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persicipen · 1 month ago

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corporal punishment ノ kamisato ayato

₊ ˙ ⊹ . after failing your special shuumatsuban mission against the fatui, there’s nothing left for you but to admit your mistake and return to the kamisato estate. it’s required of you to face the impending punishment for not meeting the necessary perfectionism.

ৎ୭ — · · 2.6k ノ afab gn reader — sponsored through @ficsforgaza project ノ implied light torture . pain kink — reader is into this dynamic ノ spanking . fingering . edging . orgasm ruining ノ not in the spotlight but also mentioned — rope play . bondage ノ ayato is weirdly calm and talkative :3

You fucked up.

Yes, exactly. No need to sugarcoat or try to explain that it wasn’t as severe of a mistake. The worst that could have happened, in your humble opinion. Escaping alive seemed not a good outcome either, now that the entire plan was ruined; the whole operation stagnated because of your lack of professionalism.

Nibbled by guilt on your way back, you knew that what awaits you in the estate is nothing but a punishment. The Lord Commissioner may be merciful, but after messing up with Fatui, you truly wondered if dying by their hands wouldn’t be better than whatever was planned for your return by the head of the Kamisato clan himself.

The treatment was enough for you to forget how long you have been in the empty room, unsure if it’s still the house or somewhere else in case you wanted to scream for help. The fine wooden floors suggest nothing in particular. Could be anywhere, the secluded part of the residence, or maybe one of the summer houses, mayhaps even a rented place. Irrelevant, because you couldn’t remember how you got wrapped in all of this after your arrival.

So, how long has it been? An hour? Two? Not even one? Impossible to guess. Even more difficult to think when a beautifully carved-out handle of the sword presses so annoyingly to your clit, stiff and angled perfectly to hit you there despite your quivering legs trying to close in time — futile.

A strangled cry escapes your lips. It’s so troublesome to focus on anything but the arousal pulsing through your veins and the heavy scent of blooming camellias that lingers in the air, always following the graceful frame of the Yashiro Commissioner.

He is standing tall and beautiful before you, but his smile is nowhere to be seen. Serious face focused on disciplining his subordinate. The same face that looks down at you every time you kneel before him and slowly sink his cock into your mouth. A reward for being a good servant to the family.

It’s that kind of sternness. Observing your progress, scheduling special trainings, raising you as the shadow to act in his stead — and a good fuck from time to time. One that you don’t deserve right now, because you are a failure, a disgrace who failed a mission and survived only by chance, hoping that others complete the deal with the Fatui scum on their own.

You close your eyes, but the images of the ambush you’ve witnessed play in front of you nonetheless.

A scorching pain that does not soften — the opposite — when the handle of the sword taps between your legs again.

“Now, be so kind and remind me why we are doing this. I was certain we would be past this stage of our relationship after so many years. Tell me, am I wrong? Should we start again from scratch and you will learn to behave? Perhaps you will also remember how to speak.”

His tone is almost sweet, but it only makes you feel even more ashamed than before. A shame so intense it leaves your cheeks hot and wet, tears spilling on their own with no chance for you to stop them.

“My apologies. I know where I did fail. There is no need to— hngh… n-no need for— this… This is not necessary, m-my Lord… please…!”

Your Lord, as you weep, is persistent in circling the tip of the sheathed blade around your clit. It’s as safe as it can get, the blunt polished edge where he usually places his palm to hold the position, but no less brutal to treat you with that instead of his precise fingers or the most divine experience, now properly tucked in his pants so not even a bulge of arousal is visible on the white fabric.

You knew this was going to be bad when you had returned to the estate, yet there was nothing you could do. Standing before him, not by your own strength anymore, but by the ropes holding your body up along the tall wooden column, there was nothing you could have done, the fate inescapable.

Straining against the restraints doesn’t help at all. Even if you succeed, you’ll just fall to your knees on the floor, exposed and humiliated.

“I sincerely hoped there would be no reason for this treatment… Or perhaps I’ve been spoiling you too much? Was that the mistake I made?” He walks around you, unhurried.

You try to look back and follow his steps, but the thick ropes hold your wrists in place. A dull, but constant ache. The position you were put into spreads the same pain in your ankles and shoulders too, legs forced slightly open, enough for you to be compliant when your Lord decides what to do next.

“What I worry about is that if I continue using the same method, you will grow accustomed to it, even start to like it.” He circles you, a wounded prey within his reach. Even smiles whilst adjusting the leather gloves to fit his palms. “A pity to get rid of the beautiful knots already, but they were tied just to exhaust your limbs, specifically. Now, I fear, it’s the time to bring out something more substantial. Something with which you can truly learn from your mistakes… Ah, maybe even improve your endurance. The hard way, as we say.”

“M-my Lord, I’m sorry!”

“You’ll be, that I’m certain of.”

As if to mock your lack of energy, your Lord chooses to release you from the ropes and let you slide to your knees in front of him. For a second there, you evaluate the possibility of escape, but the blood running back to your legs turns into cramps and shivers, rendering you unable to stand or even move an inch.

A small mercy comes in the form of his gloved hand resting on your head. A gentle pat, like a dog, and warm praise.

“Don’t cry now. This is necessary for the sake of your future by my side. Don’t worry, I know your limits.”

Ethereal grace and cold expression on his face as he watches you weep before him. His trousers at last bear the outline of his cock to prove the arousal that you got him under such conditions. Or maybe just his own method to taunt you with what you won’t get this time.

He strokes through your hair, glides down the curve of your spine, following little wrinkles of the clothes that remained on your upper half — what cannot be said about your lower body.

Without further instructions, you push yourself forward to rest your face on the ground, the wood hard but gentle on your cheek. Arch your back so perfectly, present yourself for him, but it’s not enough for him to find a single word of praise at how eager you are. It’s expected of you to obey.

The anticipation ends when the finest leather of his glove reaches your ass, circles around it to elicit little goosebumps in the wake of his touch. Fingers run over the folds of your pussy, further and further down between your legs, too slow, but only because he knows the intense pleasure you’ll experience when he dips into you. Gladly imagining the juices from your wet cunt covering his hand. Alternatively, he’s just doing that to let you know, again, what will not be given to you this time.

The fleeting gentleness ends sharply with a precise swat on your ass. An immediate stinging pain fills the hollow where the flat of his palm struck your flesh and makes you gasp out. And cry.

Your Lord clicks his tongue in annoyance, and then a burdensome weight lands on your back, pressing you into the floor.

