“

“babe!” a voice calls suddenly, and you perk up immediately at its familiarity.

you turn in search of the person, and you can’t help the grin you shoot them. you wave frantically before holding up a finger to indicate that you would be just a few minutes more. they nod in understanding, and you watch as they point in the direction of a corner where you can see your things and theirs lying on top of a booth. making sure you see, they wait until you nod in confirmation, smiling one more time, before they head in the direction of the table.

your smile shrinks slightly as they walk away, but the fondness doesn’t. shaking your head as if to rearrange your thoughts, you turn back to oikawa.

his eyes are dead again, but they aren’t looking at you anymore. instead, they follow your partner as they move through the crowd of people in the cafe. then he scoffs softly, and he returns your gaze.

“so you really did it, huh?” there’s a bite in the way he says it, and you gasp softly at his change in demeanor.

it reminds you of the bitter, insecure boy you met in middle school. the boy you saw wandering the halls with a fake air around him, one of confidence and power. the boy who looked like he would crack if you stared at him too long, if you bothered to try to get to know him more than he allowed. the boy he was around you before you fell in love.

“did what?” you ask cautiously.

he scoffs again, and now his lips are pulled back in that domineering, sugary sweet grin he developed in high school. you hate that grin.

“you moved on.”

and it hits you like an icicle to the heart, the coldness of his voice.

“yeah. isn’t that,” you trail off before starting again. “you told me to, tooru, so i did. what’s wrong with that?”

you want to throw your tea when he scoffs once again, like you’re stupid for not understanding why he’s acting so weird.

“there’s nothing wrong with that,” he says. “it’s just funny, is all. weren’t you the one who said you would never let go?”

the cup in your hand caves slightly as your grip squeezes tighter around it. the liquid inside splashes over the edge just a little, and you hiss when it lands on your thumb.

“that... that was a long time ago. before you left,” you say, and you hate that it sounds like you’re trying to justify some wrongdoing because you haven’t done anything wrong.

“i know. i just figured you’d actually stick to it. i, i just, i guess i should have known you wouldn’t stick around.”

the cup crushes in your hand, but this time, you don’t feel the sting of the tea meeting your skin. your mind races too much.

he’s doing that thing he used to do in high school, you realize, when he was hurt but didn’t want to confront it. the thing where he would say things, things he didn’t mean, so that he could hurt you in the same way he was hurting. the thing he didn’t always realize he was doing. he just desperately wanted to be the one with the upper hand, and as much as he cared about people, he cared about protecting himself more.

you’d fallen victim to that thing a number of times back then when you knew that he needed the support to get through it. he just needed someone to care enough to help him. you could understand him then. but now...

now you didn’t understand him at all.

“no,” you spit out, and he jumps at the way the cup crumbles in your hands, and he jumps again when he hears the frustration in your voice.

“no, you don’t get to be mad at me when you’re the one who decided to leave. i was willing to come with you and support you and stay by your side, but it was you that told me not to. and still! still, i said i would wait for you, until you were ready to have me again, but there were no calls, no messages, no letters, no nothing!

“and i saw you, on your socials! you looked happy. happier than you ever did here. you looked so happy, and you looked like, like, you looked like you had moved on. from japan, from the past, from... from me... so yeah, i figured it was time i did the same, because if you were happy, than i was happy. that’s all i ever wanted for you, tooru, and you were, so it seemed fitting that i let go.

“but i refuse to be made to feel bad when this is what you said you wanted from me! i spent months wondering if i made the right choice when i let you get on that plane all alone, if there was more that i could have done to make you realize how much i cared, and supported you, and loved you! and i’ve finally realized that i did enough! that we just weren’t meant to be. i moved on because you did. because i was ready to.

“so no, tooru, you don’t get to be upset about how everything played out. you don’t get to be upset with me.”

your chest is heaving by the time you’re finished. it almost hurts to breathe, but you don’t have time to think about that because the noise of the cafe surges back into your ears. you look around, suddenly embarrassed about your outburst, but you’re relieved to see that no one is focused on your words. they’re all frantic about your hands and the tea that spilled to the floor, steam still floating up from the puddle that formed at your feet.

except oikawa. his cheeks are that pretty pink you used to love, and his mouth is opening and closing like a fish. he’s staring at you with those same dead eyes, but for a second, you think you see something flicker in them. he opens his mouth, this time looking like he’s going to say something, but before he has the chance, another distressed voice cuts in.

“oh my gosh, love, your hands!” your partner yelps, suddenly by your side, fumbling clumsily as they throw your things over their shoulder so they can tend to you. “oh gosh, um, excuse me, can you grab some of those napkins for us, please?”

they’re talking to oikawa, who seems to blink out of his daze just then before grabbing a handful of napkins to give them.

your partner taps the napkins across your hands desperately, and they’re holding you so gently and with so much care that you finally feel the burn of the fallen tea. thankfully, the burn isn’t anything too serious, but the skin throbs visibly and aches slightly. your eyes water. they notice.

“hey, no, it’s alright, okay? look at me, love. i’ll get you another one, okay, but first i need to make sure you’re okay,” they mutter to you, eyes darting across your face with worry.

you sniffle, shaking your head instantly, and then you lean heavily into their side. you’re tired and your eyes hurt and your chest feels so tight, and you just want to go home. it’s almost as if they can read your mind because before you can utter the words, they’re mumbling into your hair that they’ll make you some at home instead. they start to guide you to the exit; with every step away from the scene you had made, you feel lighter.

you had loved tooru, all those years ago, and you had wanted him to come back for so long. you’d hoped that one day he would wake up and realize how much you yearned to be with him, or that he should call you just to see how you were. you’d hoped that he would realize he still felt the same way you did. but you could only put up with so much, after being left in the dark for so long, after dreaming for so long, after being disappointed for so long. you realized that now.

you were happy now, even if it wasn’t by his side.

oikawa can see it, the happiness that follows the two of you out the door. he longs for it, but he doesn’t move in pursuit of it. instead, when the two of you are finally out of sight, oikawa allows another scoff to fall past his lips, but this time, tears fall from his eyes as well.

-💛

— from elle ! this was pure pain but in the best possible way ?? like wow 💛anon you are absolutely amazing and talented please this made my heart actually ache oh gosh ;-; you are so so good i don’t think words are enough to describe you aaaaa !! anyways for my addition (under the cut as always), i decided to do a lil flashback before oikawa decided to come back. i was v intrigued by oikawa leaving reader in the dark so this scenario stemmed from that. idk if this will help, but i listened to taylor swift’s i almost do on repeat while writing

notes / warnings : timeskip!oikawa x gn!reader, scenario, angst, wc: ~1k (perhaps my longest margins entry ??)

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Twenty-seven.

You’ve reached out to him twenty-seven times today. This included calls, text messages, and voice memos.

They were always sweet; always checking up on him, asking how he is, if he’s getting along with his new team, if practice was tiring, if he was taking care of himself. You always thought of him first, put him above yourself. Oikawa knows it shouldn’t be that way, but the small, selfish part of himself couldn’t help but love it. Him being oceans away didn’t seem to change that.

The front door shuts just as his phone lights up, your name appearing on the lock screen. The heart by your name taunts him, reminding him of what once was. Oikawa’s eyes scan over your text message, tears pricking at the corners. He’s unsure if it’s from the brightness of the screen contrasting with the darkness of his apartment, or your words. Possibly both.

[ y/n <3 : it’s getting late over there, i hope you’re getting some rest. take care… ]

Oikawa bites his lip, closing out the notification as soon as he finished reading, immediately regretting it. His lock screen is still a picture of the two of you, mocking him. But if he shut his eyes tight enough, he could almost imagine it.

The pale blue sky, the sun shining down on the two of you, the cool breeze blowing through his hair, the smile that spread across your face, the faint pink flush on his features, his arm around your shoulders, the way you leaned into his touch. Your presence is warmth, your eyes brought him comfort, your hand resting on his cheek gave him peace.

His phone pings again, snapping Oikawa out of his trance. Another message.

[ y/n <3 : i love you. ]

Twenty-nine.

Twenty-nine calls, texts, and voice messages. You’ve reached out to him twenty-nine times today. Yesterday you reached out to him thirty-five times. Last week it was at fifty.

But Oikawa Tooru didn’t answer a single one.

A sigh leaves him, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He doesn’t bother turning the lights on, the quiet sounds of his shoes hitting the wooden floor fill the room. Oikawa’s steps are slow, like each one physically pained him to take. Nighttime was always the hardest to bear, the most difficult to resist. It’s when the temptation to call you is at its peak.

Oikawa stands in front of his living room window, hands in his pockets. The view of the city never failed to take his breath away; bright lights from the buildings that towered over the hundreds of people on the street, their nights only beginning as they hopped from one bar to another. Practice was too much today, his body beaten and bruised from the long hours of setting, receiving, blocking, and serving. There’s a strain in his muscles that he can’t shake off, and if it weren’t for that he would have been part of the city nightlife too.

Nights are the hardest. He doesn’t have volleyball or his teammates to keep him occupied. He’s not dancing his heart out with strangers who vaguely recognize him, music blaring in his ears, taking pictures to post on social media the very next day. Night are the hardest because his mind always leads him to you.

Midnight for him meant that it was midday for you. Have you eaten yet? How is work treating you? Are you getting along with your coworkers? …did you think of him like he always thought of you? Questions that he could have the answers to within a few seconds; all he had to do was reach for his phone, look for your name — the only one with a heart next to it, and press the call button.

Instead, Oikawa reads through your texts. The ones where you ask him how he’s doing, the ones where you quickly summarize your day, the ones where you tell him you love him. His heart flutters before it aches, the grip on his phone tightening.

His heart has always belonged to you, Oikawa knew it from the very day you met. He knew it when he confessed. He knew it when he asked you to be his. He knew it as you went on dates, as you celebrated anniversaries. He knew it through every fight, in every kiss. He knew it when he got on the plane that took him miles away from you.

Oikawa also knew you deserved better than him. He knew you deserved someone present; someone who could be there with you, physically. Clearly, he can’t be the one to do that anymore. This is for you. At the end of it all, what he’s doing is for you. Maybe it would make everything easier. You’d think he’d move on. You’d hate him. It’s for the best, right?

He hopes he’s wrong, but Oikawa persists anyways.

Out of sight, out of mind. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

It was much more difficult than Oikawa thought it would be; after all, you’re probably just as stubborn and persistent as he is. His phone lights up, signalling a new text.

[ y/n <3 : i really hope you’re okay, tooru. ]

This makes thirty.

He bites the inside of his cheek, a futile attempt to stop the tears that streamed down his face. A choked up noise leaves the back of his throat, surprising himself. He could have ended both his and your pain, all he had to do was type out a reply.

But the flurry of contradicting emotions stop him from doing so. Oikawa wants you to live your life, to move on, to forget him, to be happy without him. At the same time, he wanted you to wait for him, with open arms and that smile he loved.

His fingers move on their own, slowly but surely, as quiet sobs raked through his entire body.

[ i’m always going to love you. ]

Oikawa almost sends it. But he doesn’t.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

send me a hc / or a scenario ! <3 | written on the margins masterlist

taglist : @haikyuutothetop @crystal-lilac @tobioespresso @sushijimawakatoshi @itsmeaudrieee @pantherhappy @jesssobs @mysticstrawberryballoon @cloudedsky29 @sakusasimpbot @aoirohi @kokogxddess @livy384 @itachislut @crapimahuman @dkeela @duhsies @rmjace @ryustanaka @sanchooinc @sassyglassesbunny @cemeiia @nikiniki743 @meiankolia @tooru--o

join my hq taglist here. <3

#I gotta stop hurting my baby sigh #I almost do really provided my soundtrack for this #...I bet you think I either moved on or hate you...bc each time you reach out there's no reply <//3 #written on the margins 🔖#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #oikawa imagines #oikawa x reader #oikawa angst #🎐 — 💛anon! <3

149 notes · View notes

get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

Book Drop Boy (Twice x Reader)

✧ pairing: library student worker!Twice x afab!student!Reader

✧ word count: 9.9k

✧ ao3 mirror

✧ warnings: college au/no quirks, maladaptive daydreaming (twice), twice is chaotic af, commits library related crimes, use of the term sweetheart a few times, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, doggy style, afab terms, no pronouns for reader, gratuitous swearing this is potentially the softest thing I've ever written, like she's pretty tame idk what Twice does to me

✧ summary: In which Twice learns that sometimes dreams do come true, except those dreams are just the maladaptive fantasies of a broke library receptionist and, while sexy, also involve more fraud than he expected.

✧ a/n: Hey y'all, this is set in the same universe as my shiggy college piece, but you don't need to have read that. There are some fun little easter eggs though if you have tho. This is like the most tame thing I've ever written and it's way longer than it was meant to be but oh well. Anyway, Twice deserves some love. Enjoy <3

Logically, Jin was aware you probably had no idea who the fuck he was.

But that really didn’t have any effect on the wildly intricate fantasy life he had created for the two of you during his long shifts behind the library reception desk. That, in fact, was the only reason he hadn’t up and quit just to save himself the embarrassment of another loud outburst in the middle of the most silent place on campus.

What was truly more shocking was the fact that none of those said outburst had gotten his ass kicked straight out the door.

But he held out.

If only for you.

Late nights or lazy afternoons you were always in the campus library—studying he assumed or…

'Studying,' because a lot of the time he noticed you’d show up with a drink from the cafe a few blocks down, set out a line of colored pens and not touch a single one of them for hours, content to stare blankly at the chipped desktop. And even that Jin was more than happy to watch.

He did a lot of watching.

Mostly because he wasn’t permitted to leave the desk unattended unless there were piling up returned books which needed to be replaced quickly.

So instead, he pretended to be busy scrolling through something on his old as hell monitor—which was conveniently set up directly across from the comfy chair/desk combo you always managed to grab—and he indulged in day dreams where you’d bring him a coffee from the cafe when you came in and set it on his desk, maybe kiss him on the cheek, maybe loiter by his workstation and play with his hair and—

Yeah.

It was a lot.

But you were always in that chair, always working or pretending to work and you never seemed to notice the uninterrupted hours of staring Jin did, so what was the harm?

If you never knew, you’d never get creeped out—cause it was creepy, he knew that, oh fuckin' boy did he know it was real goddamn weird.

He just couldn’t seem to give it up. Especially when the conditions presented perfectly for some good uninterrupted, totally not stalker-y at all, fantasizing.

Sometimes he thought you might have some mundane superpower that let you always snatch that perfect seat right across from his computer, and made it so the library was just cool enough that he’d get to watch you shrug on that cute extra sweatshirt you always brought. So he could catch a glimpse of some skin—in a totally normal and not invasive way—when your arms went over your head. So he could imagine it was his ratty old sweaters you were wearing just so you could smell him on you and god he really wanted to get close enough to smell you—was that too weird? No. Yes? No.

Not at all.

But the best part, the part that really convinced him on those awful days when he really just could not be bothered to drag himself out of bed and walk the couple blocks to campus just to sit in awful silence alone, in his head alone with the fucking thoughts that made him want to rip his hair out—

What made it worth it was those times every few weeks when your classes would get new assigned readings. Because then you’d have to check out new textbooks, since you were one of those geniuses that had figured out the library kept a ton of those books in stock. Of course you were, cause you were fucking perfect.

And when you had to check out new books, you had to come to reception.

Jin got to watch as your lovely figure moved through the stacks like you were ballroom dancing along the halls of faded, sea-green shelves, almost floating over the linoleum trying to find just the right volume in the right addition before anyone else beat you to it.

It was one of the most gorgeous things he’d ever seen.

Spinner would call him a fucking simp if he ever dared to uttered any of that out loud, but it didn’t matter.

If it was you, he’d simp for fucking life.

And then, you’d walk that fucking glorious ass over to his desk and plop the books down, smiling—cause you were polite like that, so fucking perfect he couldn’t hardly believe it sometimes—and asking how his day was while he checked you out in every sense of the phrase.

In a completely platonic and not freaky way.

So Jin kept coming to work, to that god awful job he really hated and which hated him just as vehemently. He clocked in every day and waited patiently like a fucking puppy counting the hours till its workaholic owner arrived home, ears perking up when you walked through the door and flashed your ID to the attendant.

If only for that.

He’d put up with his boss’ complaints and the weird stares he got when the thoughts just wouldn’t stay in his head anymore and he had to start talking to himself to fill the silence.

If only for that.

Those few hours when he could lose himself in the fake inner life where you were waiting for him when his shift let out, waiting to gather him, tired and understimulated, into your arms. Where you’d sneak into the back room with him just to chat and lace your fingers with his and maybe sit that fucking wonderful ass up on the tables so he could stand in between your thighs and you’d pull him down to—

Yeah.

That was enough.

***

It wasn’t until Tuesday when he had to come in again that week, and he already knew it was gonna suck balls.

Friday he’d gotten another round of complaints from some stuck up fucking business students—it was always the fucking business majors with those silver spoons so far up their asses—snitching to his boss that he’s been ‘disruptive’ and ‘disturbing’ during his last shift.

“Not my fucking fault,” he muttered under his breath, kicking a rock along the side walk he’d picked up two blocks before. “Yes it is. No it’s not!”

Jin groaned and tugged at his hair, wishing he’d brought a Tylenol or something to curb the headache that was already sticking it’s ugly ass claws into his temples. He really, really heavily contemplated just ditching, calling in sick or some shit. Technically he was a student worker, so they had to work with his DRS accommodation and he was actually having a bad fucking time.

But one of his friends had already texted to ask if he’d try and reserve them that sweet ass study room on the third floor and Jin wasn’t really looking to disappoint anyone else this week. Besides, it was fun to abuse his minuscule power. Fun to go corrupt for once. Fight the system and all that.

He liked to think you’d be proud of him for it, based on the kinds of texts you checked out at least.

So, he dragged his sad ass back to the looming library looking far too much like a prison than was necessary and clocked in. Actually, the first thing he did was check the chair—your chair and nobody else’s chair, he might actually make a fucking scene if somebody ever did steal it—and his face visibly fell when you were not occupying it.

It was a bit early, Jin supposed as he paused briefly when he noticed the can of Monster and rando vending machine chips sitting next to it by the reception computer. The sticky note slapped to the top read 'For your troubles' in familiar handwriting and that pulled a bit of a smile from him as he quickly rearranged the scheduling of study room sign ups so the fancy third floor room would be free for the rest of the night.

Then Jin sat, staring at the study room schedules for a moment, feeling his eyes softly glaze over until a hand slapped down on the raised lip of the reception desk.

“Hey bro,” Spinner greeted him with a wild smile and a flurry of bright pink hair.

Jin had to blink a few extra times to get his vision to clear. When it did he saw, horrifyingly, that he’d been staring at the fucking blank screen for two hours without moving.

Why was it that his head was either deadly quiet, devoid of even a single errant thought or so loud as fucking shit at all times that he couldn’t physically keep the thoughts in?

“Hey, dude, what’s up?” Jin asked, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“Aren’t you supposed to like shush me or something?”

Spinner chuckled a bit at his own god awful joke and Jin couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed, too glad for the company.

“I mean,” he shrugged, popping the can of Monster and ignoring the dirty looks he got for the sound. “I would if I was, uh, good at my job.”