You don’t see him, but can smell him when he whispers in your ear.

“Now, now, why the agitation? I am not hurting you. I know well you used to find pleasure in worse pain. And I do not intend to cause you this much distress, simply because there’s a chance the reprimand will have the opposite effect. You wouldn’t want that, would you? For all my effort to go down the drain…”

He breathes out as if the mere thought of reminding you this exhausts him, but despite his words, he stays there, pressing down on you and rubbing the sore spot to ease the stinging sensation. Or tease it further. It is hard to tell.

And yet, you hear your own voice uttering back, “You are right… My apologies. I’ll try to endure it.”

“Good. That’s all I’m asking for.”

The second slap doesn’t come as a surprise. Nor the third. Neither the fourth. They all follow in succession, no rush, and with timid caresses in between, as if to amplify the contrast. Breathing hitched, sometimes twisting away from the weight of his palm on your ass — then scolded, made to present yourself properly again for the Commissioner himself.

He knows your limits, though, and knows what it takes to break you. So, there is no real reason to fear, right? Yet you shiver, and a cold sweat blooms on your skin like the morning dew. He would have been kind enough to make it painless, you hope.

Your Lord removes himself from your back to observe the results. To see the little ripples left behind after the impact. You keep still, trying to catch your breath, but also knowing that your entire silhouette pricks with needles of pain, thighs slick with the moisture leaking from between them.

“How easily your body betrays you…”

Another hit comes so hard you bite your lips not to cry out the most pathetic of mewls.

Instead of the usual, breaking the routine and not calming the flesh, his hand gracefully slides lower, between your cheeks. Pursuing. Invading. It is terrifying and makes your entire body flush hot when he does that, digits pushing against your hole. You never dare to disobey, though, merely whining as his fingertips press in, bluntly yet soft enough not to hurt. The smooth leather makes the little distance between yours and his skin unbearable, taking him further away from you despite his touch sneaking closer, a contradiction that feels like ice — because you cannot stand it, frustrated and hurting, on a brink of pleasure he denies you again.

But you stay still. Bite down the yearning bubbling at the high of your throat, clench around his glove as he presses in and almost breaches the first ring of muscles before pulling out completely away from your cunt.

If it wasn’t for another slap that sends you further into the floor, you’d wish to buckle your hips back, chasing the warmth of his palm. Ayato returns to gently kneading the abused flesh of your ass. The strokes linger longer each time, from the surface up to the cleft between your cheeks, drawing bolder circles that threaten to dip inside.

But no matter how far his hand travels, it always returns to your buttocks. Your skin is hot, sweaty, probably red from all the slaps and squeezing, a small, albeit recurring twinge of pain that spikes each time he lets his fingers slide lower and makes all your muscles tense from your impatience.

You wait for the next blow, but it doesn’t come. What comes instead is a lingering absence of touch. Ayato sits by your side on the floor, head resting in the palm of his hand as if bored.

“On your knees,” he says quietly. “Over my lap.”

Despite being strained, you know not to hesitate. Before the words could have finished escaping his lips, you scramble into position to rest your belly across his legs. His thighs are firm under your belly, his touch warm through the fabric of his pants as he caresses your back with one hand and the curves of your hips with the other.

You must say something, beg for forgiveness, praise him — whatever will grant you the easy way out, unaware that you’re already not thinking straight, because how else would you believe that the Yashiro Commissioner could soften by your pleas.

“I believe you have learnt your lesson,” he says, softer this time, “but just in case…”

“My Lord, I— I did… Ah!” You’re cut off by the touch — expecting another harsh swat — so tenderly reaching between your folds, calming the feverish skin with the cool of his fingertips.

“Hush now. Remember to obey.”

He takes his time to brush over the clit and gently spreads your labia before touching you again. This time not teasing at all. Ayato finds your hole easily and presses inside, sinking inside, deliberately slow, as if wanting to draw it out for as long as possible. Just two digits, but the fit is snug enough to make you shudder in both relief and agony. Finally, finally satiated, yet the granted mercy only deepens your desire, an endless hunger. You start writhing to get closer, albeit the hard cock under your belly only pulses from the attention you’re receiving and does not react to your needy little moans.

A different kind of exposure gets him aroused — not you, but the control he holds over you.

The tightness is eased by your own wetness that coats his fingers. Embarrassingly so, the trickle of fluids inevitably seeps down his wrist as well. The glove still remains on his hand, so all you can feel is the touch of fine leather against your walls, the gentle texture that glides through the moisture. Once again, seeking, invading, precise.

“There we go.”

“My Lord…! My apologies,” you cry, “I will not fail again. I swear it.”

“And I believe in you,” he breathes, barely audible.

His thumb returns to your clit before he pushes deeper inside, pressing so good that you shudder when a long-awaited release washes over you. Too quick and too abrupt, almost painful.

But just like a tidal wave, the pleasure passes as fast as it came, leaving you behind to quiver around his fingers while Ayato strokes your back soothingly. He does not pull out, instead keeps you in place with the stillness of his hand, and you do not dare move despite the settling disappointment that your orgasm got ruined. Your legs shake regardless.

“It’s… That’s all?” You ask, not pretentiously, not demanding, but full of broken hope and despairing, because it cannot be true that all that prolonged torture and tease, and care ends up like this. Like nothing. Like nothing at all.

Ayato sighs deeply, wiping his glove on your thighs. The wetness is sticky on your skin and immediately cold when he leans away to look at you.

“Yes, that is all. A punishment is a punishment. I do hope it won’t be necessary in the future.”

No reprimand follows after. Just a long look, pondering and attentive as always. He tilts his head to the side to assess the results.

“Come closer,” he says after a while.

So, you obey, parting your mouth wide to let him push the still gloved fingers past your teeth. He presses all the way down to your throat and then draws back so you can savour the sweet flavour of your own juices. Ayato holds his digits like that, resting on your tongue until saliva seeps past the corner of your mouth, so he may smear it across your lips.

“Pretty like that, aren’t you? If only you were working harder and completing your missions successfully so that, instead of sitting in this room, we could share my private bedroom. Alas…” He reaches to stroke your cheek, a sweet touch after all the pain. “Please, do not make me repeat myself ever again.”