“Which I’ve heard you definitely are not,” Spinner wrapped his fingers over the lip of the desk and leaned back on his heels, swaying side to side idly.

“You’re just figuring that out now?”

Jin didn’t bother watching while Spinner nearly tripped over himself fidgeting as he spun to stand at the little gate that corralled Jin inside like livestock. He was too busy glancing over to check you hadn’t slipped in while his brain had taken a trip to the astral plane without him.

“No, I been knew, but my sources tell me you’ve gone off the rails my friend,” long legs stepped over the wooden partition until the only friend he had who was quite possibly more annoying than Jin himself was sat on the counter next to his computer. “Finally been radicalized have you?”

Jin huffed and sipped his Monster, “Guess it fuckin’ took me long enough.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Spinner was messing about with the stacks of multicolored sticky notes littered across the desk before glancing up to wink at Jin. “So what can I get you to do for me in exchange for free food?”

“Now I really am gonna fucking shush you,” Jin smashed his finger against Spinners grin only to get a hand covered in spit for his trouble.

“Right, right,” Spinner held his hands up in defeat, “can’t have you cheating on your sweetheart.”

“Not my—yes I’m in a committed fictional relationship thank you very much—ugh!”

Jin could feel the heads shooting up from laptop screens and textbooks to stick daggers in his back with their angry stares. Spinner at least had the good sense to look a little fucking guilty for egging him on.

“Sorry bro, I had to shoot my shot ya know?” a hand disappeared into the mop of bubblegum locks in apology.

“It’s fine…” Jin trailed off, mumbling and blushing more than a little profusely as he turned to check the book drop box. “Not like I’m ever gonna fuckin’ shoot mine anyway.”

“Oh we are not gonna have that kinda of shit discussion,” Spinner’s hand shot out and grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, spinning Jin in his chair. “On god bro, we’re gonna get you a date one of these days.”

Jin didn’t dignify that kind of lie with a response.

Spinner once again, had the good sense to not push the envelope any farther.

“And in the meantime, you can come to the League meeting tonight!”

“Your gaming club thing?”

“Yeah, it’s Smash night and we need to fill a space sooooo…”

Jin knew Spinner and his roommate—the same friend who he’d gone study room rogue for—had started a gaming club their freshman year. Spinner had been trying to strong arm him into attending ever since. To, as he put it, ‘socialize,’ and ‘make new friends.’ All things which Jin was patently horrible at and avoided like the plague.

Needless to say, he’d refused every time.

It wasn’t just the whole being alone with like two people he kinda knew in a room full of strangers. Games themselves were just a lot for him. The flashing colors and the loud noises made his head—which was already so fucking full all the time and he really needed to keep any extra scrap of space for extra random facts he picked up about you and your future married life together—get a bit misaligned.

They just weren’t his jam most of the time.

“I’m good, thanks for the offer though,” Jin twisted out of Spinner’s grasp and craned his head to check your seat again.

Still empty.

He sighed.

Spinner continued to ramble and Jin continued to only half listen. It wasn’t as pleasant to day dream when you weren’t there for the added visual aesthetic. And he was trying to not be a dick and ignore the one friend he had managed to keep around over the years. But it was hard when his mind had a mind of its own.

Wow.

Meta.

“Jin?”

The voice—deep and dark in such a dramatically ominous way it might have been funny if it didn’t belong to his permanently disgruntled supervisor—interrupted his already derailing train of thought.

“Oh, uh, hello sir,” Jin stuttered, turning to find Kurogiri leaning against the reception desk with one arm, turning only slightly to accommodate Spinner’s form bolting over the gate and out the library doors.

He did manage to throw a fading, “See ya later, bro” over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner.

Yeah thanks for the warning, bro.

“Aren’t you supposed to be reshelving the books from the drop box?” Kurogiri sighed, perpetually disappointed in a way that had Jin’s face burning and shame bubbling up in his throat.

He hated this job. He was objectively terrible at it, and so usually he wouldn’t give that much of a shit at not doing it well. Kurogiri just had some type of vibe—like daddy but not in the sexy way Spinner always joked about—that made it really, really upsetting to let him down.

Father figure? Yeah that's what it was called.

“Right, yeah um, sorry,” Jin nodded quickly and leapt from his chair, only mildly bruising his knee on the desk as he reached to empty the book drop.

Another incorporeal sigh was the only acknowledgement he received as he loaded the cart with wheels louder than Jin on a particularly bad day and rolled the pile of books back to the stacks. He paused once more, just before the sea green shelving units swallowed him up, to sneak another futile peak at your chair. But it still sat empty—empty and lonely with no you and cold without your body pressed against the worn upholstery.

Jin felt a chill too, a slow tingling thing that worked its way up from the base of his spine. It drove him deeper into the walls of books, away from the empty spaces.

It was harder to look.

Harder to be reminded of what he did not have.

Of what he’d never have cause he was too much of a goddamn pussy to ever just fucking talk to you—

But then what if he did? What if he did talk to you? What would happen then?

Those were the types of questions he tried to avoid when crafting your intricate, fictional lives together. Precisely because they were the easiest to answer.

You’d realize within the first five minutes or so of conversation—if Jin could even make it that far without embarrassing himself—that he was just a generic brand weirdo that all your pretty, normal, aesthetically pleasing friends would warn you to stay away from and because you were also pretty and normal and not a fucking idiot, you’d have the common sense to listen.

He’d lose you in the blink of an eye.

Your chair would sit cold and empty forever and the imaginary garden he’d been planting for you to come imaginarily home too would wilt and die like all the other happy thoughts in his head.

It was quite the conundrum and one Jin was not keen to solve soon.

Not that things ever really went his way. Cause problems could only be avoided for so long before all that time spent ignoring them came back to bite him full on the ass.

Which, apparently, came this time in the form of what had to be quiet, muffled sobbing drifting in between the shelves from the back hallway.

It was dark here in this section of the building—free of most windows so as not to cause any sunning damage to the books—and Jin had seen more than enough horror movies to know that it was a horrendous idea to follow the ominous crying sounds coming from the bowls of this old as fuck building. But even as he made up his mind to ignore it, the hand currently working one of the returns back into its proper place dropped the book to his cart as his feet slowly turned to face the corridor.

He looked around skeptically for a second, not entirely certain his poor brain hadn’t simply malfunctioned again, as it was wont to do, and fabricated the sound entirely. But as he peaked out from between the stacks, and down the dimly lit hall, he heard it again.

Echoey and soft in the wide, empty space it—was definitely coming from the hall and it was definitely a person.

Jin caught himself moving without ever meaning too, the books laying forgotten as he crept towards the source of the noise and paused just before leaving the stacks entirely. This hall was full of small alcoves built into the centuries old walls and led to the lesser used storage portions of the library that only the janitorial staff and the university librarians ever entered. He really didn’t want to stumble across someone from the special collections department bawling over a damaged or lost manuscript.

But his wayward feet pushed him forward, too sympathetic for his own good. He found himself shuffling down the abandoned hall, peering into each small dip in the walls to find the source of his distraction.

And when he did, Jin was—for once in his life—thankful for his lack of self-preservation instincts.

And cursed his blatant lack in interpersonal skills.

Because it was you.

You curled with your knees to your chest and your head in your hands, shoulders shaking, as you cried into your palms.

The universe had handed him maybe the only golden opportunity he would ever get on right on a platter.

But Jin didn’t have a fucking clue what do with it.

And there certainly wasn’t much time to formulate a game plan as his nervous breathing and sudden intake of breath upon discovering his imaginary lover sniffling right in front of him, had certainly alerted you to his presence.

Your head shot up in an instant, knocking dully against the stone wall with a thud.

“Shit,” you cursed and hands flying up to cover the area as Jin jumped on the spot at your outburst.

“Are you okay?” he asked lamely as you glanced over at him, eyes red and wet and so fucking sad oh fucking god, widening as you realized you’d been caught.

“Huh? Ye—oh uh, yes,” your words came out jumbled, legs unfolding quickly to push yourself off the bench and hands wiping furiously at your eyes. “I’m fine, sorry.”

“You sure about that?”

Jin cringed visibly and frowned at the way you deflated under his stare. God the first fucking time he actually talks to you and he already made an ass of himself.

Spinner’s roommate was such a liar, it really fucking sucked to be right sometimes.

“I mean,” you crumpled back down onto the ledge and Jin took a careful step closer, “no, but yes. Like I’m definitely having a breakdown in the back of the fucking library but I don’t wanna, uh, bother you with that. So, yeah I’m good.”

“You can bother me,” he replied way too fucking quickly.

But he couldn’t really be embarrassed about it. Your voice was just so captivating, and you weren’t talking to him in that raised pitch anymore like you usually did—the way everyone does when they’re trying to be surface level and polite. No this was your voice how you sounded when you were relaxing with your friends or making breakfast in the morning or talking to yourself in the shower (he liked to think you did that, or sang maybe as you worked the soap into your skin, one of the two but he always imagined you filled silences with how fucking pretty you were).

“No, really. That would be weird, right?”

Jin grimaced as you fixed him with a watery yet suspicious stare.

Yeah it was weird.

Everything he did concerning you was weird, objectively. He was definitely being over-familiar and too eager, especially considering you didn’t fucking know him.

But he knew you.

Jin felt like he’d known you for all months he’d spent pretending to be by your side.

And you were crying and he had to do something.

“I mean, yeah I guess,” he mumbled, taking a risk and plopped down on the opposite end of the alcove and resting his head on the wall. “But not any weirder than having a breakdown in the employees only section of the library building on a Tuesday.”

You kept staring blankly for a few moments before the most miraculous thing happened.

Jin had to physically stop his jaw from hitting the floor when the quiet giggle bubbled up from your chest and spilled out into the hall, warm enough to melt even the freezing linoleum floor.

“Yeah, you’ve got a point,” your voice cracked a bit as a few more tears slid like pearls down your cheeks.

“My name’s Jin,” he said, shocked stupid both by your laugh and the apparent success of his comforting methods.

“Oh, hi, well I guess I don’t have to call you book drop boy anymore,” you rubbed at your face again and tucked your legs back into your chest, though it looked a bit more relaxed this time.

Not so trying-desperately-to-fade-out-of-existence.

“You called me that?” Jin asked, brain still functioning at half capacity, only shocked at the fact that he existed as a concept in your head enough to have a name and realizing a bit too late how accusatory he must have sounded. “Shit, I mean it’s totally fine I just didn’t think you, uh, well I mean, like, knew about me I guess?”

You finally smiled and his brain power cut out another fourth at being personally graced by the expression this close up.

“Yeah, you always check me out—fuck sorry not that you check me out, just you scan my books and I just called you ‘book drop boy’ in my head cause I never got a chance to ask for your name but I have it now so that’s cool….”

Your head dropped back down to your knees as you groaned and Jin suddenly felt a lot less nervous than he had a few seconds ago.

You were weird too.

For so long you’d existed on this pedestal thousands of feet in the air, and now you were stepping down from the heavens and onto earth. Not in a bad way! Just, Jin had never really stopped to think that you might be a person too.

Well.

No, he knew you were a person, just he never thought you might get flustered and ramble and be nervous in front of him.

Cause he was a fucking train wreck—the bar was so goddamn low.

It was almost as comforting as your smile.

“Oh, yeah sorry I’m not the best at customer service if you couldn’t tell,” he sighed and ran a hand through his wild hair.

You looked back up with a wry grin, “I don’t know, I’d say you’re going above and beyond right now.”

And you were funny.

He was gonna fucking combust.

“Ha, yeah, I try,” he trailed off for a moment before glancing back at your curled in your corner, fuck he could just imagine sitting behind you, your head on his chest while you—”So uh, did you wanna talk about it or…?”

“Uh, yeah,” you picked idly at the grouting of the stone and mumbled, “I guess it’s not so weird if we’re on a first-name basis.

And that was how Jin discovered that you’d been hiding in the back of the library bawling your eyes out for hours—since even before his shift started. Apparently you’d gotten here extra early, even skipped a class, to snag some super specific required text for your final thesis and right before you got to the shelf some jackass swooped in, effectively hit and running with the only copy of that book on campus.

The book in questions was one of the newer additions that had special added footnotes you needed for your paper and was a whopping 500 fucking dollars to rent from every other place online. You couldn’t afford it, and honestly what fucking student could? But you needed it to complete the paper or you’d fail and Jin very much understood the need for a good breakdown after a catastrophe like that.

“Damn, that’s uh, fucking awful,” he frowned on your behalf as your head hit the wall a second time in frustration.

“Yeah so, I’m like royally fucked either way. Now I just gotta decide which hole I’m taking it in I guess,” you groaned.

Jin’s eyebrows raised at your choice of words but they were apt, he supposed. People really do get comfortable with each other pretty quick when bonding over shared institutional rage.

“Well,” he began, wringing his hands nervously at what he was about to suggest. “You might be in luck cause I’ve recently decided to abuse my library powers for good and I maybe, possibly, could try and see if there’s some strings I can pull?”

You perked up a bit, looking at him incredulously.

Jin felt comfortably full under your stare.

“Seriously?”

The word was soft and it bounced off the walls just as much as it did the inside of his skull.

Swapping study rooms to help a friend out was one thing. But falsifying checkout dates for someone he barely knew—had essentially married in his maladaptive fantasies—could get him fired.

He hated this job but he needed it.

Were you worth the risk?

Of course, he found himself thinking without hesitation.

You were everything.

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, any lingering uncertainty washing away at the way you looked at him through your lashes. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

“Are you always this nice?”

Jin didn’t answer right away. He was too caught up in how you’d leaned forward on your hands across the bench, peering like he was some exotic animal or a stray cat in the parking lot—all soft wonderment with fingers curling like they ached to grab hold and rescue him from this parchment scented monotony.

“Not always…”

“Should I feel special then?”

If his face wasn’t red before, it was now. Red and blistering under the summer campfire heat that radiated off you—woodsy and warm and so painfully familiar like an old friend’s hand.

“...I guess you—fucking definitely, ” he quite nearly shouted the last bit, startled by his own volume and already mortified at the outburst but then you chuckled again from beside him.

He turned to see you standing and offering a hand which he gladly too if only to feel the weight of your palm against his.

“Well, you’ll have to let me pay you back then.”

“Oh, no you don’t actually—”

You held a hand up and the words turned to ash on his tongue in an instant, mouth glued shut by your gesture.

“Coffee on me or something, there’s a nice cafe a few blocks from here,” you dropped your hand and your eyes were clear now, no sign of the previous afternoon sobbing alone in the hallway. Jin felt a surge in his chest knowing he was the one who did that. “You gotta pass off the contraband anyway, and I don’t think it would be that great of an idea to do it here.”

God you were fucking perfect.

“Can’t argue with that.”

***

Jin was sweating profusely as he snuck past the library attendant, totally inconspicuous and not not all looking like he was doing a single thing wrong in the slightest.

Yeah they definitely didn’t suspect a thing.

The process of fraud was actually a lot less complicated of an undertaking that Jin had expected. All he had to do was search up the book, find the student that had stolen the success of his sweetheart’s educational career and flag his account. They’d get an automated message about the flag, instructing them to return any borrowed items or they’d be forced to pay fines while the account was examined.

Technically he needed administrator credentials to report student accounts, but luckily Kurogiri had his login info written on a sticky note hidden on the back of the monitor. All in all it was a pretty easy job.

The whole thing had taken only a matter of days, in which time you had returned to the library only twice—the first to get confirmation on the success of Jin’s newest descent into low level crime which had set his heart thundering in his chest as you bent conspiratorially over his desk, your face just inches from his.

The second time, Jin had horrifically been absent from his desk, however he was met with possibly the most wonderful sight of his life upon returning from the labyrinth of shelves.

On one of the hundreds of post-it note pads that littered the library reception area, there were scribbles that he was sure hadn’t been there before. He almost tossed it, but upon closer inspection, you’d written your number there and signed just below it. In the cutest fucking handwriting he’d ever seen—cute not for any stylistic reason, but it simply felt that way just by virtue of it being yours—was written the digits and “-for book drop boy”

The noise he made reading that turned more than a dozen heads and almost got him fired there on the spot before any of his indiscretions were even discovered, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

So, nerve wrackingly, Jin texted you as he nearly sprinted home from his shift after that piece of shit asshole who made you cry had trudged angrily in and dropped off his ‘stolen’ book.

— HEY IT’S JIN!

— from the library

— shit sorry that wasn’t meant to be in caps

— n e way….

— I’ve intercepted the ~package~ so whenever you’re ready for the hand off, I’m good

Most perfect fucking human being to…

Oh my god thank you so much!!!—

Is tomorrow at like 5ish good for you?—

Also send me your order—

so we don’t have to do that awkward waiting in line for drinks bit—

Holy fuck you multi-texted too! Spinner would roll over in his fucking grave, he hated when Jin did that. But there was always so much to say and he could never think of it all at the same time. Plus, you wanted to save him from that god awful silence where you both stand in line next but he can’t talk cause he has keep repeating his order in his head over and over or he’ll blank when he gets to the register so it’s just this painful weird glancing back and forth—

Ugh, maybe all the shit about manifestation that girl who always loaned him exacto knives in his sculpting class always talked about was real.

Cause there was no way you weren’t just heaven-sent, handcrafted especially for him and all his general brand of weird.

The hours which usually flew by without Jin’s notice dragged all that night. He was so full of excess energy that made his hand shake and his thoughts race, not sure what to do with themselves now that they didn’t need to fantasize about you.

He decided to use all that extra motivation to vacuum the kitchen at 4:30 in the morning, much to his roommates' chagrin. She liked to get a nice solid eight hours every night and constantly reminded Jin of this, trying to sell him on that sleepy time tea before bed, though he really hated the smell of camomile.

Magne may lose out on some of her beauty sleep—not that she needed it and Jin would tell her that constantly, even if he did have some patently horrible judgment most of the time so he wasn’t really the best at offering reassurance—but the kitchen would be clean when she woke up so win-win really.

When she did wake up—wandering out of her room looking effortlessly put together in a way Jin could never hope to emulate—she sat at the table, sipping her tea and appraising him worriedly.

Jin was still in his jeans from the day before, hair spiking in every direction but down, and chewing his nails nervously despite losing most of them to the hour or two of early morning floor scrubbing.

“Babe,” she shook her head slowly, “take a breath.”

“Yeah okay,” he sighed and inhaled deeply, letting himself slide off the couch cushions and to the newly sparkling floors on the exhale.

“There, now wanna share what the hell is going on?”

He glanced up at her from the hardwood and groaned as she looked back down, brows furrowed over her glasses.

“Huhh, okay. So that absolute work of art from the library is meeting me for coffee later cause I have trade over this book I sort of stole, it’s a long story, and I don’t know if it’s a date—it sounds like a date, cause that’s where people go for dates and shit—but it might just be to pay me back for stealing the book. And if it is I’ve only ever been on that one date before which was with fucking Spinner like two years ago so—”

Magne held up a hand to quiet Jin before the speed of his words tied his tongue in physical knots. She looked contemplative, taking another soft sip of tea and nodding her head for a moment getting up to crouch on the floor by his head.

“You think too much for your own good, but never about the right things,” she mumbled, smoothing some of the hair from his face. “Does it really matter if this is a date or not?”

Jin blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she chuckled in that way people do when kids ask them obvious questions—kindly, appreciative of the curiosity, “either way you cut it, you’ll be spending time with this person you like, yeah?”

“Mhm,” he hummed and sat up to face her as she stood.

“A date is just hanging out with a special name anyway,” Magne’s hands were firm but gentle as she hoisted Jin off the floor and onto his feet. “You’ll be fine.”

His shoulders slumped both in mild relief and dejection that he’d waisted so much precious time he could have been preparing possible topics of conversation or strategies to ask you out for real date on worrying over how this first time would go.

How did Magne always fucking know all this stuff?

Other people were such a mystery to him.

To be fair, though, Jin was a mystery to himself most of the time as well.

“Thanks, sorry for not saying anything about it earlier,” he sniffed as she smiled and pinched his cheek way fucking harder than necessary.

“It’s alright, I’m only a little insulted you waited until now to tell me about this massive crush you’ve developed.”

“Yeah it’s got its own gravitational pull at this point.”

Magne laughed at that and Jin felt the room lighten.

“I do expect details when you get back though,” she said pointedly, finishing her tea wandering back to her room to grab her bag. “Spinner asked me, very begrudgingly might I add, to fill in at another of his club tournament things tonight so I’ll be out late.”

“Really? I didn’t think you liked that stuff.”

Jin shuffled over to her doorway and peaked into the neat little space. Magne was rummaging through the meticulously organized closet and frowning as she answered.

“I do, Spinner just doesn’t agree with my battle strategies,” she huffed. “My alignment is far too ‘chaotic’ and ‘recklessly violent’ for his tastes apparently.”

“Oh, yeah that makes sense,” Jin laughed this time just envisioning the two of them stuck on a team. “Well have fun with that.”

“Yeah well,” she brushed by him into the hall, keys jangling as she went and calling over her shoulder. “Text me how it goes, and wear that new button up you got last week, it looks good on you!”

***

Much to Jin’s surprise and delight, Magne was right.

He was fine.

Fine was a bit subjective—as he was most certainly still highkey panicking on main as he got out of his last class and walked the short few blocks to the cafe on campus—but regardless he was perfectly okay.

Of course that all went right out the fucking window in the split second between him walking in and you already staring at the door as he entered. Your eyes widened just a bit and this smile broke out slowly across your cheeks when you waved him over and it was like suddenly every single creepy as hell day dream had just become reality.

It was a little overwhelming to say the least.

His heart may have actually stopped in his chest for a bit and he did contemplate the possibility that Kurogiri might have actually discovered his little plot, murdered him in cold blood and stuffed his body in the records room. This might all just be the afterlife, but that would mean that Jin had gone to some kind of heaven which didn’t really add up with his current tract record.

But it was fine.

Because you were really fucking easy to talk to.

Like, really fucking easy.

It was sorta strange actually, how you seemed to know all this shit he was into before he even really mentioned it.

After you traded off the goods, you both sat in the big comfy couches upstairs in the loft and you listened to him info dump, inevitably getting lost down innumerable unrelated tangents. You managed to keep up well enough though and not question the winding conversation.

“Damn,” he said, sipping at the last dregs left behind in his cup. “How do you know about all this stuff?”

“Uh,” you paused then, looking maybe just a bit sheepishly into your own drink. “I may or may not have spent a considerable amount of time eavesdropping into your conversations while you’re on shift.”

He saw flashes at that moment—dial up sounds going off between his ears.

Jin.exe has stopped working.

“...What?”

You grimaced and hid your face in your hands for a moment, “I know it sounds really creepy, my friends just sorta made a, um, game out of it? They tease me a lot about going to study at the library just cause of the cute guy that works there, so we all kinda stalk you a little bit just—wow this is sounding exponentially worse and worse every second.”

He gaped a bit despite himself as you cringed visibly and Jin tried to discreetly pinch his thigh to make sure this really wasn’t some sort of cruel, cruel fever dream.

“You think I’m cute…?”

He blinked once and your eyes shot up to meet his, a pained, half smile caught between your teeth. “I mean, yeah. I kinda thought I was being a bit obvious, sorry.”

“What no, holy fuck,” he spluttered, face on fire and legs bouncing restlessly against the couch across from you. “Don’t apologize, I have a, uh, staring habit too I guess.”

“I know,” you rubbed at the back of your neck and Jin didn’t think it was possible for you to be anymore endearing. “I’ve noticed, that’s like the whole reason I insisted on buying you a drink.”

“So wait is this a date?”

Jin wished almost immediately that he hadn’t asked, because Magne was right, it super didn’t matter but fucking shit on a stick he really wanted it to be a date!!!!

“Yeah,” you nodded. “If you’d like that.”

“Yes!—ah, I mean, uh yeah mhm,” Jin choked on his spit with enthusiasm, but it did earn him a concerned shoulder pat so he’d take the win.

It also afforded him the opportunity to walk you home after hours chatting until the streets were lit by burnt orange lamps and the cafe was closing. You didn’t live all that far from him actually and when you stopped to point out your door, the two of you were overcome by that telltale, charged silence.

Filled with potential.

Like a gas stove waiting for a spark to go up in flames.

It was you that struck the match.

“So, um, I promise I don’t just, uh, do this with everyone but, do you wanna maybe come inside,” you let your hand trail down his arm and slip into his palm, “I don’t feel like you’ve been properly compensated for saving my ass.”

Jin’s mouth was watering at the thought. He nodded slowly, eyes like saucers as you pulled him up your steps and through the door which shut promptly behind him.

Your place was nice in the sense that it fit you. He wasn’t really paying all that much attention to his surroundings as you locked the door and squeezed his hand in yours, leading him towards the end of the entrance hall.

When he stepped through to your bedroom, you toed off your shoes and he did the same, staring nervously and waiting for you to show him what exactly you meant by ‘further compensation.’

It was exactly what he’d hoped.

You approached him, still in the doorway, and stepped close so your chests brushed together. It was soft, the way you looked at him, sort of fuzzy around the edges while your hands trailed down his arms to place his palms at your waist.

It wasn’t like Jin hadn’t done this before—he totally had and definitely remembered all of it and wasn’t shit faced at all nope—but it hadn’t really mattered before. He knew in theory that he should take the lead, be a gentleman and make the first move and holy fucking god he was dying over there with the desire to finally live out his months and months of fantasies

But what if he did it wrong?

What if he ruined it now when he was so close to the finish line?

He’d never fucking forgive himself for it, and he could goddamn hear Magne in his head.

“You think too much for your own good.”

And he did, and he was right now, cause the room was only dimly lit by the street light streaming in through the window and you were reaching out to loop your arms behind his neck.

Should he lean down now?

Tilt left or right?

What if he clacked your teeth together?

What if—

Your lips were soft and hot against his, rubbing at the stubble on his chin before pressing close in that precious, puzzle-piece way human bodies fit together. He didn’t do much thinking after that.

His hands were too busy digging into the flesh of your hips separated by way to many fucking layers of fabric, and he couldn’t quite stop himself from indulging just a bit. Jin sucked gently at your lower lip, knees going weak at the glorious fucking sound you made in the back of your throat as he licked over the taught skin and tugged it between his teeth.

He could feel you smiling into his mouth, sharing breath and raking your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. Jin groaned and you—fucking cheeky little bastard—slipped your tongue right past his lips and licked at the back of his fucking teeth like a popsicle in July.

Your hands in his hair hard tugged and his breath was coming faster, lips gliding against yours as the room turned to steam around him.

Through the haze he clung to the few remaining seconds of clarity.

Jin pulled away for one painful second to mumble against your lips.“You meant have sex, right?”

“Yeah,” your voice was barely more than a whisper, but you nodded frantically and rolled your hips against his.

“Ohh fuck, ‘kay good, thank god.”

For once Jin had nothing more to add.

And you weren't exactly willing to give him back his tongue long enough for any interruptions anyway.

***

“Holy fucking shit, look at you,” Jin gasped into your ear.

Both of your clothes had been discarded long ago, and he had your bare back to his chest while he sat propped against the headboard with your legs hooked on either side of his knees. It didn’t afford him the best view, but he got your head resting on his shoulder and pretty moans spilling right into his ear.

He didn’t need to see your pussy anyway.

The slick pouring out of your pretty fucking hole and coating his fingers as he pumped two of them into you was more than enough. His other hand wandered in the lovely expanse of space between your chest and your waist, running softly over the skin and pausing to pinch and roll your nipples just to hear you whine.

His cock was so fucking hard, trapped between your ass and his stomach, twitching every time you thrust your hips to meet the movement of his wrist.

“Jin, fuck please-”

You used his name every time you begged him for more and it was really going to his head.

“You’re so goddamn perfect, I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he groaned and sunk his fingers deeper into your soaking cunt while his mouth dropped to your neck and sucked hard to mark you lovely skin.

He licked at the indents of his teeth, tasting your sweat on his tongue that tangled with yours again as your hand reached for his cheek and pulled him in. It was less of a kiss and more of a sloppy forming of your mouths that left you connected by a silvery string of spit that flashed in the low light. Jin sighed at the sight, rutting his hips against the cleft of your ass.

Your thighs twitched where they were spread and your hips lifted off the mattress to meet the languid thrusts of his fingers that curled up on every push in to hear the hitch in your breath.

He took pity on you and brought his other hand down to rub circles on your clit, listening for the telltale whimpers and the way your nails dug into his arm to find the perfect rhythm.

“I don’t really—mm, there fuck—feel like I’m paying you back right now,” you mumbled nipping your own trail of stepping stone bruises onto his throat as he picked up the pace and held steady on that sweet bundle of nerves.

“Are you fucking serious?”

He didn’t really mean to full on growl at you then, but just the thought that you’d really believe he wasn’t about to fucking drown in ecstasy just from watching you get off—just from touching, speaking, being in anyway acknowledged by you at all. Jin nudged your head to the side and bit down harshly into the crook of your neck, shuddering as you moaned and arched against his chest.

In any other scenario, he could never really find the right balance between too many words and not enough. The sheer volume of thoughts and interjections that raced like cars reaching the end of rush hour traffic made the formulation of any coherent conversation impossible, but now—

Now with your body so pliant in his hands, so willing and sweet and wanting him.

Wanting him.

What a concept.

He needed you to understand, to know how fucking over the moon, sunshine bright you had him burning.

And for once, he finally had the words to do it.

After all, he’d had months to prepare.

It was surprisingly easy to change your positions, to pull away from you for just a moment so he could roll and cage you on your hands and knees under him, ass in the air nestled against his cock.

“You really don’t think I’m getting anything out of this?” he groaned into you ear, rocking his length against you both for emphasis and because it felt so fucking good.

“Ah, well ya know,” your voice was so wrecked he was desperate to find out how much it would take for you to lose it entirely. “When you put it like that—mmh—I just feel bad you’re doing all the work. ”

You had this cheeky fucking grin on your face when you rocked forward so back so his cock slipped down to your dripping lips. The heat of your cunt was mesmerizing and it took a fuck ton of self control Jin was unaware he possessed to not ram straight into you right then.

“Yeah cause I’ve wanted to for fucking months goddamn it’s driving me insane.”

“What?”

Now that he’d started, Jin couldn’t find it in himself to stop. His hands dug hard into your hips, rocking so the tip of his dick caught your clit and you shivered below him, hot skin sliding with the motion of your bodies.

“It’s all I think about whenever I see you,” he was shaking when his hand reached down to grip himself, spreading your folds and soaking his length in your slick. “When you come in to work I just fucking lose myself thinking about how bad I want you to be mine, my pretty fucking thing to bring me coffee while I work and let me fuck you in the backroom.”

You whimpered under him, face pressed into the mattress as he draped himself over you, chest to back with his breath ghosting over your ear.

“Literal hours I just sit there at that awful fucking job and I only keep coming cause of you, cause I can watch you sit all cute in your chair and watch the way your cheeks squish up when you put your face in your hands and imagine they’re my hands and I’m about to spit in your fucking mouth so you remember who you belong too.”

“I—” you were nearly choking on the drool that soaked through your sheets as Jin lined himself up with your pretty little hole, pressing just the tip into your heat. “I didn’t think you ever—nggh, shit—noticed much about me.”

The corners of his eyes burned as sweat dripped down his forehead, he had to hold back a sob as he sheathed another inch into those perfect walls.

“Notice you? You’re all I fucking think about,” he pressed his lips softly against your shoulder, hands running from your chest to your sides as you took his cock and every word that slipped from his lips without complaint. “I could take such good care of you. I just fucking know it, just please, let me take care of you?”

“Fuck Jin,” your voice was closer to a sob than anything else but he needs you screaming. “You don’t really have to convince me—”

His patience had run out long ago, not even willing to let you finish before he’d sunk in to the hilt, spearing you on his cock with one final thrust. You ass was flush with his hips and his balls hung heavy and tight against the back of your thighs. The strangled little cry that worked its way out of your throat had gooseflesh erupting across his arms where he held you to him.

Jin couldn’t really be sure—it wasn’t like his brain was all that functional on a day to day basis and it most certainly was not now—but your walls clenching around him and that addictive warm, wet feeling milking his cock was on a whole other level than any fuck he’d ever had before.

There was something about the curve of your back against his chest, and the way you seemed to suck him in, drawing his length back in just seconds after he’d pulled out. Some about the feeling of your chest in his hands, of the sweat on your skin that he licked off in a long strip up your spine. Like you really were made for him. As though all those months spent in dream land, concocting your pretend lives together had spilled over into reality, molding you into the perfect shape to take him deep and hard and cry while you came on his cock just like he knew you were meant to.

“Oh, fuck yeah, gonna make you feel so good, I promise,” he mumbled, forehead pressed to the nape of your neck as his hips drew back and he sunk into you over and over again.

He needed you to moan louder, needed your neighbors on the other side of every wall to hear what he did to you, how he fucked you dumb on his cock and made you drunk with the pleasure of it—slutty and perfect and better than any fantasy he could ever concoct.

The room was filled completely with the wet slap of your bodies—his balls tightening up just at the squelch of you taking him—leaving only enough space for your cries and his grunting, no room left for any bitter doubt to creep in and ruin the sweetness in the air.

He could feel the surge growing in his stomach, the tensing in his thighs as his hips stuttered, but he needed you to cum first. Wanted to tip over the edge to the feeling of you spasming around him, so he let a hand slip from your hip to your folds. Jin only paused for a moment to run a finger around your stretched hole, feeling himself plunging into you, before drifting back up to your swollen clit and working the sensitive bud.

The mattress creaked and rocked along as Jin increased his pace, shifting his hips until his tip knocked against something that had your hands fisting in the sheets and your tongue lolling out in between cries of his name.

You didn’t give him much a warning, not that he minded really. Just a muffled shout with your head smashed into the pillows and the tightening of your walls surrounding him before he felt your whole body wracked with tremors so hard he had to wrap both arms around your middle and hold you while he rammed into you.

Jin wasn’t really keeping track of the filth that was pouring from his lips as he brought himself closer to release. A lot of encouragement, that you were taking him so well, cumming so pretty for him, mixed with a lot of thanks—for letting him have this, have you, for not casting him aside like everyone else always inevitably did.

He did have the clarity to drag one arm up and link your fingers together, pressing hard into the bed while blood pounded in his ears and his hips stuttered in their relentless rhythm. When Jin did finally cum, it was a strangely silent affair, all the words and sound that usually roared inside him dying on his lips as his cock spilled milky release deep inside you and your walls fluttered at the fullness.

And then it was as though every muscle in his body changed physical states.

Boneless, he collapsed onto you with a little huff. You didn’t even complain, just squeezed his hand tighter in yours and hummed at the weight of him.

“Well I think that was a, um,” you panted while he nuzzled his face deeper into your neck, “pretty equivalent exchange yeah?”

“I don’t know,” Jin kissed and nipped at the sweet skin of your shoulder, “I think you might have over paid a bit.”

You laughed, the joyous movement of your chest jostled him from your back and had his soft cock slipping from you in a gush of combined release. “I doubt that very much, I didn’t know I’d be getting to take your fucking load as part of the deal.”

“Shit,” he felt his heart seize in his chest, raising up on his elbows to look down as you turned to him. “I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

Your hand came up to stroke his cheek, clammy but welcome. He sat up enough so you could lay on your back and pull him back down to your chest amidst the sweat and cum slicked sheets.

“Don’t worry about it, I would have asked you to anyway,” you kissed the baby frizz at his hairline and if Jin hadn’t already melted into a puddle, then he certainly was now. “If I’d been able to talk at all.”

“Ha, yeah….”

A short silence descended in your dark bedroom. The noise of cars and the occasional shout filtered in through the window, but there was no other sound than your evening breaths. Jin tried not to ruin the peace while he had it.

It was such a rare commodity.

But he couldn’t say he mourned the quiet when you finally spoke.

“Did you wanna stay the night?” you asked in that soft way he always envisioned you would.

Soft so he’d know it was just a courtesy.

That you didn’t want him to leave.

“Uh, yeah, yes I would,” he stumbled over the words a bit, trying not to sound too eager but wanting you to know he would work a thousands shifts at the reception desk if it meant you held him for just a second longer.

“Good,” you sighed.

He felt you scoot down the bed and flopped onto his back so you could settle your head on his chest and drape an arm across his stomach. After another few minutes he felt you go limp at his side, soft and relaxed as you slipped away into dreams.

But though his muscles ached and his eyes felt heavy, Jin resisted the call to sleep.

He didn’t need to now.

You were here, in the flesh, and he could study you intently while his eyes were open.

No need for his brain to conjure up scattered images of you.

Because he had you now, tucked safely under his arm for him to keep and hold and fuck and love the way he wanted.

So there was no more need for sleep.

And no need for dreams.

#twice x reader #twice x you #jin bubaigawara x reader #bee writes #bnha fanfiction #college au #library!twice x student!reader #twice mha #bee.writes

293 notes · View notes

arieswonjin · 3 years

Text

open seams; full

pairings: ham wonjin x femme!reader

genre: fluff, angst, friends to lovers au

word count: 8.6k

navigation: teaser

warnings: alcohol and intoxication, use of sharp objects, minor injury

song inspo: all my love | playlist

a/n: this is for a fic exchange with @cravitywriters' first batch of members :> apologies this came a bit late >

masterlist | request here! | how to request |

it took close to forever to find the perfect spot for the shop of your dreams. in this city and in these times, it took a lot of guts to even decide to run one.

the rent uptown was crazy expensive and the high-fashion atmosphere dimmed the charm of your minimalist garments. the spots downtown were cheap, yes, but you had to deal with creaky and moldy floors, noisy air conditioning, and rude neighbors. it was a definite no-go. but after months and months, with pages of crossed-out vacancy lists and even deeper sighs, you found just the perfect home for your handmade pieces.

the small studio was a few minutes away from the main street and the subway station. the road it was on was lined with street art on both sides, there was decent foot-traffic, and a good number of cars passing by—a haven for independent brands. plus, the landlady who lived upstairs was a middle-aged woman who, as it seemed, made it a habit to bring you her homemade rice cakes almost daily. you liked to think that this, along with the reasonable rent, was a bonus from fate.

you found the place on a random walk with a close friend. it was his idea—wonjin said you needed some fresh air after only having fruitless searches for weeks. at least that’s what you thought he meant by “go home and shower, at least,” and “c’mon, let’s go on a walk before you start to have nightmares about landlords.” who would’ve thought you’d find this place when you weren’t even looking?

the meager amount you saved up from commissions and tips while you took up different part-time jobs and sold custom pieces was enough to pay for a few months as you got your new brand established. the place wasn’t much—just enough to hold five racks of clothes, a tiny storage room, a display area, a bit of walking space—and you had to rely on your old equipment for now, but you already loved the shop dearly because it was your own.

it took a lot of heart, a lot of meals consisting of just ramyeon, a lot of needle pricks…

and a very willing model.