₊ ˙ ⊹ . AUTHOR’S NOTE — i really hope this fic isn’t as messy as i think it is… i admit, i could work around the situation itself and flesh out the setting properly, but i didn’t really have enough creative juices within me at the time. i will also be grateful if you excuse me for writing ayato this way. i tried my best to highlight the weird side of his character, but… oh well :’3

#—writing.#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin smut #kamisato ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x you #kamisato ayato smut #ayato x reader #ayato x you #ayato smut #cw dubcon #cw pain kink #cw torture #cw impact play

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observeowl · 2 months ago

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Second Chance | Chapter 10 - How Things Have Changed

Series masterlist

You realised you have been focusing a lot on sports the past week and decided to focus more on your studies this time. A mini test was coming up, and while you were confident that it was going to be alright, you strove to get a 100% this time. Participating, asking more questions, and making yourself known to the professors.

Andrew has been meeting you at the group study room as you needed his part of the credit to book the room. You felt bad that you used his credits and weren’t speaking much to him, even in close proximity, since you were focused on studying. Hence, after packing up, you tried talking to him about basketball or things we were interested in. He told you about the game he won and how excited he was being closer to the final game. You told him about your competition next week, and if you did well enough, you’d make it to the next day.

You got a leave of absence in your first life because the test was on the same day as your competition. However, this time, you were prepared enough to let Clint handle the registration on your behalf and take an Uber there immediately after. Missing this test meant that the 10% gets transferred to the next one, and it would be a lot harder to get the A you desired.

As you rushed out of the classroom, carrying your heavy ass bow bag, you ran into Natasha, literally knocking her fully filled water bottle off her hand. “Who the hell-, Y/N?” She bends down to pick up her bottle, preventing more from spilling onto the floor. “Aren’t you supposed to be in competition?”

“I- I was just taking my test and about to head there now.” You didn’t really stay longer to talk to her.

“I can drive you there. I was planning to go and cheer on Clint anyway.” She offered. “He gave me the competition details. Your session starts in an hour and a half, right?” You looked at Natasha, unsure of her intentions.

“I guess so. Don’t you have class?” You took her offer, not wanting to be late and threw your game off.

“You know I don’t need those classes to ace my test, Y/N.”

“Right…”

Natasha brought you to her car and helped place your bag in the trunk. Once you got in, she immediately started the drive there.

“How is it with Andrew?” She asked.

“It’s going good. I never thought I’d be with someone I met at a party.” You admitted instead of giving some kind of snarky remark. It’s time to let it go and be civil with her, it’s no one’s fault that both of you landed in this position. “What about you and Maria?”

She’s not like you. Natasha wanted to say. “It’s good too. It’s definitely easier when both are in the same course. I just started on my first group project with her. That’s better than with Clint. He needs to learn how to pull his weight.” Clint wasn’t the type to aim for the stars, but he knew what satisfied him. He just wants to live comfortably with whoever he ends up with.

“It’s nice that this life turned out better for the both of us.”

“You should get some rest. There is still a while to go. Relax your muscles.” The same thing she used to say when she brought you to another competition when you were with her.

“Thanks.”

You would love to say you don’t conform under peer pressure, but when Camellia and Diana were going on a group blind date with the rest of her friends and invited you, you joined them despite wanting to binge-watch clips on YouTube. It turned out to be the best and worst decision of your lifetime.

You didn’t expect Nat to be there, though she didn’t seem like she wanted to be there either. She was the only one in her group who still had yet to date, and Sam saw the group blind date in one of his random broadcast groups (he used it to get the best deals) and urged Nat to go. He figured that if she really hated it, she could blend into the surroundings, and people won’t notice her. But you did. She was the first thing you noticed you walked in.

You thanked your god and friends when you entered the restaurant that deviated from your usual routine. Everyone matched with themselves, and you sat opposite Nat for the first time. It was up to you to initiate and lead the conversation because she looked uninterested. You were nervous and afraid you were going to say the wrong thing, but whatever you did clearly made her notice you more as she began talking to you more in school and eventually started asking you out. Nat really puts in her all when she wants to get it.

“We’re here.” Natasha informed you as she pulled up to the drop-off point. You thought she was going to stay in the car, but she came out and took the bag for you. “Good luck, all the best.”

“Thank you.” You took your bag from her and made your way up to the hall.

On the way, you met a few of your group mates and began setting your bow up in the holding room as Clint gave you your paper that showed which lane you were shooting. “Natasha’s here, by the way. I think she should be coming up soon.”

“Oh? You met her on the way here?”

“No, she drove me here, actually. I knocked into her in school.”

“Well, hurry up and do your warm-up. Your session should start soon.” He helped you to bring your bow into the hall as you started your stretches. Kate had already shot in the morning, as she was in the intermediate section while you were in the novice section. She had already shot the triple face target, while you were only shooting the 20cm target.

You were just in time as you stepped into the hall when they announced for the players to get ready. Clint and your friends were there for you, ready to tell you where your shots landed. Andrew wanted to come too, but you told him there was really no point when you were only going to be shooting for around one and a half hours. You’ve done this before, where you went to cheer them on, and it was the most tiring thing ever, having nothing to do. Granted, you were there for twelve hours.

“Relax, just do what you normally do in training, and you’ll be good.” Clint reassured you. Today was the scoring round, where everyone shoots, and the top 16 would qualify for the bracket. You did everything you’d do during training, even pressing the handheld counter, even though you didn’t need to know how many arrows you had shot. You just needed to be in the same mindset in your comfortable space.

Time flew when you were shooting, and the hour passed before you knew it. Now the only thing was to cheer the rest of them on and wait for your result. You scored 223 out of 300, so there was a high chance you’d make it in.

“I really think you have a high chance of winning this competition if you keep this up.” My hands flew to my chest when I heard Natasha’s voice come out of nowhere, scaring me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright.” You shook your head. “I thought you were going to be at Clint’s lane by now.”

“I am. Would you want to go together?” You couldn’t wrap your head around Natasha’s actions and how she presented herself, but you didn’t want to probe.

Your vice-captain, Alexandra, was helping Clint sight his arrows. And you were behind the line cheering him on each time he scored a time, so… basically all the time. He was probably the only one to score 10s consistently. You kinda feel bad for other men in this competition.

When the day finally ended around 8 pm, you hitched a ride back with your friends who stayed near you. Thankfully, everyone in the team made it to the next round, and it would be an interesting day tomorrow.

===

Despite telling Andrew to reach after 10 am because there would be nothing for him to do before that, he came with the rest at 8 am. Thankfully, most members knew him from the training camp and came to talk to him, so he didn’t feel as bored. They tried to include him as best they could and told him roughly how things were going to go for the day.