“ow!” a cry of pain followed by a trail of childish laughter from the same person echoed off of the walls of your empty shop. it was almost evening and the clear glass door let in a ray of orange sunlight, shining over rolls of fabric, spools of thread, and several sketches that littered your shop’s floor. it was the typical scene: you with your eyebrows furrowed in focus and your noisy yet undoubtedly helpful friend wonjin with unsewn fabric and pins over his own clothes as he stood on a small platform. even your bickering was part of the routine you’ve established the past few weeks as you prepared for opening day. seven days left!

“i’m sorry!” you withdrew the hand holding the tiny culprit, looking closely at the spot on wonjin’s shoulder which you pricked. “i promise i’ll be done in a quick minute. maybe if you put your phone down for a while…” you muttered the last part, meaning for him to hear it anyway. inside, you were thankful that he has been patient with you as you did your thing, but you just couldn’t resist an opportunity to jab at ham wonjin with your remarks. after such, he was nearly impossible to shut up.

but that’s just wonjin being wonjin and that’s what always made you want him around.

“y/n, i came to be your volunteer model, not a pin cushion.” he jabbed back and teased you, waiting for the reaction he now memorized and repeatedly coaxed out of you just for kicks: a roll of the eyes followed by a swing of the hand aimed at him which you never followed through with. nonetheless, he fake-dodged on instinct and laughed, as you knew he would.

“stay still or i’ll prick you intentionally, wonjin.”

“‘young male found pricked to death by owner of up-and-coming clothing brand…’ imagine that headline.” he trailed off and now stayed still as he chatted you up. you appreciated this, the light and familiar company as you worked to enter the unfamiliar territory that is your new business. you shook your head at his nonsense and smiled to yourself.

it was only when you locked the final stitch that evening that you leaned back and realized just how long your day has been—your eyes and back were sore, your hands were all tight and in need of a break, and your head refused to recall your designs anymore. your body was telling you to wrap the day up.

“what do you want?” you sighed and opened one of your eyes after a satisfying stretch. wonjin was standing in front of you with his palms extended and an unreadable expression on his face. what did he want?

“your hands. hurry.” a momentary pause with your mind almost going blank. my hands? “i want to try that thing you do with your knuckles when you’re done with work.” he finally stepped forward and grabbed both of your hands, making you take a few seconds to comprehend what he meant. it must be the exhaustion that’s making your brain function slower than it usually does. or maybe it’s this proximity.

“you mean cracking them?” you asked as you looked up at him from your seat.

“mhmm.” wonjin started to crack your knuckles one by one, commenting on how loud the sound from each finger was. this was an absurd scene, really, but you couldn’t deny how amusing it was to watch him and how such a simple gesture relieved a good amount of your tiredness.

“tsk.” it was all you could say after he cracked the last pinky, his hands lingering on yours a few seconds after. “okay, that’s enough, you’re going to injure me,” you grunted as you stood up and walked past him towards the storage room, hiding a now pink face.

“opening day is in exactly a week.” wonjin thought aloud as he started to pick up the clutter on the floor. “that’s still a lot of time, you know. why don’t you take tomorrow off? go to a sauna or something.” he offered the idea even though he knew so, so well that you were going to be fast to turn it down. it was too bad that you had no plans of pausing until opening day. maybe then he would’ve found the time to show you a little something he was working on. it was worth a shot, he thought. i’ll give it a few more days.

“no can do. i still have to work on jungmo’s piece. you’re bringing him over tomorrow, right?”

“if the free barbecue for us is still up… then, yes.” wonjin beamed, proud that he landed a good deal after convincing one of your friends to model for you. honestly, you believed the effort he’s been exerting for you and your shop was worth far more than a barbecue treat, but he insisted that he would accept nothing more than that.

ham wonjin always had a knack for being thoughtful without being obvious about it and it has indeed grown on you although you were quite slow to admit it to yourself.

“i’ll tell him to brace for the pin pricks.”

“pft.” you rolled your eyes at him and started to help clear out the shop before both of you got ready to leave. “let’s get coffee before walking home? it’s on me.” with a casual ruffle of wonjin’s hair, a silent thanks from you to him, met with a subsequent shake of his head to rearrange it, you closed the shop up with an unexpectedly light heart.

it was just another one out of many nights you spent walking home to the same neighborhood and it went by as it always did—seeing the bold words and symbols spray-painted on the walls of the street you were in, hearing him tell you about how cool they looked at night to which you responded as enthusiastically, pointing out newer and smaller details every time you walked past them—yet it never got old or boring.

silently, you wished the next seven days would unfold perfectly, just like how things were then and there in that small city street.

help, he’s been talking about you since we sat down. come quickly.

a text message from jungmo pulled you out of your sleepy train of thought as you stood on the crowded subway, three stops away from your destination: to a breakfast cafe where you planned to meet with wonjin and jungmo before working on the piece for your new model.

from a face that was barely awake came a blush that’s been finding its way there quite often recently. you’ve been trying to send away your suspicions that you were growing fonder and fonder of wonjin and your attempts would usually be successful if not for text messages like this. a fraction of the blame for your confusion goes to your friends for their persistent hints and teases. they may as well be just that: meaningless hints and empty teases stemming from the constant bickering that your friends found cute and endearing. the fact that you and wonjin were almost joined at the hip for the past few months didn’t help. neither did his clinginess which you suddenly start to look for on days he was too busy with his own matters to drop by.

the casual offers to walk you home, the few seconds he spends wordless and silent when you get too close as you worked on his pieces, or the smallest gestures to help you out with the shop were all subjected to your overthinking. but nevermind all that. you didn’t have plans of telling anyone about this anyway. a short reply would suffice for now.

bleh. i’m almost there.

your face glowed as you got closer and closer to the cafe. no one would have been able to tell that you were stressing over a million little things about the imminent opening day. for reasons you couldn’t put a finger on, you wanted to at least overhear a hint of what wonjin was saying about you before you sat down and kept a straight face in front of him again. anything; the smallest compliment, the most mundane story about how you spent time together, anything that could fuel you up for the next few days knowing that thoughts of you lived in his head too. all that after denying to acknowledge any feelings. way to be fickle, y/n, you thought to yourself.

entering the packed and brightly-decorated cafe, you approached the two friends who’ve already ordered their meals. huh, thanks a lot. from behind the booth table they picked out, you slowed down, planning on intentionally not making your presence known until you were almost seated.

your face dropped the very second their conversation reached earshot.

“it’s beginning to become burdensome. i don’t think we even match. it’s never going to happen. just a few more days and i swear—i’m done,” you heard this in wonjin’s unmistakable voice, with a tone of annoyance that went straight through your chest.

“i see.” jungmo nodded and the two continued digging into their breakfast, still unaware of your arrival.

you took this as an opportunity to turn your heels and retrace your steps to the subway station, sending jungmo a quick text before you wallowed in your scattered thoughts. you felt the heat radiating from your face but now for a much different reason.

if there were two things you hated the most in the world, it was being lied to and unnecessarily troubling the people you cared about. it felt worse hearing both from wonjin’s mouth. this was the same person who’s been there for you for months while you built the shop from the ground up, the same person who’s seemingly been helping you unconditionally. you were at a loss about who to blame: yourself for not noticing how much your shop was demanding from him or wonjin for keeping all this pent-up annoyance behind your back.

last night, when you imagined how the rest of your week would pan out, you didn’t expect to see yourself inside a packed subway train, desperately keeping your tears from pouring.

“that’s weird. y/n just said she went directly to the shop instead. urgent.” jungmo perked up at your sudden message, eyes on his phone as he ate the last slice of his pancake.

“what? y/n didn’t text me anything after she said she was a station away. she would’ve told me.” wonjin looked around the cafe, sure that jungmo was mistaken and half-expecting to see you meters away from their table. “i already ordered for her though…”

“she’s asking me to come by quickly so she can finish fitting the pieces. it won’t take until lunch, right?” jungmo’s question went unnoticed as a now preoccupied wonjin kept his eyes on the untouched plate in front of him.

“so stubborn, tsk. really can’t get her hands off her work. one of these days she’s going to get sick. and you know she lives alone so—”

“dude. now that we’re back to y/n, you’re chattering again. just finish your food so i can go get fitted.”

wonjin sighed and furrowed his eyebrows, inwardly worried about your sudden change of plans and ready to nag at you for not giving yourself even the slightest break. what is she doing not giving herself even half an hour for breakfast? this fool.

there was barely any room for the sound of the shop’s door chimes, which signaled the two’s arrival, with wonjin’s trail of nags starting before he was even entirely inside. hearing all this from the storage room where you were distracting yourself by reorganizing your fabrics, you let out a deep sigh and hoped your eyes did not look too red and swollen before you stepped out. this is stupid, you thought. you had no time for delays but your emotions were getting the best of you. if you were going to finish your work, it had to be without him.

“y/n, at this rate you’re going to tire yourself out and get sick on opening day. we agreed last night you’d be at the cafe to at least stuff yourself with this before the long day,” wonjin took no breaths in between, placing the paper bag containing your forgotten breakfast on top of your work counter. “then suddenly you say you aren’t going anymore. did the racks arrive early? why did you suddenly—“

“thanks for coming, jungmo.” you greeted the older male, cutting off wonjin's monologue without even looking at him. jungmo just nodded and shrugged, obviously used to the dynamic between his two friends who were in front of him. he simply sat down on one of the wooden stools and started keeping himself busy with his phone. you felt bad that he had to be caught in the middle of this, but between confronting your feelings and doing what had to be done for the shop, you were sure you were much more ready to do the latter. “this won’t take that long, don’t worry.”

“did you hear me just now…? sit down and eat first, y/n.” wonjin started to sense that something was up with the way you paced around busily as you got your materials ready and purposely avoided his eyes.

“i thought i texted you not to come,” a muttered statement was finally sent his way—a weak acknowledgment of his presence—but you were still looking at anything but him. from your peripheral vision, you saw wonjin getting his phone out to check what you meant.

“huh… i didn’t see that…” his usual speaking volume started to drop, a sign that you knew meant he was genuinely puzzled.

“now that you have…” you kept a straight face and mustered the heart to look at him, trying to act as nonchalant as you could even though you knew that the next words out of your mouth were not you. “go home. or somewhere else, at least… spare yourself the burden of being stuck here again.”

“what are you talking about?” he started to laugh to try and lighten up the rising tension, a habit of his. is this some kind of prank? he thought to himself and searched your expression for some giveaways. “is jungmo replacing me?” when he saw that you weren’t laughing along, he paused.

“no time for questions, okay, wonjin? it’s time to go, i need to get to work and this isn’t helping. please go.” it took everything in you to keep yourself calm and collected and you didn’t know how many more questions you could dodge. why am i being so emotional, damn it.

“what do you mean ‘go?’” wonjin tried to laugh again, albeit a softer, less confident one. “this shop’s practically home... did something happen on the way here?”

“go as in...you don’t need to drop by anymore. i’m almost done with everything.” a total lie.

“i know you’ll do well by yourself, y/n, but you know i don’t mind helping. it’s not a big deal.” wonjin reassured, stepping forward as if this would prove his point. to your annoyance, he went on to bring your takeout breakfast out of its bag and proceeded to prepare the food on your work counter, all the while nagging at you for being the stubborn person you were. “it must be the hunger, y/n. come here and eat.”

you, on the other hand, kept your distance and contained a painful laugh. it was almost funny comparing what you heard earlier to the words he was saying right now. what was he playing at? “it must be tiring, huh? just go, okay? you don’t need to do all this. no one’s forcing you. i’ll be fine here.”

he sighed. “just tell me what’s going on. pushing me away like this when i don’t know what i’ve done? you’re being a bit hurtful right now,” wonjin’s last strands of patience were barely keeping him together, matching your slowly rising temper.

“trust me, i’ve heard worse. go.” your gaze pierced through him for a good few seconds until jungmo, who’s been slowly realizing that things were getting serious, pulled wonjin away before he blurted things out in frustration. the way wonjin looked right now was as if his questions were visibly jumping out of him. there’s never been an exchange this intense between the two of you no matter how much you bickered and everyone in the room knew it.

reaching his limit, wonjin shook free from jungmo and briskly walked out of the shop, leaving a strange silence after the chimes died down.

the next couple of days consisted of wonjin keeping himself from going back to the shop and you trying to dodge jungmo’s probing questions as you worked. even after countless attempts to rethink what he did that day, he was still clueless about what prompted you to deny any help or to avoid him entirely. the years of friendship you had meant that he knew you were not the type of person to dismiss others without any good reason.

but his pride went head to head with his worry and this led him to spend consecutive late nights with unsent messages, apologies written and deleted, calls not made, and questions not asked. after all, what was he going to apologize for? if anything, he believed he deserved an apology for being sent away without explanations. with this thought, wonjin would pull on his hair in frustration because of how childish he sounded in his head.

just when i thought things were going well between us. just when he was ready to tell you how, with your passion and perseverance and, he admitted, maybe a bit of your friends’ little remarks on how you two looked good together, you’ve slowly made a friend fall for you in the span of the past few months.

“okay, get this. there’ll be new collections every month and they’ll all be themed after the zodiacs. but i wonder if i can come up with pieces that fast? or how about i do quarterly collections? maybe that’ll be better, releasing three designs altogether…i just wonder if i can keep that up for the whole year. would anyone even show up to buy my stuff? what do you think? god, i don’t even have a name for my shop yet.”

several months ago, when the shop still seemed out of reach and it felt impossible to settle on a place to start your business, you would cheer yourself up by picturing the ideal: your shop all decked and ready, packed with people shopping for your new collections, appreciating the hours of hard work that went into each handmade piece. with every spurt of excitement, wonjin would just be the constant cheerleader and voice of reason, both supporting you and bringing you back down to reality.

“why are you looking at me like that, ham wonjin?” you turned to get a view of the boy seated beside you on the bus stop, an uncharacteristically wordless wonjin, his head slightly tilted away with a downward gaze at you, an amused look on his face. the day was almost coming to an end, a full day spent walking around town, lists of units for rent on hand.

“nothing. i think that’s a good idea.” he smiled and looked up to think. “but it sounds like you’ll be wearing yourself out. what about doing monthly collections when you find more help?”

“you’ve got a point.” you considered this but you were nonetheless excited about the potential this little shop holds. “anyway, let’s go. i still have a lot of open seams to sew.”

“open seams.” wonjin repeated.

“yeah, the unfinished pieces. remember? the shop? me? sewing? clothes?” you teased, acting out every word like a mime.

“no, dummy. open seams. the name of your shop. it sounds catchy doesn’t it?” it was wonjin’s turn to get excited and your turn to find amusement in his enthusiasm. “didn’t you say open seams look unfinished but that’s what gives them the edge?”

“wow, i can’t believe you actually listen to me blabber about seams.”

wonjin whined at this, defending himself and saying that he always listened. you said the new name, again and again, testing out how it felt to say and how it sounded. “open seams. it does sound great...”

that hug out of nowhere and the strong tug at his hand pulling him towards the bus that just stopped in front of the both of you was all he could remember as he walked home that night. the very next morning after that encounter, he set off to a certain street art-lined street with your shop in mind after finding an online listing for a vacancy that was just the perfect price, the perfect size, and on the perfect street that would soon be housing your pieces of art.

pulling his mind back to the present and attempting to keep it from wandering to you again, he made himself busy with the only other thing he had going on: the last few days of a low-paying multimedia job he impulsively committed to and is now regretting. he stretched in his chair, his phone kept in place with his cheek and shoulder.

“how’s that media job you were talking about the other day? still a burden?” jungmo’s calls have been the only thing keeping wonjin in touch with what’s going on in the shop. even if he didn’t ask, the reliable hyung kept him up to date with the last set of preps and your occasional breakdowns.

“it’s a definite no-match. i’ve got three days left and i just want to make a run for it.” wonjin looked at all the uninteresting piles of manuals haphazardly stacked on his home desk, a reflection of how much he despised working this job from home. truth be told, he would much rather be working with you downtown. “how are things?”

“you mean, how’s y/n?”

“you know what i mean.”

“she’s out to eat with yuna right now after refusing a hundred times. we’re staying with her until tonight, though, so don’t worry.”

“alright.” wonjin sighed, feeling powerless that he was of no help to ease your load yet still refusing to do anything about it.

“just talk to each other, for god’s sake! you both sound terrible-” jungmo shouted through the phone, pleading to his younger friend. “do you even know how many times i tried to ask y/n about what happened between you two? seventy-seven times, wonjin. seventy-seven times. yes, i counted-”

“i’m hanging up.” wonjin tossed the phone away making it land somewhere among the stack of items on his messy desk. a few seconds after he rudely ended the call, a text message from a persistent jungmo. dinner still on tonight. you have to come with us, dude.

you didn’t know what came over you. there were only three days left until your shop’s opening day. there were still several patterns to cut up, clothing pieces that needed to be sewn together, and more people to invite for your brand to gain traction, yet you were here at a nearby barbecue place, giving in to your friends’ requests for you to let loose for a few hours with a couple of shots of alcohol, good food, and conversations that held until several hours after midnight.

anyone would’ve noticed how tense you’ve become in a span of a few days—from the tired yet happy y/n who’s excited to get to work every morning despite the imminent deadline to an irritable, downcast y/n who wouldn’t keep their eyes and ears off of their work and nothing else.

and yes, everyone knew the reason behind this sudden change in work attitude. it was an open secret: the sudden and unexplainable drift between you and wonjin, previously an inseparable pair of friends, and both of your unwillingness to patch it up. your friends decided that mentioning it to either of you was just like nudging a rock on the side of a cliff, especially with an important occasion happening soon.

for wonjin, there was a mix of pride and confusion. why were you suddenly pushing him away when he was closer to you than he ever was? he never left your side as you built your shop from the ground up only for you to passive-aggressively refuse any further help a week before opening day. he deserved a proper explanation, but he would almost worry himself into sleep deprivation thinking about how important opening day was to you. it was either he asked you directly and tip the delicate mind balance you had as you got things in order or he could wait it out and almost go crazy at the mere thought of not hearing a peep from you.

for you, it was pure disappointment. in yourself or him, you were not sure. all you wanted was to stay sane for the time being and you told yourself that this was only possible if you didn’t see or hear him anywhere near you. you’ve heard how he truly felt, you heard it crystal clear, so there was nothing else to talk about. after all, if he saw you as a burden, why push any further?

so alas, there you were, with a small group of friends and a whole night to spend without any of your handmade pieces or clothed mannequins.

slow down? you repeated in your head once you heard jungmo and yuna’s invitation to tonight’s mini get-together. slowing down just made you remember how dull the days have been ever since you sent wonjin away that morning. stupid, talkative, playful wonjin who gave you the best, most comforting company. slowing down made you miss him, but you weren’t going to say that out loud.

this was probably what the sober you would have thought, but your slurred speech and buffering mind, now clouded with the two bottles of alcohol you’ve consumed that night, begged to differ. you were now in a state of zero filter and total unawareness of the faces swimming around you.