As the time ticked closer to 10 am, you started getting more anxious. This was different from the scoring round, you actually have a chance to win at this thing. You were part of the Top 16. Winning three rounds guarantees you a medal, and four for a gold medal. You told yourself to calm down, there was still roughly an hour before it was your turn. But your heart refused to listen, instead insisting on beating quickly.

You started to lose awareness of your surroundings and knew you needed to sit down before you collapsed to the floor.

“I got you.” Suddenly a pair of arms hugged you from behind, bringing you back to reality.

The pressure helped a lot, and you needed more of it. “Tighter… more…” The person complied, hugging you tighter and using their entire body to enclose you.

“Just breathe.” She started taking more exaggerated deep breaths. “In… out… in… out…”

With her help, you managed to ground yourself once again. She was unmistakably Natasha.

Once your senses were more in control, you could smell the same perfume you have smelled for many years. “Th-thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Uhm…”

“Right.” Natasha removed her arms from you. “Sorry. They are calling for you. You should probably head over there soon before they disqualify you.” You moved quickly and just in time before the crew came over to your lane. Clint and the rest had brought your equipment over, so you were set to shoot.

“Where have you been?” Clint silently asked. “I thought you were going to miss it.”

“Sorry.”

You placed a hand on your heart and told it to calm down as you tried to get into the zone. With the second beep, you began loading an arrow and started aiming at the target.

“Six.” Reported Clint. Not the worst, but definitely not good enough at this stage. You loaded another arrow after adjusting your sight, but you still landed another six. “Come on, you can do it!” The last arrow hit a seven, but your opponent was mostly hitting eights and nines, which gave the points for this set.

Two points for every win, one point for a draw and the first to six wins. This can end as quickly as three sets, and it’s starting to get to you again. You couldn’t internalise anything Clint was trying to explain or correct your form. You just nodded to everything, even until you collected your arrows.

“Y/N!” Natasha’s voice always seemed to manage to rise above the rest. “Just remember your routine. Do everything you would do during training.” You stared at her before making your way to the line once again. Even when the beep sounded, you stood there with your bow unmoving. The timer ticked, and everyone was looking amongst themselves, not knowing your intention.

You knew you had a relatively fast release and could afford to take the time to regulate. After taking a final deep breath, you tilted your head to the right angle before picking up your bow and releasing it quickly. You didn’t even wait for Clint’s words before loading an arrow again and again. You only had one second to spare by the time the last arrow was shot.

“10, 10, 10.” Clint said more to the people around him than to you. Naturally, you won this round and were tied, 2-2. “It’s like a switch flipped in her. What is it you said that impacted her so much?” Natasha shrugged her shoulders before walking away. You carried on with this momentum all the way until the final round with minimal talking and eventually made your way to the top.

Your battle was half won when your opponent saw how you fared during the competition. Your consistent shooting was not something common in this category. It made her lose focus which became an easy match for you.

When you won, your teammates and everyone cheered. As you walked back after the crew officially announced who won between you and your teammates. “Thank you. You played a great game as well.” You told your opponent before she went back to her team.

“Y/N! You did amazing! Two gold medals for our school! Or three since I’m definitely going to win.” Clint said as the rest continued to say a great job. It seems like Kate also won her category while you were panicking outside.

You thanked them for their support before they started to get ready for the man's category. Everyone cleared the area for the next batch of people. Clint was ready, and all you had to do was cheer each time he shot. You kinda feel bad for the opponents. There aren’t many archery competitions since it’s quite a niche sport, and they all have to compete against Clint since you aren’t allowed to backtrack to a lower category once you’ve competed in the higher one.

“Well done. I knew you could do it.” Andrew stood next to me and whispered. You smiled at him and went out together to talk better. “It seems like I better fulfil my promise and win my championship too.”

“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Just do your best. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself in preparation for it.” Basketball could be very dangerous as sportsmen hurt their ankles and knees.

“Are you celebrating your win with your teammates?” Andrew asked. It seems like he wanted to return the favour.

Sadly, you shook your head. “They already have other plans. And I much prefer to head home to sleep as well. We’ve been here for 12 hours, after all.” The second day was always more tiring as you needed to take longer rest during the day.

As people started filtering out, you knew it was time to head it as Clint advanced to the second round. You noticed Natasha wearing the Captain’s lanyard and standing behind the scope. It was weird since Clint didn’t need any assistance of this kind, and he could see the target clearly. That was until you noticed that she was not looking at his target's face but at his opponent. Ever the spy, always wanting to know who she’s facing.

===

After the prize ceremony and helping the host to pack up, it was past 9 pm Andrew was willing to send you back home because it would be dangerous for you to walk on the streets alone.

You thanked him once again for sending you back home as you took your bow bag from his trunk. Standing in front of his car, you spent a silent moment together. Both of you felt like doing something to end the night, but neither had the courage to do so. Sensing the moment was over, he turned to head back inside his car when you kissed him on his cheek.

“Have a safe ride home. Thank you for coming today.”

@queen-of-chaotic-surprises @esposadejoyhuerta @gemz5 @natsxwife @dyslexic-dreamer @unexpected-character @eternalnight410 @leenasayeed @oh-thats-sad @skz-xii @gay-frogs-dancing-around @justspance

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#natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha x you #my writing #black widow 2021 #natasha romanoff fanfiction #second chance

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stargazer-sims · 2 months ago

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Broken Glass

♫ Broken Glass - David Francey ♫

This will make more sense if you've already read Full Circle

_______________

"Forest, what are you doing?"

Fox probably doesn't have to pose this question. He thinks he has a fairly solid idea without needing to ask; however, if working with kids on a daily basis for the past twenty-plus years and also being a parent to six kids of his own has taught him anything, it's that jumping to conclusions is almost always the wrong thing to do. He'd much rather hear an explanation directly from the child in question.

Now that his and Takahiro's older kids have moved into their newly-renovated rooms in the basement, everyone has to pass by Forest's and Camellia's doors to get to the laundry room. The fact that Forest's bedroom door is open is what catches Fox's attention initially, but the thing that makes him pause and set his basket of laundry down is what he sees on his second glance. His oldest son is sitting on his bed, haphazardly cramming clothes and other items into a large bag. Forest's green backpack is on the floor beside the bed. It looks full to bursting.

Forest looks up briefly. "Nothing."

"It certainly looks like something."

Fox steps onto the threshold of Forest's room, but doesn't go any further. Ever since their kids were old enough to understand the concept of privacy, he and Takahiro have maintained that the kids' rooms are spaces that the kids control. Unless it's an emergency, they won't go in without permission.