“burdensome? tsk. so i was burdensome to him, huh?” you laughed bitterly and roughly downed another shot of soju, using the back of your hand to trap any spills from your lips. “idiot. wonjin is an idiot. if you didn’t want to stay close to me, just tell me, damn it!” you shouted, repeatedly stomping your feet on the floor like a child.

your incoherent sentences, flushed cheeks, and unfocused eyes were what welcomed wonjin when he arrived at your table, half-jogging. jungmo, who has been carefully watching you since you asked for your second bottle, gave him an apologetic look and shrugged, gesturing to the empty bottles in front of you. “look, i know you refused to come and eat dinner with us but i had to call you. you live the closest to y/n.”

wonjin shook his head and laughed, half in disbelief and half in amusement. and here he thought he was going to spend his night cooped up with work to get you out of his head. “has she been calling me names all night?”

“you have no idea. good luck.” he patted wonjin’s back and watched as he pulled you up from your seat,

“let’s go, y/n. you can continue talking shit about me on the way home, okay?” wonjin’s tone was gentle as if he was testing the waters. the last thing he wanted was for you to lash out at him then and there. first, he needed to get you home. you two can talk some other time. hopefully.

“who’s this purple-haired clown? why is your hair purple like wonjin’s? are you his twin? is that idiot your twin?” it was a surprise you even managed to get those words out in between hiccups.

“idiot? you’re the idiot, getting drunk like this.” wonjin muttered under his breath. he still struggled to pull you up and support your body weight but what he found was that the best way to keep you conscious was to indulge you in conversation.

and that he did as he walked you to the usual bus stop where you two always sat and waited for the last trip.

“…if you see him around, tell him this for me.” you started, unknowingly leaning your head on his shoulder, giving into the heaviness you felt around your temples. in your drunken state, you genuinely thought you were talking to a pure stranger.

“hmm?” wonjin looked down at you, softening as he saw you with your eyes tightly shut as you repressed nausea. “what should i tell him?

“tell him—tell him i need to know how to forget him… he needs to tell me— how to do that…even for just a few days… okay? you’ll tell him?” there was no way you could have stopped your subconscious from pouring out. it was the truth told as it was: all you wanted was to get through the next few days without the hassle of whatever emptiness it was that you felt.

“why don’t you tell him yourself?” wonjin let his head lean against yours, sighing the millionth sigh between the both of you since a few days ago. “and what if he doesn’t know how to do that either, with you?”

“why do you have so many questions?!” you grabbed his arm and shook it non-stop, making him laugh at how ridiculous you looked and sounded with your unfocused eyes and the non-sense you were spouting. “don’t ask me questions because i don’t know, okay?! i just miss ham wonjin!”

wonjin froze for a few seconds, simply blinking at you and at the words you were saying over and over again. when he finally recovered, he calmed you down and leaned your head on his shoulder again. “he says he feels the same way.”

a head-splitting ache woke you up at ten in the morning the next day, only two days before the most awaited opening day. the last thing you remembered from last night was being halfway through your second bottle of soju and your friends jungmo, yuna, and serim telling you to slow down. it didn’t really take a lot to guess that you didn’t listen to them.

after a few slow minutes of debating whether or not you can get up and get on with your day in one piece, you eventually pulled your blankets off of you and figured that you'd live with the consequences of last night’s choices. besides, you couldn’t skip a crucial preparation day. after sending your three friends a quick thank-you message for getting you home safely, your phone lit up again with a message. you did a double-take at the new notification that just arrived; it was a text message from wonjin. are you up?

three days of silence and all he asks me is if i’m up? you grunted, refused to open the message in question, and, seeing no point in dwelling, went on with the rest of your routine. you didn’t know what else you wanted to read from that text, but you sure weren’t expecting to see such a casual question after literally not having heard a peep from each other for days. if you were being honest, you half-expected him to arrive at dinner last night.

but whatever that text meant, you didn’t want to use your head, which at the moment felt like it weighs a ton, to think about it.

your forehead in your hands as you navigate around your now-sunlit studio apartment, you hoped that the last-minute invitations, quality checks, and tidying up would keep you busy enough to forget the fact that, last night, you could’ve sworn you dreamt of wonjin and how he sat beside you on a bus ride home.

“and there she is, fighting through the aftermath of alcohol.” yuna greeted loudly and met you halfway as you approached your shop on foot. last night, the three offered to be your manpower for the next few days which is why she, jungmo, and serim were all waiting for you out on the sidewalk, eyes squinted because of the sunlight and their mild hangovers.

“do we get some kind of prize that we arrived earlier than you?” serim asked as the four of you entered.

“coffee, as always.” this was met by a cheer from jungmo who wasted no time in attending to the shop decor which was still packed in boxes. “don’t worry, guys. if my shop does well, it’s meat for everyone.”

“it’s settled then.” yuna clapped and got everyone’s attention. “okay, team. to your usual tasks. serim, light fixtures. jungmo, decor. me, storage. y/n, create.”

“jungmo’s taller, why do i get the light fixtures?”

you smiled sincerely for the first time in a few days, touched that they’re taking time off from their days to get the shop together, to get you together. “oh, and guys, sorry about last night. feel free to curse at me. i must’ve been so heavy.” you sat down in front of your work counter, fighting back a cringe. after numerous nights out, you just knew they had a treasure chest full of embarrassing stories to haunt you with. you were thankful no one else was there to see you wiped out.

“hmm, you must’ve.” a knowing smile from a mischievous serim to jungmo and yuna. “but we wouldn’t know. right, guys?”

“yeah, y/n. i don’t know, i brought serim to his home.” yuna shared, trying to sound innocent but failing as she shouted from the storage room.

“and i went home alone because i wasn’t drunk.” jungmo followed without missing a single beat. now you were utterly confused. did these three just call a cab on you or did you walk yourself home? you looked at the three of them one by one, their questionable smiling faces met with the most puzzled look on your face.

“all i know is…” jungmo started, keeping himself from breaking out in laughter before he could get his words out. “you called him a purple-haired idiot. that’s it.”

“what?!” you stood up abruptly, making your chair tumble back with a thud.

and just then, you started to recall bits and pieces of last night, starting from the vague bus ride that, until a few moments ago, you thought was just a dream. what in the world did i do now?

“y/n, i’ll help you up, okay? we’re almost at our stop.” wonjin pulled you up from your bus seat where you’ve been half-asleep on his shoulder. putting his arms around you as he guided you down the vehicle and onto the sidewalk, he repeatedly apologized to the bus driver for the delay. wonjin could only nod and laugh at the friendly reply from the middle-aged man who shouted ‘take your girlfriend home safely!’ he silently wondered how sober y/n would have reacted to such a remark.

just as the two of you stepped down, a splattering against the ground made both of you stop in your tracks.

“good heavens,” wonjin muttered as he rubbed your back and looked at the part of his shoes that was now covered in whatever it was you had for dinner a while ago. “you know, y/n, i wonder if you’d remember this once you pass by this mess tomorrow morning. looks like you enjoyed your barbecue too much.” wonjin joked, still not halting the backrubs as you were doubled over with your hands on your knees.

when you looked up at him after that spiel, all you could do was smile apologetically and giggle, eyes half-open. “let’s go home. i’m tired.”

“are you all done? you’re not going to throw up on my shirt or anything?” wonjin pulled you away from the side of the road, leading you to the direction of your apartment. “you have to tell me your apartment password so you can go in, okay?”

“you have to guess it. you’re never going to guess it!” you pulled away from his hold and ran around him in circles, getting a thrill from how light you started to feel after letting some of the alcohol out.

jogging to catch up with you, wonjin shouted, “y/n, slow down you’re gonna hurt yourself! aish. this child.”

“i threw up on him.” you said out loud to no one in particular. the text from this morning, your friend’s teasing smiles, and the blurry, dream-like memories on the bus meant that wonjin did make it to dinner last night just when you were in no state of mind to remember when exactly he arrived. “i threw up on him outside my home... jungmo, it was you who called him, wasn’t it?! guys?!”

the laughter that filled the room after that and the whines of a terrified jungmo who wanted none of your punches were muffled by the sound of the door chimes tingling, signaling someone’s arrival. you almost snapped your neck as you hurried to see who it was.

“hi, dear.” instead of a particular young male, you were met with the sight of the friendly landlady from upstairs, a plate of her usual handmade treats on hand, and a welcoming smile on her face. you mentally flicked yourself for involuntarily expecting someone else. “rice cakes?”

“oh, auntie. it’s you.” the relief in your tone made your friends snicker. “thank you, you didn’t have to...”

“why so surprised, dear? were you expecting someone?” she asked, waving at the set of friends bustling away inside the shop with the same annoying smiles on their faces. “oh that’s right. where’s that lovely boy, wonjin?”

“lovely boy,” serim whispered and bit back a laugh, earning him a glare from you.

“he can’t make it today, auntie,” you explained shortly, politely getting the plate of rice cakes from her hands.

“that’s too bad. it’s almost opening day.” she looked around the shop, satisfied by how it’s starting to look compared to the bare and boring unit she used to clean every day. “you worked your magic in this place. it feels just like yesterday when he was begging me to keep this small spot reserved for a day.”

“what do you mean?”

“wonjin, that boy! remember? he was here the day before both of you passed by to finally rent it? ”

“i- i didn’t know that, auntie.”

all this time, you thought you both found the place by chance and now here you were finding out that he was the one who made sure open seams happened. the walk you took that day wasn’t such a random one after all. what was up with the universe today and its not-so-subtle way of telling you to let wonjin back into your mind and your life? him taking you home last night and now this; whatever happened to the burdensome y/n he was talking about?

“aaaand, another secret’s out.” yuna walked out of the storage room, a box of spools in hand. she beamed at the landlady who took a few seconds to figure out what she just revealed.

“oh. oops.” the landlady sheepishly turned back and started to push the door open, ready to take her leave. “i think that’s my cue. see you around, dear.”

“see you around, auntie!” your three friends greeted her when she was out of the shop. they turned their heads back to you who had nothing but a blank stare and mouth agape, the gears almost visibly turning inside your head.

“so now will you tell us what’s been going on between you two? it’s just weird knowing about all that and seeing you guys refuse to make up. both of you aren’t looking so good either, you know?” serim asked after giving you a few seconds to think.

you sighed, leaning on the side of the table for support. “that day at the breakfast cafe, he said all this was getting kind of heavy and burdensome. that he couldn’t wait for it to end.” you decided to tell them once and for all about how you felt. “and that we were never going to happen.”

“y/n. you’re so stupid. ow!” jungmo concluded, earning him a smack to both shoulders by serim and yuna. “he was talking about that job he had! if you stayed longer and ate with us, you would’ve heard how smitten he was even if he wouldn’t admit it. i can see right through him.” jungmo explained in a high-pitched tone that reflected how frustrated he has been with the two of you. “now that i think about it, you’re both stupid.”

smitten? you took in everything jungmo just said and remembered every word you blurted out when you sent wonjin away that morning. finding out that he had another job all while helping you out with the shop for the past few months made you regret how you acted even more. it frustrated you that you’ve been too preoccupied to even ask about him. this is all on me. why did i act so rashly? “i’m so stupid.”

“are we just now finally finding out that this was all a big misunderstanding?” yuna piped up, breaking the silence.

“and are you telling me that it almost took a fallout for you to finally see the feelings you had for each other? these kids,” serim added, raising both hands in defeat.

different variations of ‘i knew it’ and ‘it’s about time’ as well as ‘idiots’ filled the shop as you were still frozen in place. you knew you had to apologize to wonjin, but where were you even going to start? with that encounter at the cafe? with how bad you felt for invalidating his heart to help you and rudely pushing him away? with everything you think you blurted out on that drunk night? or maybe how you actually felt for him?

can you meet me here in 30 minutes?

it took wonjin less than a heartbeat to reply to your message asking about where he was. even though you were the one who was out of it last night, he couldn’t help but worry over his own impulses. if you remembered everything he told you while he thought you were drunk and asleep, he had no choice but to explain it to you while you were fully-sober. and the thought of finally confronting you about everything made the usually-confident and talkative wonjin tongue-tied.

“hey.” you turned the corner of the small side-street where wonjin asked to meet and found him leaning against one of the street art-ridden walls, waiting for you. it was a spot near your shop but one that you didn’t pass by as frequently. an odd choice of a meeting place, but you figured he wanted to talk to you without your friends overhearing.

“here of all places?” you struck up a conversation albeit awkwardly, buying yourself time before the long apology.

he pointed to the wall behind him, looking at it up and down. “i was supposed to show you this sooner since they finished it early but…”

behind him was a small piece of street art. open seams, it said in the colors you usually used for your handmade pieces and in the style you designed for your simple logo. you softened not only at the thought that this shop was becoming a reality but also at how wonjin did this despite your missteps the past few days. at this point, you no longer knew if you were even worthy of him and his thoughtfulness.

“...you were supposed to show me this sooner but i was terrible to you, and i’m sorry. you didn’t deserve that. after everything... i don’t know if saying thank you would even be enough. that morning-”

“you look like you just lost a million won, y/n.” his reply cut you off, earning him a roll of your eyes to which he merely responded with a playful laugh. “auntie told you, huh? i knew i couldn’t trust her and her rice cakes.” wonjin joked again, now more relaxed than he was moments ago now that things are starting to look up between the both of you. if there was anything that he needed for comfort the past few days, it was the presence that he’s gotten so used to.

“i’ve had quite the morning, you know.” you told him as you eased into the conversation. “finding out you were the one who brought me home last night, finding out i wouldn’t have gotten the unit if not for you, and finding out i was mad at you over something i misunderstood. all this time.”

what proceeded was a detailed apology you practiced in your head beforehand. wonjin just laughed at how fast you were talking and he didn’t forget to give the occasional side comments to reassure you that he was still the old, talkative, and witty ham wonjin that you didn’t have to act differently around. you knew in yourself that this was one of the things you missed badly.

the weight you felt in your chest turned lighter as every bit of misunderstanding cleared out. “...all that because i didn’t even stop to think that one morning. i’m sorry…”

he delayed his response for a while, suddenly making you worry that he had more to be upset about. but he eventually nodded and waved away any remaining tension. “apology accepted.” wonjin ruffled your hair just like you always did with his. “we’re good. but do you remember anything else?”

“except for the fact that i threw up on your shoes, no, i don’t remember doing anything else.”

“the shoes were one thing.” he scratched his head and talked in such a low volume and such high speed you couldn’t even comprehend what he was saying just to tease you. “but not even me telling you i liked you while you were all leaning on my shoulder at the bus and that whole speech i said about falling for you after i tucked you in?”

“what? you said what when i was tucked in?!” you leaned in to hear him, only catching remnants of what you suspected was a confession.

“ah, too bad. it was a one-time subscription, so you’d have to pay to hear it again.” he shrugged.

“you little- just tell me! it’s not like it’ll be any more embarrassing than me pouring out my stomach contents on the sidewalk for everyone to see.” you stepped forward wanting to hear more from him but he shook his head and refused to tell you anything further. the mischievous smile on his face as he paced around to avoid your probing weirdly made your heart beat faster. “fine. i was planning to tell you about something important but i guess you don’t want to hear it-”

“i don’t need to. i already know your apartment password is my birthday.” he stopped pacing and expectantly searched your face for confirmation despite not needing it. “right, y/n? 032201?” he repeated the numbers again and again just to coax a reaction out of you, his favorite thing to do.

“wh- what are you talking about?” holy-. if there were any more of this kind of surprises today, you didn’t know how much more of the shock you could take, but it seems like wonjin was enjoying just watching you all flustered. “i opened it myself-”

“y/n, you were too drunk to even see the keypad last night. when i tried my luck, we got in. 032201? who else could that be?”

you were about to protest but as you were stuttering your poorly-made excuses, wonjin took your hand and slowly pulled you into a tight hug, all the while laughing at how ridiculous each of your statements was starting to sound. after the initial embarrassment passed, you realized there really was really nothing to hide anymore.

“are you done?” wonjin asked, still not letting go of his hold on you which you returned willingly, hugging him tightly and hiding your face in his chest. “because to put it simply, i like you.”

you sighed in content, feeling all the exhaustion from the past few days seep out of you with just those three words. “i like you, too, ham wonjin.”

“and one more thing…” you added. “jungmo told me you were smitten.”

it was wonjin’s turn to get flustered and defensive, you pulled your face away and leaned back to watch as he cursed at jungmo for describing him in such a way. wonjin trailed off in his usual rants while you looked up at him with no plans of stopping his lovable nonsense.

opening day

it was noontime on opening day: the ribbons have been cut, your mini-opening show went smoothly, friends have visited and selected their favorite pieces, and most of all, you have led the toast that officially marked the start of this journey. it felt utterly surreal.

“all i can say is…” wonjin put his arm around you as you stood beside the racks of clothing you spent months perfecting. “it was certainly worth the hundreds of pinpricks.”

“well, then. if you want more…” you pinched his side and laughed as he dodged you and made his way to your three other friends who were also admiring the work they did for the shop.

a few nights ago, on a nighttime walk home in this same neighborhood, you wished for a perfect week to unfold in front of you. and maybe it did; just not in the way you anticipated, but exactly the way you wished it would end.

#cravitywriters #cravity scenarios #cravity imagines #cravity fluff #cravity angst #wonjin angst #wonjin fluff #ham wonjin #wonjin scenarios #wonjin imagines #cravity #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

81 notes · View notes

fanfiction4thesoul · 5 years

Text

In a Moment

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word Count: ~2.7

Warnings: Fluff and swearing (I think - can’t quite remember), also really cheesy

Summary: Soulmate AU where when you meet the eyes of your soulmate, you relive their entire life and see a few scenes from your future together.

A/N: So I wrote this probably in the span of a few hours but over the course of like 3 weeks so please excuse any grammar mistakes. This semester has been killing me so I don’t have as much time as I would like. Anyway, I’ve always been a big fan of soulmate au’s of any kind, so I thought I’d take a stab at an unconventional one. I don’t know if I’ll write another part to this or not. I’m also contemplating doing a whole series of just different soulmate au’s for the fun of it. Okay, I’m done blabbing, enjoy!

“David, it’s 5 so I’m headed out!” You called back to the owner. It was actually passed 5 but you had stayed to finish up what you were doing. You really needed to get home and study. Exams were right around the corner and if you didn’t sit down and do some real work, you were afraid you might be in some trouble.

You worked at a quaint bookstore close to your university. It offered seating and a small cafe so it was hugely popular with the uni kids. They could come in and study or find a new book to read. Your boss even tried to keep some of the textbooks in stock just to raise business.