"It's none of your business,” says Forest, in a defensive response that takes Fox aback.

"Papa said you were upset when you got home from school today," Fox says.

"Yeah," Forest acknowledges. "I told him I didn't want to talk to him about it."

"He mentioned that. He said he thought you were waiting for me to get home from work."

"Sort of."

"Would you like to talk to me about it?"

Forest shrugs. "I guess I can tell you, but it doesn't really matter. There's nothing anybody can do."

"Maybe not, but I can listen," Fox says. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Fox steps into the room and comes over to sit on the end of the bed. There are clothes strewn all over it. He picks up a shirt and begins to fold it. "You know, you'd be able to fit more stuff in your bag if you took your time and organized it."

"What?"

"Your bag," Fox says. "Obviously, you're packing. You'd fit more in there if you folded everything. I presume you want to save a spot for your sketchbooks and pencils, don't you?"

His son stares at him. "Are you, like... helping me pack?"

"Don't I always help you pack?"

"We're not going on a family trip, Dad," Forest says.

“I know.”

"I'm the only one going."

"So I figured." Fox lifts another shirt and folds it neatly atop the first one. "Come on. Take all that stuff out and I'll help you fix it."

"Why?"

"If you're running away, there won't be anyone to help you carry your stuff. You should be economical with your storage space so you can fit as much as you can into as few bags as possible."

"How did you...?"

"How do I know you're running away? Let's see..." Fox pretends to think about it. "A kid packing his bag when he's not going to an overnight camp or to a sleepover or on a planned trip? There aren't that many options left."

"Great." Forest sighs and drops the pair of jeans he'd been holding. "So much for a clean getaway. I can't even run away right."

"There's no right or wrong way," Fox says. "Either you go, or you don't. There's no rule book on how to do it."

For several seconds, Forest doesn't respond. He just sits there and gazes at Fox as if he's trying to look inside his brain, to discern in which direction their conversation is ultimately heading. After a while he says, "Are you... you're like, okay with this?"

"No," Fox replies.

"But, you're not gonna try to stop me."

"Would it do any good for me to try?" Fox asks. "You're not the first person in this family to run away, you know. Your grandparents stopped me the first time I tried it, and that just led to me being smarter about it on my second attempt. I sneaked off in the middle of the night, and I was on a plane before they even realized I was gone."

"That's not true."

"You can ask Granny and Grandpa or Aunt Clancy if you don't believe me," he says. "Anyway, I doubt me trying to keep you here would work any better than my parents trying to keep me at home did. If I told you I don't want you to leave, would that make you want to stay or would it make you want to go even more?"

Forest narrows his eyes suspiciously. "I see what you're doing."

"What am I doing?" Fox asks.

"Psychology or whatever," Forest says. "You're treating me like you probably treat your clients."

"It seems to work on them."

"Dad, I'm not stupid. Not that stupid at least. You're trying to trick me into doing what you want, and I'm not falling for it."

"I'm not trying to trick you into anything," Fox insists. "You're still a minor until January, so Papa and I have the legal right to keep you under our roof until then, but if you really want to go now, I won't stand in your way and I don't think Papa will either. I think you're old enough to make your own choices. If you think running away from your problems is a good choice, you're free to test that theory if you want."

"Who says I'm running away from my problems?"

"Aren't you?"

"I'm running away so I won't be anyone else's problem," Forest tells him.

Fox contemplates this. His instinct is to ask his son why he feels that way, why he thinks he's a problem for anyone, but it occurs to him that he might already know the answer. After all, hadn't he felt similarly at Forest's age? He'd often wished he could just disappear so he'd no longer be a burden to the people around him. Although it wasn't the only catalyst for his own flight from home, it'd certainly been a factor in his decision.

The realization that this might be the case for Forest too is upsetting. Even before Forest and Camellia were born, Fox was determined not to make the same mistakes with them that his parents had made with him. He didn't want to raise them — or any of his children — in an environment where the predominant emotions were fear, shame and guilt.

Fox's parents hadn't handled any aspect of his upbringing in an appropriate way, in his opinion, and things only got worse after he was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at the age of six. Because of his illness, his parents sheltered him to the point where he became afraid of everything and could barely do anything for himself. His entire purpose in life had been to do what his parents said was best, and not to make them angry or sad for any reason or cause them to worry even more.

They'd meant well and they hadn't been trying to hurt him, but unfortunately, their own fear had blinded them to the fact that they were actually far more responsible for Fox’s suffering than any outside factors ever were. They were terrified something awful would happen to him and they were desperate to protect him, but what they failed to understand was that by keeping him away from virtually everything the world had to offer, they'd harmed him even more than he might've been harmed if he'd been allowed to experience things for himself.

The older he got, the less content he was with the way things were. Obeying his parents wishes became more difficult as he began to have goals and dreams of his own. Eventually, the situation devolved to where he couldn't take it any more, and he knew he'd have to do something if he ever wanted a normal life. After his first unsuccessful attempt to leave, he secretly planned his escape and didn't tell anyone anything until he was far, far away.

Although he'd spent the first few months of his time in Japan feeling lonely, scared, out of his depth and questioning the wisdom of his choice, he doesn't regret it now. That adventure, born of desperation, had changed his life completely. He'd met his beloved Takahiro, gained independence and self-confidence, and found hope for a better future. When he finally returned to Canada, with Taka by his side, he felt as if he were a totally transformed person.

A better version of yourself, his sister Clancy had said.

When he and Taka discussed growing their family, Fox knew he didn't want any of his kids to have the sort of childhood he'd had. He and Taka have done their best not to coddle their kids too much, instead encouraging them to explore and experiment and not be afraid of making mistakes. That didn't change when Camellia and Forest were diagnosed with diabetes within days of each other at five years old. Fox was adamant that the twins shouldn't be treated any differently than Matsu or the younger kids simply because they were diabetic.

"It's not a disability," he'd told Taka at the time. "Obviously, we'll have to make a few adjustments, but it doesn't mean they can't have a normal life. There's nothing holding them back from doing whatever they want."

The reality of the twins' diagnosis was far more challenging for Takahiro to accept than it was for Fox, but he agreed that Forest and Camellia should be afforded the same opportunities as their siblings.