Despite its success during the semester, it never seemed to be busy during exams. You supposed it was because everyone else studied at the libraries on campus.

“Wait! (Y/N)!” David yelled out before you could get out the door. “Something came up and I have to run. Can you close the shop tonight? Please?”

You hesitated. David was a great boss and you wanted to help, but again, you needed to study.

“I’ll pay you time and a half.”

Well then. “Okay, but you also owe me breakfast and a coffee tomorrow morning.”

“Deal. Thank you so much, see you tomorrow!” He yelled, barreling out the door in a hurry.

You sighed looking back at the store front. Guess your day wasn’t over after all.

The rest of the day went fairly slow, with only a small rush in the middle to fill the void. Customers dwindled as you went back and forth between the bookshelves and the cafe. Before you knew it, the store was dead and you still had a half hour to go.

The store had marvelous ceiling to floor bookshelves that were beautiful to look at but such a pain in the ass to work around. There was unfortunately only one ladder that was used to reach the higher shelves and you always put it off. That ladder was a little rickety and the floors just uneven enough that you were always afraid you were going to take a tumble. But you literally did everything else you could. You even wiped down the tables twice. So there was nothing left to do but restock and inventory the higher shelves.

You grabbed the ladder and moved it around enough until you thought it was as stable as it was gonna get. Grabbing a stack of books, you quickly climbed up and began rearranging.

Everything was going fine. You got through most of the books. It’s when you got to the science fiction section that you felt the ladder wobble.

Your eyes widened as you tried to steady yourself but your movement jolted the ladder and you lose your balance. Bracing for impact, you closed your eyes and tried to tuck your head in. Just as you thought you were going to hit the hard floor, a soft mass hit you instead and you landed with a small “oof.”

The warm mass that hit you groaned and you realized with a start it was another person. You quickly opened your eyes and shot up from the ground. Looking down, you found a man with long blonde hair spread out over the floor. His bag was thrown across the aisle with the contents spilled out. He rubbed his head, eyes scrunched closed as he sat forward.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” You said. “Are you okay? Oh god, you didn’t get a concussion did you?” You were starting to panic a little. Whoever he was just saved you from a possibly hard tumble. But what if you hurt him instead? He probably hit his head on the floor. Can you get a concussion from that? Maybe you should call for an ambulance.

“I’m fine, love. Just smacked my head a bit but I’ll be okay. You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked, looking at his lap and getting his bearings.

“I’m good, thanks to you,” you said, “here let me help.” You extended your hand out to help him and he finally looks up. Just as he grabbed your offered hand, his eyes met yours.

And suddenly, you weren’t in the bookshop anymore.

You’re playing a small drum set while your mother watches on with a soft smile.

You’re riding a bike down the street with your friends. You’re racing to the candy shop at the end of the corner.

You’re snogging a beautiful brunette behind the science building of your school. Her lips are soft but warm.

You feel the harsh slap of your father’s hand across your face. And you feel all the other blows after it.

You tap away a rhythm on the desk with your pencil while your professor drones on about something you already know. You still get reprimed for disturbing the class.

You’re lugging your drum kit to Imperial College after seeing an ad. You walk in with all the confidence in the world because you’re Roger fucking Taylor.

Memory after memory flooded your mind. A lifetime of them. And then you were back in the bookshop, but only long enough to realize that you weren’t Roger Taylor before you were off again.

You’re watching Roger from the wings of a stage as he pounds away on the drums. There are other people on the stage, but you only have eyes for him. He looks up and gives you a dazzling smile and a wink before turning back to the drums. You can feel your smile grow wider.

Roger has his arm around your waist as he talks into your ear. You’re sitting on a sofa together as a party rages around you. You mingled around for a while before you decided to take up residence on the sofa. You’re content just sitting there cheek to cheek so you can hear each other. You only pull away to take a drink or laugh, but also to watch the love and mirth dance around in his eyes.

You’re washing dishes at the sink. When you look out the window you see Roger being tackled by two little girls. They tumble to the ground but you can see them all laughing. An older blonde boy is smiling at the scene from behind a book. Roger grabs both girls, one under each arm and swings them up.

More and more scenes flashed across your mind almost as fast as you could process them.

Roger is smiling at you again. You’re walking down a busy city street hand in hand. He’s old and gray and you can feel his wrinkles against yours as he swings your joined hands between you. But you can still see his youthfulness shine through in his eyes. You break away and demand a race to the end of the block. Winner gets the last of the ice cream at home. You hear his resounding laugh behind you.

As the last scene fades in front of your eyes, you were slowly brought back to the store.

The man Roger was still on the floor but looking up at you with such wonder in his eyes. And you knew exactly why.

Because you lived his entire life in a matter of moments. It felt so strange. You lived Roger’s life - in its entirety. Only a few moments passed, but you just spent 20 some odd years getting to know Roger inside and out. It felt like an eternity. You knew why he grew his hair out, how long it took him to pick out his clothes today, what made him come to the store, and most importantly, his view on soulmates.

Which was apparently that they were a load of bollocks.

And he didn’t want nor need one.

So while his face showed wonder, you knew yours was apprehensive.

You never thought you’d be part of the lucky few that actually finds their supposed soulmate. But you most certainly believed in them. Perhaps because it’s a little girls fantasy to know there is someone out there made just for you. The romantic in you couldn’t help but sigh.

Roger brought you out of your musings, scrambling off the floor to stand. He was still looking at you strangely, and you weren’t sure what was going through his mind.

“You… that… did you see that? The memories? And the - the-”

“The memories you’re supposed to make with your soulmate? Yes, of course,” you said. Roger’s breath hitched a little when you said soulmate but otherwise didn’t react. You seemed to be the only calm one in the situation. You were almost worried Roger might have a panic attack.

“I don’t… that is, I didn’t want…” he stumbled over his words.

“You don’t want a soulmate. Roger, I know. I did just live your entire life. I can’t say I’m not disappointed though.” It stung. Not only because your soulmate was rejecting you.

But because you loved him.

Those who found their soulmates were often featured on the news. People interviewed said they did not fall in love instantly. That it wasn’t like they were hit with Cupid’s arrow and all the sudden loved the person. But rather they saw the person in their memories. They learned all their faults, saw them at their lowest, their highest. They had all the years of their soulmate’s life to fall in love with them.

And now you could understand why. You watched Roger get pushed down by nearly everyone around him. But you saw him rise above that and become the kind, caring, if a bit cocky and arrogant man he is right now. How could you not love him?

“No! Love, you’ve got it wrong. I thought that. And I know you just saw a lifetime of that but it’s different! Shit, I’m not explaining myself well I swear I’m more articulate than this.” He said, running a hand through his hair. One of his nervous habits.

“I know.” You gave him a small smirk, trying to relieve some of his tension and your nerves.

He got it after a moment and chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

“How about this,” you said, hoping to take the edge off some more, “why don’t I grab the book you came here for. You gather your things and your thoughts. I’ll meet you in the cafe, alright?”

He hesitated for a moment, looking a little apprehensive before saying, “Alright, love. Just so long as you don’t need to climb that ladder. Don’t think we need you falling again.”

You blinked and looked over at the ladder with the stack of books. You nearly forgot that happened. Even though you just saw through Roger’s eyes how you lost your balance and he attempted to catch you. Gosh, you were gonna get a headache at this rate.

“Don’t worry. No climbing necessary.” You gave him one last smile before turning around and heading towards the medical books you keep in the back area.

When you got back, you saw Roger sat at the nearest table, bag thrown over the chair as he stared at his hands.

“Here you go,” you handed him the book.

He sighed, “Thanks, love. This is a life saver.”

“I know.” You smirked at him again.

“Is this going to be a running joke?” He laughed.

“Only until it gets old.”

Silence covered you as you waited. He stared at you, making you squirm a little.

“I think I’ve got my thoughts, if you’re ready to hear them.” He said quietly.

You nod and watched as he started drumming his fingers on the table for a moment.

“You know- knew my thoughts on soulmates. There’s no point reiterating that. But I guess you could say a moment changed that.” He tentatively reached across the table to grab one of your hands. You felt your cheeks heat up a bit as he gripped you tight. “I’ve seen your entire life, (Y/N), and you’ve seen mine.” You jolted a little at hearing your name come from him for the first time. After hearing his voice for years and years, finally having it directed at you seemed so strange. But not unpleasant.

He gave you this brilliant smile, lighting up his entire face. “I guess I finally realized what everyone was always talking about when they met their soulmate. It seems impossible and it goes against everything I believed. But in a moment, I fell in love with you.”

You worried your lip between your teeth as you gazed at him. His eyes were sincere and he seemed to mean it. But you also had memories of such sweet words being whispered to the conquest of the night.

Roger shifted in his seat beginning to look a little uncomfortable. “Please say something, love. I may have been inside your head for the last 20 odd years, but I’m not in it now.”

You stared at him for a few moments longer. Just when you thought he might burst, you say, “The… other girls.”

“Would you call me a sap if I said they were just distractions, even if I didn’t know it at the time? I’ve been passing the time, not knowing I’d end up here with you.” His smile was bashful though you could hear no lie behind it.

You wanted to tease him a little though, “I would call you a sap, in fact. Because you always heckled your friends over believing in soulmates.”

“Aw, c’mon, love! I’m putting myself out here.” He pouted at you.

You smiled. “And you deserve every second of this, Roger Taylor! But that’s okay, because I love you too.”

It took him a second, but he finally processes your words. The smile was spreading across his face as his grip on your hand tightened. Suddenly, he was pulling you forward, leaning halfway across the table.

Your face grew heated again as he was only a few centimeters away from you. His eyes roamed over your cheeks before looking into yours. Just as he leaned in and your began to close your eyes, the door jingled as it opened.

You were about to spring apart, embarrassed to have been caught, but Roger just gives you a smirk and yanks you to him. His lips are warm and soft and you let yourself melt into the kiss.

That is, until someone cleared their throat behind you. You reluctantly pulled away. Roger gave you a half smile and release his hold on you.

The customer that interrupted you was some girl your age looking for a book on medieval paintings. You were quick to find her what she needed, ring her out. All the while you felt Roger’s eyes tracking your movements. Whenever your eyes darted over in his direction, he was still sitting at the table, legs crossed and that beautifully annoying smirk on his face.

When you finally locked the door behind the girl, he gets up as well, meeting you at the door. “As much fun as I think we’d have locked in here by ourselves, I’ve got to get back to my flat and study for my exams. My roommate will have my head if I flake. I should have been back by now.” He looked apologetic, like he didn’t want to leave.

“Brian, right?” you ask. He gave you a nod. “I understand, I have to study as well.” Again, you nearly forgot about your own life with Roger’s still so fresh in your head.

“Look, (Y/N), now that I found you, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He pulled out a slip of paper and hands it to you. “Just in case you forget,” he said, tapping the side of his head. On the paper is his flat number. “Call me when your exams are done, yeah?”

You felt yourself slowly smile as you stuck the slip into your pocket. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

He kissed you again, just as sweetly as the first time. He left with one last backwards glance towards the shop, a huge smile on his face. You couldn’t help but lift your finger to your lips, reveling in the tingle he left there. Exams couldn’t be over quick enough.

#roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x you #roger taylor x reader #fanfiction #Queen

157 notes · View notes

leonawriter · 5 years

Text

Flirting With Disaster

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters: Atsushi, Dazai, Chuuya, others (most of the ADA).

Summary: All of the times Atsushi sees his mentor flirting with women, and the one time he did(n't mean to) with Chuuya.

...

The first time Atsushi sees Dazai flirting with someone, it's... he supposes it has to be Higuchi, in retrospect.

Dazai had complimented her, and then asked her if she wanted to die with him, and he'd thought it odd at the time, although... now that he'd known Dazai for a bit longer than that, maybe it was just Dazai being himself.

Except, even if he had been flirting with her in his own (very strange) way, he wonders if it should count. Because after all, that was when he'd bugged her, and made it so he could listen in on everything that was happening, just in case something happened - which, it had.

The next time - he wonders if he should count the fluttered eyelashes and subtle looks he shared with the ladies behind the tills, the woman at the train station before they'd settled down to wait for Naomi and Haruno, or not.

It all seemed as easy as breathing to him.

Sometimes, Atsushi was a little envious, wishing that he could have some of that confidence with people, even if he wasn't sure if he'd feel comfortable with being looked at like that by so many people.

Sometimes, he wasn't quite sure how Dazai handled the attention.

Dazai flirted with the waitress in the cafe down stairs, and it reminded Atsushi more of the way he'd seen him flirt with Higuchi, than anything else he'd witnessed.

The requests for aided suicide, as ever making Atsushi - and everyone else - uncomfortable, and only able to handle it because it was Dazai, and not anyone else, and the waitress never took them seriously either.

There was something else that felt familiar about the way Dazai had flirted with both women, though when he tried to put his finger on it, the connection flew away, like a butterfly caught in the wind.

...

"This is a formal occasion," Kunikida was saying, "and you are here as representatives of the Agency. As such, it shouldn't need to be said that everyone here should be on their best behaviour - and that includes you, Dazai!"

Dazai, who had been staring at someone as she had passed by, snapped his attention back onto Kunikida.

"But I'm always on my best behaviour, Kunikida-kun," Dazai said guilelessly, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"Maybe," Kunikida said, teeth gritted, "if we could somehow get you into an actual relationship, you might stop tarnishing the Agency's good name by asking every woman you meet if she wants to commit a double suicide with you!"

Which, in retrospect, was probably not the best thing to bring up, or the right suggestion, given the way Dazai's eyes had lit up, and he had immediately started to hash out some rules for what was quickly becoming some sort of contest or game; there would be no asking anyone to commit suicide, and there would be nothing else that would cause either embarrassment or a scene, either.

Atsushi hadn't liked the look of it. He had the strong feeling that something, inevitably, was going to go wrong. Which wasn't helped by the way that Yosano and Ranpo were talking amongst themselves, with the distinct look of two people placing bets.

...

The evening started off well enough, which should have put everyone more on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but then it wasn't as though Atsushi wasn't busy himself with investigating all of the appetisers with Kyouka, and whenever she went off to go explore something else, he was trying to make himself unnoticed, in the crowds of clearly influential people.

People who... everyone else seemed to move among and rub shoulders with, with ease.

Maybe one day, he'd be like them, but, he had to admit, the closest he'd come to talking with someone as rich as some of these people looked, was probably whenever he'd been facing off against Fitzgerald, and he wasn't entirely sure that counted.

A glance told him that Dazai was sat at a table and talking to a woman with light brown hair in a blue dress, holding her hand and making her blush.

Atsushi looked away, not sure if his own red face was due to the feeling of seeing something he wasn't supposed to see, or just plain pure embarrassment.

Regardless, he got up and went back for another one of those little foreign pastries they were serving.

...

"Well?"

Kunikida, as their designated driver, as well as on his own initiative, hadn't touched any of the alcohol at all. Then again, neither had Ranpo, who'd stuck entirely to juice and fizzy soft drinks, which was... barely any different to normal, really.

Atsushi had, but only a little, and only because it was a novelty - look at this one, Dazai had said, more than once, it's sweet, and it goes well with the fish.

Dazai himself, who he'd seen drinking from time to time with... actually, Atsushi had lost count of the number of women he'd talked to, acting with each one as if he was some sort of Prince Charming, was somehow only slightly flushed.

"I found us three new cases, one new potential bodyguard detail job, and five new contacts," Dazai says, a beauteous smile on his face.

The look on Kunikida's face was one that Atsushi at the same time found hard to not laugh at, and also couldn't not sympathise with.

After all, the one time anyone didn't want Dazai to focus on work, and there he was, collecting information instead of finding himself some sort of girlfriend... not that anyone knew what sort of person would be able to not only put up with Dazai, but want to be with him like that.

Atsushi respected his mentor deeply, but even he wasn't sure of the kind of person who could not only accept Dazai for everything he was, ex-mafia and all, but also the sort of person that Dazai would even let in past his own defences, and allow to see the things that he hid from everyone, often without thinking.

...

Atsushi is talking with Kyouka at one of the tables, when they hear the commotion.

A commotion which is odd, considering that everyone who was supposed to be here, was here, and no one had spread the word around to say that anyone was coming back for any reason, which had to mean...

Something crashed, and there were raised voices, and the next thing Atsushi knows he's hearing the sound of a chair being scraped back, and then there's Dazai's back, because his mentor has started to head over to where it looks like there might be a fight about to break out.

He sees Kunikida discretely check for his notebook.

Kyouka lets her hand drop beneath the table, and Atsushi swallows, hard, because the last thing he wants right now is bloodshed, because they'd been having a good time, up until now.

The crowd parts, and at first he doesn't see - and then, he does.

A figure that strikes him as familiar, as if he's seen them before. A little on the short side, with red hair, and dressed smartly in black, but as though he'd already been somewhere before this, and Dazai was-

Dazai was touching the man's hand, and something about it reminded him of the way he'd been interacting with all of those women, except, it wasn't, because he barely seemed to be paying any attention. The touch was more unconscious than anything, in a way he hadn't seen form Dazai before.

And the man, whoever he was, wasn't shaking Dazai off.

"How did you even know about this?" he could hear Dazai saying - complaining - in that bratty way he got into when around Kunikida for too long. "You don't even have an invitation."

"Yeah? So what. Figured if they let you in, they'd let anyone in, and I'm not jus' anyone, now am I?"

"Chuuya's drunk."

Oh, thinks Atsushi, noting the way the others from their group have tensed up in just the past couple of minutes, and even more just now. So that's his name.

He's starting to think that he's definitely seen the man before, somewhere, but he still can't think how, and he knows that he's going to feel like an idiot later for it.

"Yeah? Well, look at you're, you're all... dressed up, and all, and- yuck, your breath smells of fish again. Stupid mackerel." 'Chuuya' nearly trips over his own feet, and Dazai rights him, taking it all in stride, and maybe more importantly, the other man adjusts for it, even drunk. "You smell like fish and you've got lipstick on your bandages."

Dazai takes his hands away long enough to check, Chuuya wobbles, and Dazai's there again in an instant, before Atsushi even really sees him move.

"Ah, that's it. You're sitting - we're sitting. Atsushi-kun! Chuuya's all drunk, so grab us some snacks~!"

He gets up to go, but isn't gone fast enough to miss Chuuya complain loudly that he wasn't that drunk, damn it, and this is exactly what pisses me off about you, shitty bastard.

It's a good thing he's been asked to be somewhere else for a moment, he thinks, even for just a moment. The atmosphere was starting to feel oddly claustrophobic, and as though he was interrupting something he shouldn't be seeing or hearing.

...

Half an hour passes with more of the same. Dazai is still in this Chuuya's personal space, and Chuuya is still see-sawing drunkenly between being far more familiar with Dazai than Atsushi thought anyone could be, and cussing him out in the middle of a formal party.

Somehow, Dazai doesn't seem the least bit offended, aside from the few times he says that he is, but Atsushi isn't all that sure if it's not all for show.

Chuuya reaches for a drink, and Dazai swipes it away and onto another table before he can touch it.

"It's because Chuuya's so small," Dazai says in a sing-song voice, "that Chuuya has such a low tolerance!