For the most part, he and Taka seem to have succeeded. Each of the kids has a strong sense of self and most have their own ideas and aspirations and at least a tentative plan going forward. Camellia intends to work in health care, Matsu is interested in law enforcement like his aunt Clancy, outgoing and energetic Takashi wants to be a journalist, studious Willow is considering a career as a robotics engineer, and quirky, free-spirited Midori wants to study fashion design.

The only one who seems to have no direction is Forest.

Fox thinks that if were up to Forest, he'd never do anything challenging, interact with other people, or even leave the house if it wasn't necessary. He'd stay alone in his room all day, every day, drawing and painting and listening to music. Even Fox had socialized more as a teen than Forest does, and it's concerning.

Fox folds some more clothes and considers his approach.

At length, he ventures, "Where are you running away to?" He tries to make his tone as conversational as possible. "Near or far?"

"I don't know," Forest says. "Maybe I'll go to Japan and stay with Uncle Seiji and Auntie Sachiko."

"Okay. Do you know where your passport is?"

"No," Forest admits.

"And do you know how to get more insulin and supplies for your blood-glucose monitor if you're outside the country?"

Forest looks annoyed. "I don't even know how to get it here. You always do that for me, remember?"

"Because you don't want to make your own doctor's appointments," Fox points out. "If you're not going to live with us any more, you should probably learn how to do that. All our passports are in the top drawer of my desk, and you can use my credit card to book your flight. Oh, and make sure you've applied for a work visa so you can earn some money to live on, and don't forget to let Uncle Seiji know you're coming. Nobody likes an unexpected guest."

Forest's reaction is so sudden and so volatile that it catches Fox off guard. The teenager snatches up the nearest thing to his hand, which happens to be a sneaker, and flings it across the room so hard that it bounces off a shelf and knocks several items to the floor. Then, he leaps off the bed and follows the sneaker's trajectory. One of the objects that toppled from the shelf is a framed photo, and he stomps on it hard enough to crack the glass. Fox can hear it crunching under his son's heel.

"Stop it!" Forest yells. "Just... stop it!" He brings his foot down on the photo a few more times before collapsing onto the floor next to it and bursting into tears.

"What do you want me to stop doing?" Fox asks.

"Stop pretending like this is no big deal!" Forest exclaims. "It's not a joke, okay? It's my life, and this is serious!"

Fox gets up from the bed and kneels on the carpet beside his son. He rests his palm on Forest's back. "I know it's serious, Forest," he says quietly. "It's not a joke to me."

"Then stop acting like it is! Scream at me or tell me I'm an idiot or try to make me stay home. Do something parental and stop trying to play these fucking head games!"

"I already told you I won't make you stay."

"But why?"

"Because you're nearly an adult and this is your choice to make," Fox says. "But, I need you to understand exactly how serious this is, okay? You can leave if you want, but you can't leave unprepared. What if you get sick or you need help? Could you take care of yourself if you were on your own?"

Forest covers his face with his hands in what Fox assumes is an attempt to hide the fact that he's crying. His voice is strained when he responds. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Maybe you can start by telling me what's up," Fox suggests. "Tell me why you'd come home from school on an otherwise normal Thursday and decide that running off to another country would be a good idea."

"Because," Forest mumbles.

"Because...?" Fox prompts.

"Because I'm no good to anyone here. I can't do anything and I'm never going to be anybody, and the only person in the whole world who ever loved me actually hates me now."

"Really? The only person in the whole world who ever loved you?"

"Yeah."

"There are seven other people in this house who love you very much," Fox reminds him gently. "All your grandparents love you too, and so do Aunt Clancy, Auntie Aiko and your cousins."

"Yeah, but none of you were going to marry me some day," Forest says.

"Oh, I see." Fox glances in the direction Forest is looking, and his focus lands on the shattered picture frame. "This is about Caroline."

"Who else would it be about?" Forest demands.

"I had no way of knowing, and you know I'm not in the habit of assuming." Fox says.

Beneath the shards of glass and cracked wood, the image of Caroline Okamoto-Nelson is smiling brightly. She's wearing a deep pink gown and her white-blonde hair is piled high in a fancy style no doubt constructed by her grandmother Grace. Fox recognizes the Willow Creek High gym in the background. The photo was taken at last year's Sweethearts Ball, the school's annual Valentine's Day banquet and dance. Fox recalls how overjoyed Forest had been when Caroline invited him to attend it with her.

"Everybody loves Caroline," says Forest. "She's beautiful and she's good at everything and she has tons of friends. She could have any boy she wanted, but she picked me, the fat kid with diabetes, who has no other friends and who's bad at math and even worse at sports."

"None of that stuff defines who you are as a person," Fox says. "Caroline loves you."

"Maybe she did, up until today."

"What happened?" Fox inquires.

"She wants to break up with me."

"Did she actually say that?"

No, but I can tell she's going to," Forest says. "You know how you just believe something so hard because you want so bad for it to be true? I really thought she meant it, all those times she said she loved me and that she'd marry me some day. I thought we'd always be together, and when we were old enough we'd get married and have a family and everything, but... now that's never gonna happen."

There are a dozen ways Fox could address this, not the least of which would be to say that Forest and Caroline are only seventeen and that it's far too soon for them to think about marriage. Then again, Forest and Caroline have been asserting since they were seven years old that they were going to get married some day. They'd never wavered on that, even when they'd hit their teens, and everyone around them seems to have taken their future union as a foregone conclusion.

"Maybe you should explain everything to me from the beginning," Fox suggests. "Let's get off the floor first though, okay?"

"Okay," Forest acquiesces.

It's a bit of a struggle for Fox to heave his bulk into a standing position, so he doesn't notice at first that Forest is having trouble too. It's only after he regains his equilibrium and catches his breath that he observes his son only has one foot on the floor. Forest is balancing on his toes on the other foot. It takes him a second longer to see the bright red stain on the heel of Forest's light grey sock.

"Forest, your foot—”

More tears leak from the corners of Forest's eyes, and he starts to turn away from his father, but Fox reaches out and touches his arm.

"Sorry," Forest murmurs, although Fox gets the sense that he's saying it out of habit rather than believing he has a reason to apologize for something.

"It's okay," Fox says. "We can go to the bathroom and check it out."

Neither of them says anything as they make their way the short distance to the bathroom Forest shares with Camellia and Matsu.

In the bathroom, Fox gets Forest to sit on the wide edge of the bathtub. Camellia has a little stool she uses to reach the top shelves of the towel cabinet, and Fox gets that and carries it over next to the tub so he can sit down facing his son.