"I'm going to fucking kill you, I swear I'm gonna kill you," Atsushi hears Chuuya say in response to that. And maybe if he didn't have sharper hearing than most, he wouldn't have heard it at all, but he has.

"My schedule's busy for a few days," Dazai says in a noncommittal way, "you can always call to rearrange, though."

"What, and like you'd even answer the phone? Fuck you."

Atsushi shuffles a little further away, and finds himself gravitating back to Kunikida and the others. Being near Dazai was hard enough under normal circumstances, and this just made things worse.

Kunikida didn't help matters by looking like he'd just been slapped with a wet fish, all shocked and wide-eyed. Although, when he looked at the others, Kunikida seemed to be the only one reacting like this, to this extreme.

Yosano is handing money over to Ranpo, who looks smug for some reason.

"I... never really met Nakahara-san," Kyouka says, and he turns to see her sitting down with a glass of juice in both her hands. She looks up at him, unafraid. "I heard of him, back when..." When she was in the mafia, Atsushi fills in, and the rest of it begins to slot in after. The way they were so familiar with each other. Chuuya's - Nakahara's - brash attitude. The way he'd found the man's face and voice familiar. "But everything I ever heard said that he was a terrifying opponent... and someone you could trust with your life."

"Then... he's here right now, because..."

He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"I would say," Kyouka said, seeming to continue from where she'd left off, "if Dazai-san trusts him, then I think that we're in no danger."

Atsushi blinked, and nodded, able only to accept the high praise - of sorts - at face value, taking Kyouka's word for it.

...

"Ranpo and I actually had a bet on," Yosano confides in them later. Ranpo grinning from ear to ear as they watch Dazai disappear, half carrying the smaller Nakahara, confirms this. "See, there was another event that Ranpo had deduced was going to have mafia in attendance," she said, "and since it was hardly going to be a secret that we were going to be here..."

"We made a bet on how long it'd take for Mr. Fancy Hat to show up," Ranpo finished.

Kunikida made a strange sort of strangled noise, from where he was nursing something completely alcohol free, but that was being treated as if it wasn't.

"You... knew?"

"What? It doesn't take an ability as good as mine to figure out what's going on - Dazai shows interest in whoever's in front of his face," Ranpo said, and then paused to put a sweet in his mouth, "but he never sticks with anyone. But then any time those two get stuck in the same room, they're back at it like they aren't sure if they want to be bitter exes or if they're about to start being gross."

Come to think of it, that was what had struck him about the situation. The thing he'd not quite been able to pin down. Dazai with Nakahara had reminded him of the couples that'd been together for years, not the ones who'd only just started dating.

"But..."

"Dazai swings both ways, Kunikida," Yosano says, taking pity on the man. "It isn't really all that much of a secret."

"Well. Yes, but- him. That was-"

"Nakahara Chuuya, the gravity manipulator of the mafia... and Dazai's former partner, right?"

Ranpo snorts, and then bursts out into peals of laughter.

"Former partner? Maybe just in terms of work!"

....

AN: Inspired somewhat by the Tales/Mayoi "Looking Sharp" events, especially the (as yet unreleased in global) Dazai unit, and everyone's (JP and GL alike) reactions to Chuuya just recently.

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd stuff #soukoku #Leona fic

41 notes · View notes

junionigiri · 5 years

Text

Ruby Red and Caramel Ch 3: Dark Chocolate Truffles

Chapter Summary: Late nights and late nights.

Relationship(s): Bakugou Katsuki/Yaoyorozu Momo; background Hagakure Tooru/Sato Rikido; background Kendo Itsuka/Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Rating: T

Warnings/Notes: after internally debating with myself where to cut the chapter because there’re so many words i cut it right in the middle of a scene ahhh wth. I hope this isn’t... too awkward T_T

as always, also available on AO3 (JuniRiceBall) and FFNet (Juni Onigiri)!

Momo makes it to Ward Five as planned, with a sharp gleam in her eye, a skip in her step, and a determined swing of her ponytail. Kendo Itsuka is already there with all the charts in front of her, ready to do rounds with her. She’s in the middle of an animated discussion over the phone though, so she patiently waits for her to finish.

“Mmhm. Mmhm.” She glosses over the charts in front of her as she intently listens to the other end of the conversation. “No… Tetsu, that’s... Don’t panic, okay? It’s just potassium, you just have to--” She catches Momo’s eye, gives her a lopsided grin. “No, Tetsu, the patient isn’t going to die from that, okay? Listen, so Yaoyorozu’s here, I have to discuss a ton of cases with her, so maybe ask Shiozaki for help if you’re not sure? No, she isn’t going to send you to hell. Not today. Hopefully.”

Momo stifles a giggle when she hears Tetsutetsu’s distressed voice clearly through Kendo’s phone: “Kendo you know she’ll kill me for this!!! Please I’m stupid and you’re smart and you’re the nicest one I know help me help me help--”

Kendo giggles. “Fine. I’ll help you, and you’ll buy me dinner, okay?” She bites her lower lip and has to pull the phone a couple of inches off her ear from Tetsutetsu’s overexcited yelling. “Okay. I’ll text you. Bye.”

The redhead finally hangs up the call and gives Momo an apologetic grin. “Yeah, sorry about that Yaoyorozu… you know how Tetsu gets sometimes.”

Momo nods in understanding. “You do know him best, Kendo-san.” The shine of her teal eyes, how her finger twirled ‘round her vermilion hair, and how she can’t stop smiling doesn’t escape her.

The other girl snorts and slaps her on the arm playfully. “Hey, what’s with that look? Are you… teasing me?”

“Oh, not at all!”

“Yes you are! This is so out of character for you, Ms. Prim-and-Proper. Since when have you acted like a charm school delinquent, huh?”

“I only calmly regarded how… radiant you seemed speaking with Tetsutetsu-san, that’s all!”

“Whatever, Yaoyorozu,” the redhead counters playfully. “Is this a takes-one-to-know-one kind of thing? You’re the one who’s ridiculously perky these past couple of weeks, you know.”

“... I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Momo begins, putting her nose up in the air haughtily. Isn’t it unfair how Kendo easily changes the subject of scrutiny from herself to Momo? They were talking about her obvious affection for Tetsutetsu, and now… “And we aren’t talking about me, we’re talking about--”

Kendo’s gaze is a little too investigatory, and she finds herself avoiding her gaze altogether. “We can tell, you know. Smiling all the time? Literally bouncing when you’re talking to anyone and everyone? Humming Mariah Carey’s Emotions, on loop?”

Momo sputters, “It’s a good song!”

“Yeah. Honenuki tells me that he and Todoroki have that song stuck in their heads for an entire week now ‘cause of you.”

Oh. So that explains the pained look on Honenuki-san’s face whenever Momo comes in. Has she really been humming that song all the time? But it’s a good song, a classic. Anyone can fight her on that.

“Whatever it is… you got it bad, girl.” Kendo ignores how Momo’s ponytail starts twitching tensely as the accusation comes forth. “Even Best Jeanist asked me if I knew why you’re acting strangely.”

Momo freezes and starts to fret. She thinks she did a good job of separating her silly, dreamy adolescent feelings from her work facade, but apparently she hasn’t, if their infamous training officer has noticed a change in her. “Dr. Hakamata noticed something? Oh, did he comment on how I lack confidence again? Or maybe he wants to give me more duties, because I’m not doing very well?”

The redhead gives her an odd look. “No, of course not Yaoyorozu! Actually, it’s the opposite. He likes how you’re suddenly so… bright and positive and decisive.”

Momo can’t keep her surprise hidden. She feels her ponytail twitch upward happily. Kendo notices and stifles a giggle.

“He actually asked me if anything good happened to you. Like, if you won the lottery or something. But I’m sure it isn’t the lottery, since I’m sure you have like a pile of inherited gold doubloons hidden somewhere in your room--”

She most certainly does not have gold doubloons in her room. She isn’t a pirate or a dragon with a hoarding complex. But Momo has invested in gold before. She chooses not to clarify that point for her.

“--whatever it is, he says you should keep it up. Aren’t you glad, Yaoyorozu? Best Jeanist practically gave you his blessing to keep seeing this mystery person of yours~”

Momo can’t keep her face from flushing when she sputters, “That’s not--Dr. Hakamata doesn’t know about--”

“About what? Or… whomst?” The neurologist gives her a little eyebrow-wiggle of her own. “You’re thinking of a specific face in your head now, aren’t you?”

“No-one! Really, Kendo-san!” She’s relieved that Kendo doesn’t have a mind-reading quirk, because the face of a certain blonde cafe owner that flashed out of nowhere in her traitorous mind would be misinterpreted as cold, hard evidence of her outrageous claims. “I think we should start discussing these cases, please? We have a long day ahead of us!”

“Mhm.” Kendo shrugs and says nothing more about the subject. The mischievous grin on the other doctor’s face doesn’t go away, though, and Momo knows that she isn’t off the hook. “So about Mr. S in room 504-A…”

Kendo starts to discuss the new referrals eloquently and seriously. With a laser-precision focus, Momo pushes all the silly love-struck soundtracks and explosives to the back of her mind.

Momo is correct. It ends up being a long day. And even though she doesn’t have night duty that day, the evening rush is over by the time she finishes everything and steps out of the hospital. As is her habit for the past couple of weeks, she looks both ways and crosses the street and quietly peeps through the windows of the NTG Cafe.

The lights are dimmed. The little wooden signage that hangs at the glass door reads Closed. Momo sees Kaminari at the far end of the cafe, rearranging the last of the tables and chairs and then disappearing at the back.

She sighs. Of course she didn’t make it. It’s eleven in the evening on a busy weeknight, and people should be going home to rest by this hour. They all have a full day ahead of them tomorrow.

Well--it’s not so bad. As a direct result of her being so ‘bright and positive and decisive,’ as Kendo-san eloquently put it, for the past few days she was able to finish work earlier and to make it minutes before the cafe closed. And because of that, she has been able to see Bakugou-san more frequently. So she’s only a little down when she decides that it’s all right that she isn’t seeing him tonight, for once, and decides to go home to her apartment.

As she turns around to leave though, the door chime sounds behind her. “Hey. Ponytail,” a familiar rumble calls out to her, sending a shiver down her spine.

She turns around, trademark ponytail swishing behind her. “I have a name, Bakugou-san.”

Despite her stern response, she can’t stop the smile breaking into her face.

Bakugou has that unbearable smirk on his pretty mouth when he looks at her up and down, as he usually does when they meet. He doesn’t have his apron on anymore, and Momo is treated to the sight of him, lean and mean in a tight-enough black collared shirt and jeans. His arms are crossed, showing off those strong arms of his, the sleeves of his shirt struggling to contain them, and she’s so sure that if she leapt into him right now he’d be able to…

Momo internally reprimands herself for still not being used to this sight after 2 weeks of exposure

“Whatever. You comin’ in?” His gruff voice interrupts her unladylike ogling. She snaps up to attention to look at him curiously.

“But it’s past closing time already…”

The blonde shrugs. “Never stopped you and your bottomless-pit-of-a-stomach before, Brainy.”

By this time she’s almost completely immune to his natural predilection for profanities, even those targeted towards her. She hopes she isn’t bouncing her way inside when she obliges.

Bakugou leads the way to their usual spot near the counter, orders her to sit down, and disappears out back. Kaminari, already clad in his casual clothes, ambles his way up to her with his backpack, evidently ready to go home. He greets her with a wiggle of two short blonde brows. “Hey, doc~ You’re here a little later than usual. How’s the hospital?”

“Oh, busy. But nothing that I can’t handle. Thank you for asking, Kaminari-san!”

“Aren’t you bright and bouncy, Yaomomo! Man, you have no idea how starved I am for a pretty face--it’s just me and Baku-boss the entire day, and I’m just about to lose hope in the human race…”

She giggles. It’s always hard to keep one’s composure around the jocular Kaminari-san, but she tries her best. “Oh, I can only imagine. And the cafe has been busy lately, right? But you seem to be doing a good job.”

“Thanks! You’re the only one who thinks that!” He makes a face, hears Bakugou coming out from the back again, and exaggerates the said face. “Did you hear what Dr. Yaomomo said, Baku-boss? She said I was doing a good job! You should give me a raise--”

“Didn’t hear a fuckin’ thing,” he grumbles as he places the tray on their table. “But, I should give you a fuckin’ deduction for what you did to the fuckin’ toilet, Pika-shit. Thanks for remindin’ me.”

“Whey. This is abuse,” he sighs dramatically amidst Momo’s giggles. And then, a look of concern on his face. “But hey, you’re going home soon, right, Baku-boss? I mean… you know we can’t keep Dr. Yaomomo for too long here…”

The odd, careful tone in his voice doesn’t go past Momo unnoticed. Bakugou doesn’t look up to meet his gaze. “Yeah it’s fine.”

“You sure?” Strangely insistent and gentle to the point of being parental, Kaminari leers comically close to his boss’s face and narrows his empty eyes. “We got a full day tomorrow, boss, and it’s way past your bedtime--”

“Fuckin’--what are you, my mom?! I said it’s fine!” He shoves the shorter blonde’s face away with one strong hand, making the latter yelp and discharge a few shocks from his head. “Now get the fuck outta here. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Okay~ You two take care, I guess.” The concern in his face is completely gone, making Momo wonder if she was just imagining things. Kaminari salutes her with his usual silly grin and double thumbs-up. “Y’all have fun now! Good night!”

“Good night, Kaminari-san,” says Momo, with a gentle wave of the hand. When he disappears, she shifts her attention to Bakugou, who has already grumpily fallen into his seat across from her. “Is… this really okay, Bakugou-san? He seems worried for you…”

“Tch,” he begins, as grumpy as is the norm. “Don’t mind that dopey fucker, a’ight? I told you it’s fine.”

She stares at him quietly. There are circles dimming the undersides of his eyes, and a very subtle droop in his shoulders as he sets the plates in front of her. But his eyes are fully awake and alert, and when he reaches over to grab her hand and push the cutleries in her palm, as always, his hands are as strong and fiery hot as they’ve ever been.

“W… well… if you say so,” she relents. Maybe she’s looking too much into it. It is late, after all. Anyone would look tired by this time. She turns her attention to the food in front of her instead, and feels herself brightening up considerably. “Oh, Bakugou-san, it’s beautiful…”

Discs of vibrant, rainbow pasta are layered up with filling. From the light, stimulating fragrance emanating from it, Momo can only guess there’s fish, shellfish mousse, and vegetables blended and cooked perfectly within. The piece is plated artfully and tastefully on a wide plate. She feels all her senses activate her hunger centers, but also feels terrible at the prospect of cutting the dish open and ruining the aesthetic.

But the feeling doesn’t last long when she takes the first bite of the meal. “Oh my… Bakugou-san…!!!”

The cafe owner snorts at her first reaction, which is to moan a little too suggestively and stomp her feet in an undignified manner. “You like that, Ponytail?” he says teasingly.

She can’t believe how good it tastes. Before she can stop herself and regulate her excitement, the praises escapes her mouth. “All the layers are exquisite! The cacciucco, the shellfish mousse, and the broccoli work so well together! And unexpectedly, the pasta balances the flavours neatly! Everything is just elegantly done!”

There’s no way that he didn’t spend hours making the dish. Either that, or he’s an actual demon in the kitchen. It won’t take a lot to convince Momo of that anymore. “You know it,” Bakugou says easily, with a self-satisfied smirk. “When have I ever given you anything that ain’t cooked to fuckin’ perfection, Ponytail?”

Never is the only answer to that question. But Momo doesn’t tell him that, because she’s perpetually worried about how big his ego is getting and how unhelpful she is in that regard.

Which reminds her… She puts down her fork, making Bakugou raise an eyebrow that she even dared to stop in the middle--really, does this man think of her as nothing but as eating machine?--and delicately pats her mouth with a napkin. “It’s delicious, as always, Bakugou-san,” she begins, when he looks like he’s about to sit up and loudly demand an explanation from her. “But I’d like to pace myself, for one. Also, I want to show you how I appreciate the meals and company you’ve given me so far…”

The mild confusion in Bakugou doesn’t go away, and grows and grows when Momo shifts in her seat to rifle through her handbag and to push a slim box into the blonde’s hands.

“The fuck is this, Ponytail?”

His odd reaction catches her off-guard. “It’s a gift, Bakugou-san.”

“It ain’t my fuckin’ birthday or anything like that, Brainy.”

“I know it isn’t,” Momo tells him humorously. Although, come to think of it, she doesn’t know when his birthday is. She takes a mental note to somehow wheedle out that information from him later. “It’s simply something to show my appreciation for you. You’ve made me these marvelous things, and I don’t think I’ve done enough to do anything for you in return…”

His face remains skeptical as he opens the package. “Memento Truffles, huh?” he says flatly. The look in his eyes is unreadable. Momo doesn’t want to think that he’s unimpressed or insulted, but the way his eyebrow raises, she isn’t sure what to think.

“Do… you not like them?” she asks carefully. She hopes her ponytail isn’t deflating too much. She’s glad that she didn’t tell him about how she has had to beg her mother to contact one of her dearest friends in Belgium to purchase and have them delivered via priority mail within the past week.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Bakugou pops one casually in his mouth. “Hm. They’re not bad, I guess,” he says thoughtfully mid-chew.

“Not bad…??” Momo begins, affronted beyond reason. “Jacques Memoir, one of the top ten chocolatiers in the world, handcrafted these! When you bite into them, you ought to feel as if you’re simultaneously remembering all the nice chocolates you've ever eaten! Dark chocolate that is neither too sweet nor too bitter, the insides of which are soft and whipped, but do not immediately melt… toppings of Hungarian paprika, violets, wild flennel that give an unexpected punch of flavor… the pleasing, classic aesthetic that ties them altogether… is merely not bad for you, Bakugou-san?”

He listens to her affronted monologue with a self-satisfied smirk. “Yeah. I could do it better.”

The girl sputters indignantly. Bakugou almost chokes laughing at her mid-swallow. “Y-you think you can do better than one of the top ten chocolatiers in the world?!”

“Nah. I know so.” The self-satisfied smirk on his face tells Momo that he isn’t even joking and it just blows her mind how highly he thinks of himself. “What, you think I’m talkin’ shit?”

She scoffs. “You’re simply unbelievable, Bakugou-san.”

“Don’t I know it.” She only rolls her eyes at that, and he laughs again. Ugh, she should really hate it, but she can’t stop her stupid mouth from smiling when she hears it. “Anyways, this is too much for me, Ponytail. Come on. Eat.”

“Hm? Oh, but these are for you, and you only... I have to repay you somehow, for--”

He actually growls and widens his eyes like a wild animal at that remark. “I ain’t fuckin’ cookin’ you all these great meals so you could pay me for it. What do you think of me, haa? If I wanted to, I’d be chargin’ you a fortune from day one.”

Momo pauses and feels her heart squeeze. Did she just… insult him somehow? Was her gift too much, too soon? “That’s… not my intention at all,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry if the gift is too much, Bakugou-san. I’ll take note next time.”

He snorts and puts the truffles down between them. A silence envelops them, with Momo half-heartedly poking through the rest of the dish, and Bakugou staring right at her with searching ruby eyes.

“If you want to give me a gift that bad, Ponytail--”

She snaps her head a little too quickly to look at him.

A mischievous glint is in his eyes. They look challenging, somehow. “Make me something.”

She blinks. “Um… I can’t cook, Bakugou-san…”

He sneers at her. “You know, somehow I guessed that.” Momo pouts at him, but cannot contest the point any further. “But that’s not what I fucking meant.”

She tilts her head curiously at him. “So… make something? Oh, like a collage or a papier-mache? Oh, I’d love to, I have so many ideas--”

“No! You fuckin’ nerd!” Momo hates how easy it is to make him laugh at her expense. “I meant, make me something with your fuckin’ quirk! Geez, and I thought you were supposed to be a genius…”

“Oh,” she says with a little humph. Really, he should have started with that. She wouldn’t call herself a genius, but she isn’t usually this… daft. “Well, I suppose I can make you something… what would you like?”

“Fuckin’ anything. Sky’s the limit. Come on.”

“That’s the point, Bakugou-san. If you won’t be specific, it’ll be hard for me to think up of something you would like…”

“Fine,” he says gruffly. “Make me… something that’ll remind me of you when I look at it.”

How… how could you say that so nonchalantly, Bakugou-san? With that rumble in your voice, that roguish glint in your eyes, that devil-may-care smile? Momo feels herself blushing from her neck to her scalp, and dares not open her mouth lest another undignified sound escapes from it.

Also, there’s nothing specific about his request! What is she supposed to make? She straightens her mind, forms an image in her head, breaks down the components of the object and wills it to form over her chest.

The object materializes in between her breasts; for modesty’s sake she turns around, and to her relief she senses the explosive barista turning away of his own accord. When it’s fully formed, she takes it and places it gingerly on the desk.

Bakugou shifts his gaze to the object. A smile is on his face as he slurs out, “Now that’s more like it, Ponytail.”

Matryoshka dolls are one of the first things she’s learned to make as a child, and one of her favourite things to create. She remembers telling Bakugou about it, when they talked about quirks during one of their dinners in the past week. “This isn’t like one of the dolls I’m used to making though,” she explains as she watches him open the dolls with interest, one by one. “Instead of the usual babushka designs that I tend to make, the dolls are dressed in explosive-themed dresses. Because you’re the human incarnate of a bomb.”

“I can see that,” he says, amused. The grenades look real in his hands, oddly, like they would explode into blossoms of light in his explosive grasp. “Looks like you were thinkin’ of me when you made it, huh Ponytail?”

She tries her best to say, “Yes,” without blushing further.

“Well… they’re the best grenade dolls made of fat I’ve ever seen, Dr. Ponytail. Good job.”

She stares him down in annoyance and playfully moves to snatch the dolls away from his grasp. With another obnoxious laugh, he keeps it away from her reach, stands up, and walks to the counter.

“There. Now everyone who walks in the cafe can stare at your fat and see how nice it fuckin’ looks,” he tells her with a victory smirk. “This belongs here now. No takebacks.”

Speechless, Momo can only nod weakly at him.

The night ends as it usually does, with Momo crossing the street to her home and Bakugou watching her until she reaches the lobby. She looks back at him and gives him a small wave of the hand.

Tonight is a little different, though, because for once, he waves back--no hesitations, no pretenses. He walks back to the cafe, lights shutting behind him, and Momo is absolutely stunned.

She can’t stop the smile forming on her lips, or stop the impulse to hug herself and roll around her bed like a teenaged girl when she makes it up to her condo unit.

Perhaps it was the next day during a short lull in her busy workday when Momo receives a phone call from an old friend.

“Hey, Dr. Momo! So you’re alive after all!”

Momo smiles down at the phone. “Satou-san! Oh, it has been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It is. You haven’t been visiting us for sometime now. I feel like you’ve been having an affair with a different cafe!” Chef Satou Rikido uses his best hurt voice, but it’s still playful and makes Momo giggle.

“Stop, please,” Momo says lightly. She keeps her mouth decidedly shut about his accusation of having an affair with a different cafe. “But you are right, Satou-san. I haven’t been visiting for some time now… I really should, shouldn’t I?”

Satou hums from the other end. “Well, I sure hope you do, doc. I actually called to ask if you were going to make it on Friday.”

Momo blinks once, and then rapidly when realization dawns on her. “Oh my… Friday is that night already?”

The chef makes an affirmative noise. “Yep! Satou’s Coffees and Cakes Farewell Party! All of our patrons and favorite customers are welcome! And you really are one of our favourites--you know, Hagakure’s sad that you haven’t been going, and she’s going to throw a tantrum if you don’t show up on Friday…”

“Oh! Of course I’ll be there, Satou-san!” She stares at the calendar on the office wall--good, she doesn’t have to stay the night then. “You can count on me! Please, tell Tooru-san and Koda-san to save some of the chiffon cake for me!”

“That’s great! I’m glad, Dr. Momo. We gotta see you before we leave for Paris, eh?”

“... We?” asks Momo curiously. As far as she knows, Satou is going to Paris by himself for further training as a patissier.

“That’s about it! I’ll see you Friday, then!”

Not knowing the meaning of the cryptic message, Momo shrugs and makes it through the work day, until the rest of the week passes by in its usual blur and it’s already Friday. She finished a little later than she’d like, but she needs to show up to Satou’s.

With a bottle of rose champagne, she enters the familiar, homey interiors of Satou’s Coffees and Cakes.

The bell hanging over the door announces her arrival. She sees the party already beginning at one of the reserved areas of the restaurant. About twenty people are already there, passing bottles and hors d’oeuvres around.

She makes her way inside--at the center of the room, a commotion is already going on, and seeing the character involved, she quickly understands why.

“Satou Rikido!!! The star patissier of the Musutafu Culinary Academy’s deplorable class A!” Monoma Neito, of Monoma’s Boulangerie et Patisserie, is dramatically wailing as he always does. He’s got a half-filled glass of wine in one hand, and a half-empty bottle of fine Cabernet Sauvignon in the other. His face is already flushed pink, likely from the alcohol. “Again! I prove my superiority to you!!! All that you’re going to learn in Paris, I already know like the back of my hand!”

A cacophony of drunken hoots and boos and sneers emanate from the crowd. Satou, however, only looks mildly amused at his declaration. “I know, Monoma. No-one’s as good as you when it comes to French cuisine.”

More boos. Momo recognizes Sero Hanta’s voice from the crowd, “No way! Team Satou all the way, baby!!! Monoma, your orange chiffon cake sucks!”

“Silence, you plebe!” Monoma makes a grandiose gesture--some of his wine spills in the process--and again points one finger at Satou. “Listen here, Satou! Our rivalry is only put on hold! Once you train abroad and come back, you’ll have no further excuses! I’ll be able to prove once and for all that Monoma’s makes better pastries! So you better come back, and--”

His tirade is cut short when Satou laughs and takes him in a surprise bear hug that takes all the air out of him. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll miss you too, buddy! It’ll be lonely baking without you yelling across the street!”

The crowd goes aaaaw!!!, and the suddenly speechless and blushing Monoma can only freeze and bristle like a confused cat before awkwardly returning the hug.

Momo covers her mouth at how cute the scene is. While it was stressful to watch the first time she saw it, she’s going to miss the noisy rivalry between Monoma and Satou. Her visits at Monoma’s will surely be quieter for the next few years…

A glass of sparkling wine is under her nose in the next moment. Blinking, she turns to see a floating pink-and-purple dress next to her, accompanied by a cute voice. “Dr. Yaomomo!!! You finally made it!”

“Hagakure-san!” They hug each other warmly. Momo takes the glass from her. “I apologize for being late! It got really busy at work.”

“We guessed as much! But I’m happy that one of the world’s best neurosurgeons made it to our little party!”

“No, not at all,” Momo begins weakly, but trails off when Satou spots them and comes up to them. “Oh, Satou-san, congratulations!”

“Thanks! Wow, you really made it, Dr. Momo!” He gives her a bear hug, which also knocks the wind out of her, and takes the bottle of champagne from her. “This sure is fancy, doc. This for us?”

“Of course! Apart from saying goodbye, we have plenty to celebrate… after all, you’re going to work with one of the top chefs of Paris! It’s a big deal!”

Satou laughs heartily. “I can think of other important things that deserves a fancy drink such as this.”

Momo blinks curiously at him and looks at Hagakure, who also appears confused, judging by how her sleeves are shrugging. But before she can ask what he means, Satou is already calling everyone’s attention by tapping his wine glass with one strong finger. “Everyone! May I have your attention please!”

The people in the room simultaneously turn quiet and turn to stare at them. As they give their attention to Satou, Momo takes the opportunity to scan the faces in the crowd. Sero Hanta, one of the nurses from Hosu Gen’s pediatrics ward, is standing next to Aoyama Yuuga from ICU. Some of Monoma’s staff, namely assistant pastry chefs Kinoko Komori and Tsuburaba Kosei, are both trying to steady their obviously inebriated boss. Their occasional part-timer, Rin Hiryuu is also there, quietly standing next to a frowning man with a camera. She’s able to recognize Tsunotori Pony, the prominent businesswoman from Texas who invested in both Satou’s and Monoma’s, looking on with mild interest.

Both Kirishimas are also there. She sees Mina pausing mid-chortle to listen to the announcement. And under Kirishima Eijirou’s arm is an obviously disgruntled and partially uncomfortable…

“... Bakugou-san?” she whispers out loud.

The explosive man is at the other end of the room, surely out of earshot, but looks up at her bewildered whisper. When red eyes meet black ones, his mood visibly shifts. That trademark devilish grin of his makes it to his mouth and catches her off guard.

Momo tries not to look to happy at this unexpected meeting, and busies herself by drinking her wine a little too quickly.

When the room has completely quieted down, Satou begins to speak. “First of all, thank you for coming to my humble little gathering… tonight, as you know, is the last time that I’ll have all of you here to eat my food as customers and friends!”

Momo hears the audience make a variety of sad sounds, especially Hagakure beside her, who starts sniffling. But she can’t concentrate, not when Bakugou is staring at her like that…

“... well, at least the last time until I get back in three or so years,” Satou adds with a laugh. “I’d like to thank you all for coming to celebrate with me. It truly has been a pleasure serving you all for the past five years--”

… and her, staring back at Bakugou like that. Perhaps. It’s his fault. Momo hasn’t ever seen him wear anything other than his work clothes. And to suddenly appear before her without warning, wearing a black button-down shirt, with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up, showing off his nice arm--and those dark jeans, different from the looser, mildly distressed ones he wears to work--

“--and I’ll never forget all of your support and… sheesh, I’m not really good at these speeches.” Satou cuts his speech short, to a comical effect, and raises his glass amidst chortles from the audience. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” Momo almost misses the cue, and attempts to take a sip from her glass, only to find herself drinking empty air.

Bakugou notices. He looks like he’s about to burst from laughter. She gives him a stern look, but again tries her best not to smile too much.

Ah, but it’s a little hard. She might have drunk her wine a little too quickly after all. And on an empty stomach too. She’s light-headed and bubbly and teetering on the edge of embarrassing. She focuses away from his piercing gaze and back to the man of the hour.

“But that’s not all I want to celebrate.” Satou begins again. “I also want to celebrate my co-workers for being with me for the past five years--Hagakure-san! Koda-kun! Come up here, won’t ya?”

Hagakure stammers next to Momo. She’s able to catch the server’s meek ‘what’s going on?’ before the smaller woman bounces her way next to Satou. Koda, the quieter server, doesn’t look as confused when he walks up to the chef, but looks quite nervous all the same.

“So as many of you know, Koda-kun won’t be in the restaurant business for very long,” Satou says, patting the large man on the back. “He’s finally about to finish his Veterinary Medicine degree, like he’s always wanted to! Everyone, say Congratulations, Dr. Koda!”

“Congratulations, Dr. Koda!” everyone chants, to which the anxious animal doctor signs his thanks frantically.

“Now… as for Hagakure Tooru-san.” Satou turns to her with a playful smile. “You haven’t told any of us your plans after Satou’s closes down tomorrow, right?”

Hagakure falters. If Momo could see her face, she’s sure that she has a sad smile on her face then. “Th… that’s because I don’t have any plans at all, Satou-san--I mean, this is my first and only job, and I really like it very much, and--”

There’s a break in her voice, and Momo is sure that she’s trying her hardest not to cry. The audience makes a simultaneous sad aaaaw. Satou pats her on the back with a large hand and looks at her warmly. “Then… if it’s okay with you, Hagakure… I have a proposal for you.”

It happens very quickly--one moment she’s looking up at him, confused and speechless, and in the next moment she’s looking slightly downward when he falls on one knee in front of her, and everyone else.

“Uwa~~???!” She cries comically, as suddenly Koda brings a violin out of nowhere, playing a touching rendition of Love Me Like You Do. Someone flips a switch somewhere, and rose petals suddenly float from the ceiling, all around the invisible girl who’s mesmerized beyond words.

“Hagakure Tooru,” Satou attempts, as he holds up a little velvet box in his large hands, presenting it in front of the girl and her incomprehensible sobbing, “We’ve known each other for the past five years… you changed my life for the better… so if you would do me the honor of going to Paris with me, as man and--”

She screeches excitedly and practically throws herself at Satou. “Yes! I will, Satou-san! I will! Yes!!!”

“Let him ask the frickin’ question, Hagakure!” Someone yells from the audience, amidst all the clapping and cheering.

“Shut up! I’m getting married!!! And going to PARIS!!!” Hagakure retorts loudly, much to everyone’s laughter. She’s literally beaming, she’s so happy she’s covering the entire room in flashes of light, and the party has to continue cheering and drinking their wines with their eyes closed.

Momo feels tears stinging her eyes--she isn’t sure if it’s her overwhelming happiness for the happy couple, or if it’s all the light getting into her eyes. It doesn’t last very long, but the flashes are enough to make her dizzy. As her eyes are closed, she feels a familiar warm hand enclose around hers, and in the next moment she’s being dragged to somewhere else.

She opens her eyes when cold air hits the bare skin of her shoulders. The first thing she sees is the night sky and the bright full moon calmly glowing within the darkness. The stars that are visible against the city lights are few and far in between, but still they glow brightly and beautifully, unaware of the mess of life below them.

“Fuckin’ finally.” The rumble creeps up to her ear and crawls right into her thumping chest. “I got you where I want you.”

She smiles as quietly as her heart will allow her. “Good evening to you too, Bakugou-san.”

His blonde hair glows ethereally under the scant light of the sky. He’s close to her, close enough that she sees the shadow of his lashes on his cheeks. “Yeah. Good evening or whatever, Dr. Ponytail.”

“I didn’t know you were invited as well.” She takes two careful steps backward, increasing the distance between them. She doesn’t know why she wants to, why it suddenly feels so dangerous to have Bakugou close to her. “And I didn’t know that you were close to Kirishima-san, as well--”

“Yeah. Diabetes invited a lot of other cafe owners. You've seen that other blonde psycho," he says, pointing his thumb at the cacophony inside. "And Shitty-Hair’s a guy from my high school. Still fuckin’ clingy after all these years…”

No remorse at all for the terrible nicknames he’s given everyone. Momo gives him another stern look, and he leers right back at her. “Really, Bakugou-san. Is it so difficult for you to call people by their given names? You know, come to think of it… I’ve never heard you call me by my actual name since we met!”

“So?”

“So… do you just have terrible manners, or a terrible memory for names?”

“Definitely the first one,” Bakugou replies brashly. “My memory’s awesome, thank you very much.”

Momo humphs. “I highly doubt that. I’m willing to bet that you call people by those terrible nicknames based on appearances because remembering things is something you’re bad at. And you don’t want to admit it, because you hate being bad at something. I’m willing to wager that you can’t even remember what you had for breakfast.”

“French toast and OJ,” he answers easily. And then, with that dangerous grin on his face, continues. “Try again… Yaoyorozu Momo.”

Oh… no.

She feels herself freeze under his searing hot gaze. Her mouth moves, but all she’s able to manage is a meek bite of the lower lip.

“What? Why you lookin’ at me like that… Momo?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Ridiculous. Simply ridiculous. Just the mention of her own name in his voice, and already it does things to her insides that are hard to describe. She fights to keep her gaze steady, her mouth in a straight, unaffected line. She knows it isn’t working, because he’s smiling and sauntering closer and closer, and she isn’t moving away.

Please, Momo, get a hold of yourself--

“You heard me.” She’s flustered, and he knows she is, and he isn’t stopping. “You’re starin’ at me like…”

That smile, that awful, awful, smile. Momo struggles for a witty remark. “Like what, Bakugou-san?” is all she’s able to manage, in a voice that’s too breathy for her own.

“Katsuki.”

She blinks.

“If you’re gonna whine about using names, I’m gonna call you Momo from now on,” he tells her--tells her, not asks, as a man like him is wont to do. “But you gotta call me Katsuki in return. Aight?”

“All right,” she says. She straightens herself, looks at him right in the eye. “Katsuki-san.”

He clicks his tongue. “Fuck no, what am I, your fuckin’ supervisor? Try again.”

She giggles. “I apologize. Then… Katsuki.”

He smiles. “That’s more like it.”

He’s standing close to her still--one more step forward, and he’d have her cornered against one of the tables out in the garden. He’d be so close, if he pushed her just a little bit, she’d fall over it. And he’d have to catch her in those arms, he’d have to lift her up and over the table, wedge himself between her legs, and then he’d be close enough to crush his lips against hers, and--

And whatever it is, Momo would let him, would let him get his hands all over her hair, her bare skin, her face--

No, Momo, have mercy on yourself oh my god! She takes another step around the table, distancing herself away from the man and his heady scent. Too much, Momo, too much. Calm down.

Surely he isn’t like that… She’s sure he’s different, this Bakugou Katsuki. They’re merely friends, one of them a little more inebriated than the other, perhaps. Their odd relationship is the reverse of many poor experiences with men she's had in the past, where she's treated as nothing more as an object of their desire.

And now here she is, thirsting for him in her mind, rather shamelessly and one-sidedly at that. She reprimands herself for her debauched thoughts, again, and clears her throat for some clarity.

A quiet falls over them in the next moment. There’s a bottle of wine on the garden table next to them, with two glasses. A nice, benign set-up, between friends who like to talk and eat and drink together. She gestures for them to sit down, and he obliges.

“I suppose since there’s wine, it’s only logical for us to drink it,” she tells him as she moves to pour into two glasses. Before she is able to fill his, he stops her with one hand.

“I don’t drink. Don’t fuckin’ force me to,” he says sharply.

“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” So it really is just her with alcohol to blame for any form of candour. She puts the wine aside and leaves him with an empty glass.

“But if you want to drink, I ain’t stoppin’ ya from getting shitfaced,” he continues. He cradles his head against one hand and stares at her with interest. “Don’t make me carry you home though. I ain’t a princess carriage or anything.”

She sticks her nose up in the air. “I know my limits.”

“If you say so… Momo.”

#bakumomo #yaoyorozu momo #bakugou katsuki #bnha fic #cafe/hospital AU #is thirsty momo too thirsty or #is this amount of thirst justifiable

49 notes · View notes