With Forest's foot in his lap, Fox carefully peels off his sock so he can assess the damage. There are three small cuts on Forest's heel, but he can't see any embedded fragments of glass.

"Is it bad?" Forest asks.

"I've seen worse, "Fox tells him. "We can take care of it here. I don't think you need professional medical care or anything." He pats the top of Forest's foot. "Here, put that down for a second while I grab some stuff."

Forest lowers his foot, and Fox hauls himself upright once again. He really needs to start working out, he tells himself.

Ambling over to the sink, he opens the cabinet above it and takes out Band-Aids and antiseptic spray. He's grateful that he went along with Taka's idea to keep first aid supplies in all four bathrooms in the house. This isn't the first time they've needed them, and with all six of their kids still at home, he doubts it'll be the last.

He pulls a few sterile wipes from one of the small boxes on the counter next to the sink, where Camellia and Forest keep their diabetic supplies, and makes his way back to his son.

"That was pretty dumb, wasn't it?" Forest comments. "Breaking the picture frame."

"Probably not your finest moment," Fox says, as he tears open one of the little packets of sterile wipes. "Did you do it on purpose, or was it just because you wanted to smash something and that's what happened to be right in front of you?"

"A little of both, I guess," Forest says. "I was just so... I don't know. Mad isn't even the right word. I mean... yeah, I'm angry, but like, I'm sad and hurt and I feel like crap about myself. You know, as usual."

"Why do you feel like that?"

"Maybe 'cause I'm a huge waste of space."

"Forest, you are not a waste of space. Try again."

Forest sighs. "You don't understand what it's like. You don't know how much it sucks when you're not good at anything and nobody likes you. When you're the kid everybody thinks is weird, and they'd rather bully you than be your friend. But, Caroline..." His voice catches and he continues in a near-whisper. "Caroline stood up for me. She treated me like I mattered. But now, she... she sees me just like everybody else does."

"Tell me what happened," Fox encourages.

"Fine," Forest says. "You know this week at school is Futures Week, right?"

"Yes. You were going to talk to your friend Mohammad's mom about interior design at career day today, weren't you?"

"Mohammad's not my friend."

"Your classmate, then. Little sting coming," he adds as he sprays Forest's heel with antiseptic. "How'd your chat with Mrs. Omar go?"

Forest winces, but he doesn't try to pull away like he would've done when he was younger. "I didn't talk to her."

"Why not?"

"You have to promise not to be mad."

"I'm not going to be mad. Do you want the Band-Aids with stars, or do you want one of your sister's Batman ones?"

"Who cares? No one's going to see it on the bottom of my foot."

"Okay. Stars it is." He applies the first bandage carefully. "What is it that I'm not supposed to be mad about?"

"I..." Forest hesitates. "I, uh... didn't go to the career thing."

"I see." Fox can't say he's shocked. He'd mentioned to Taka just last night that he wondered whether Forest would actually follow through. Whether Forest realizes it or not, both his parents are also aware that his decision to take a year off between high school and university is really just a way to buy time. They know he has no intention of getting a post-secondary education, and although neither of them is thrilled about that, they also know they need to respect it. It is his life to lead, after all. "You were at school though, weren't you?"

"Yeah," Forest says. "In the library. That's where all the trouble started."

"Go on."

"It was stupid Mohammad," Forest says. "He was in there for some reason and he saw me, and then he just had to run and tell Caroline I was hiding out. So, of course she came to get me and she tried to force me to go to the gym to talk to people. When I said I didn't want to, she got mad, and we... we kinda got into an argument and got kicked out of the library."

"Did you get detention?"

"No. Caroline just dragged me outside so she could harass me about my future some more," Forest says. "She's turning into a bully, just like everybody else."

"Why? Because she's concerned about you?"

"Because she's bossy as hell," Forest grumbles.

"She's assertive," Fox says. "From what I've seen, she's got leadership skills and she's good at motivating people, just like her parents. That doesn't make her a bully."

"Trying to badger and guilt-trip people into doing what she wants them to do makes her a bully. She wants to make me fit into her idea of a perfect boyfriend, 'cause apparently I embarrass her and she doesn't want to be seen with me the way I am."

"Which is?" Fox inquires.

"She said she doesn't want to be with somebody with no ambition. She said I don't have any goals and she called me lazy and unmotivated, but that's not true!"

Fox uses the excuse of putting a final Band-Aid on Forest's foot to allow himself to be silent. He has no clue how he's meant to handle this. His immediate thought is that Caroline isn't wrong, which is followed almost instantly by a stab of guilt for thinking such a thing about his own child. Still, he can't let himself be in denial about it. He's learned the hard way that pretending issues don't exist is never the solution.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"Forest," he says. "If that's not true, then can you tell me what your goals are?"

The answer, when it finally comes, is not at all what Fox expects.

"It's Caroline." Forest is crying again, and he seems barely able to get the words out. "She's my goal. I love her and I want to marry her and have a family some day, but even if that never happens, I still want her to be happy. That's all I ever wanted, to take care of Caroline and make sure she's safe and happy."

"That's an admirable goal," Fox says. "But I hope you know it has to be Caroline's goal too."

"I know, and I found out it's really not, even though she said it was before. She lied to me, and I believed her like an idiot.”

“I don’t think she lied.”

“How would you know?”

"Because I know people don’t always see the world the same way as adults that they do as children,” Fox says. "Caroline's growing up, and so are you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Forest asks.

"What I mean is, people's priorities change as they get older and more mature. Then they have to figure out what's important and what order of importance each thing is going to get," Fox says.

"I haven't changed my mind."

"No, but maybe Caroline has. I know that sucks and it's hard to hear, but there's not much you can do about it. Sometimes all you can do is accept the truth and try to move past it."

"What if I don't want to move past it?"

"It's okay to feel like you don't want to," Fox says. "Nobody expects you to snap your fingers and get over it just like that, but eventually you'll have to figure out a way to cope with it. If you don't, inside your head isn't going to be a very nice place to be."

"So what? It already sucks inside my head anyway. What's one more betrayal gonna do that all the other rejections and betrayals haven't done already?" Forest stands up and stalks toward the bathroom door, limping slightly on his bandaged foot.

"You don't have to live like that," Fox tells him.

"That's easy for you to say," Forest retorts. "You have everything you want. You're smart and good at stuff and you've got friends and a partner."

"Even people who don't have everything don't have to let themselves suffer. Being happy and comfortable inside your own head isn't about what you’ve got. It's about—”

Forest cuts him off. "I'm done talking about this."

"Okay." Fox acknowledges. "If you ever want to—”

"Why do you think I'd want to later if I don't even want to now? You can't offer me anything useful, like I already knew you couldn't. Plus, you dragged all that information out of me and messed up my plan to leave, so I'm not falling into the trap of having any more conversations with you."

"It's not a tr—”

"I don't care! Shut up and stop wasting your breath trying to convince me how you have my best interests in mind or whatever. I'm staying and you're getting your way for now, so maybe just be happy with that."

"I'm not," Fox says, though he doubts Forest is listening any more. He's not sure where in the conversation he'd lost him. Perhaps he'd never had Forest's real attention in the first place. "I'm not happy at all."

"Good," Forest's tone is acidic. "Maybe instead of telling me I should grow up and learn how to cope with stuff, you should think about how it feels to be me. Maybe being unhappy will get you started in figuring it out."

"If you want to know the truth, I think about it a lot, how it must feel to be you."

"That's bullshit!" Forest shouts. "You don't give a crap about me! You're just upset that I'm not the son you wanted."

"You are exactly the son I wanted," Fox says. "You, Matsu and Takashi are all the sons I wanted. Papa and I love you and your brothers and sisters more than anything."

Forest reaches for the door handle. "Yeah, whatever." He pauses, and then adds vindictively, "You know what? On second thought, I did learn something from you. When I finally do leave, you're not going to know a damn thing about it, and I'm sure as hell not going to call and tell you where I am. Then you won't have to pretend to care about me. You'll never have to worry about me again."

Fox considers himself to be an even-tempered person. He's not the sort whose anger goes from zero to sixty in the space of a few heartbeats, but in the wake of Forest's callous dismissal it's as if something inside him cracks. He springs up from the low stool and doesn't even feel the usual ache in his knees or tugging of his back muscles.

In a few quick strides, he's face-to-face with his son, and he glares with all the ferocity his conflict-avoidant heart can manage.

"Forest Winter Abbottsford, you listen to me." His words come out shockingly, terrifyingly calm despite the racing of his heart. "You can run away from your problems and delude yourself into thinking you're doing it for somebody else's benefit, or whatever. But, I'm telling you right now that if you treat people out in the real world the way you're treating me, you're going to have more problems than you ever dreamed were possible. More problems than you could ever run from, even if you lived forever. Do you understand?"

Forest nods, but it's not in comprehension. It's the most eloquent non-verbal display of sarcasm Fox has ever seen, and it infuriates him.

"Awesome way to express your love, Dad. Great job. Well done."

Some irrational part of Fox's brain is telling him to grab his kid and shake some sense into him, and it's all he can do to keep his arms at his sides. He isn't violent by nature, but still he finds himself needing to actively resist.

Maybe it's because he's done everything in his power for the past seventeen years to demonstrate his love for Forest and to offer him opportunities Fox himself didn't have that Forest's ingratitude feels like a slap in the face. Or maybe it's because, after years of fighting to gain self-respect and working hard to earn the trust and confidence of others, he simply refuses to tolerate disrespect any more.

"I love you, Forest." The façade of calm is slipping away and his voice is starting to tremble. "You can believe it or not, but that doesn't make it any less true."

"Right."

"You know what?" he says. "Maybe you should leave. If you think you can run off and live your own life right now, go for it. Go out and see how hard it is when you're on your own. But when you realize you can't do it by yourself, don't come back and ask me and Papa for help unless you're prepared to apologize."

Forest stares at him. "So, now you're kicking me out?"

"That's not what I said." Fox realizes he's so close to losing it that he's nearly hyperventilating. He can barely catch his breath. "Stay or go. Do what you want. All I'm saying is that if you go, we're shutting the door behind you."

"Fine," Forest says. "I guess my options are pretty clear."

Forest yanks open the bathroom door and storms out, leaving Fox standing there stunned at the rapid and dramatic turn his interaction with his son had taken. He's well and truly shaking now, as the effects of the adrenaline flooding his body fade as rapidly as they'd spun up. He presses his palm against the wall to steady himself. He feels sick.

For an instant, he considers calling for Takahiro, but he's not sure he can draw enough breath to do that. Besides, what could Taka do? A hug and a soft word aren't going to be enough to calm the storm inside him this time.

Of course he'll tell Taka everything later, but what he really needs at the moment is to talk to someone who's removed from the situation, someone who's practical and who's used to managing conflicts in a no-nonsense way.

Someone who knows me better than I know myself.

He uses his hand to guide himself slowly downward until he's sitting on the bathroom floor. Then, he slides his phone out of his pocket and taps out a familiar number.

The line rings a couple of times, and then the clear voice of his twin sister reaches his ear. "Clancy Abbottsford."

"Clancy, it's Fox."

"Holy fuck, you sound terrible," Clancy says. "Are you okay?"

"No." It's an effort to get the single syllable out. "I need your help."

"I'll be right there," says his sister.

He nods, before remembering she can't see him. "Yes, please. Come pick me up."

"Trouble on the home front?"

"You could say that. I'll meet you outside."

"Okay, I'll be about fifteen minutes. I just dropped Grey off at his rehearsal, so I gotta make my way back from downtown."

"Okay," Fox says.

"Don't worry," Clancy says. "Whatever it is, we'll fix it."

I don't know how either of us can fix it, he wants to say, but instead he allows himself to be wrapped momentarily in the protective covering of his sister's confidence. Clancy doesn't even know what the problem is, and already she's sure she can sort it out. This is one of the many things he loves about her, that she's rarely defeated by anything for long. She inspires courage in him, and he can always count on her.

He wishes he had a bigger, better word than thank you, but it will have to suffice. "Thanks, Clancy. You're the best."

"I know," she says. "Take deep breaths and try not to have too bad of a panic attack, yeah? I'll be there soon."

_______________

TBC

#writing #long form fiction #Fox Abbottsford #Forest Abbottsford #meet the abbottsfords #stargazersims

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isaut · 1 year ago

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𝒐𝒑. 𝟐𝟐 𝒃. 𝟓𝟐: 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒅𝒊 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒆— chrollo x reader. 8k. ao3. ethically reposted from my old blog.

there’s a very handsome man who wants nothing more than to take you to see dvorak’s symphonies performed on a winter night. even if you did just tell him you don’t have the time to dedicate to a relationship. it doesn’t matter, you can’t stay away. neither can he. inclusive of all the Ophelia's Kuroro gems: czech composers, french, kuroro-is-just-a-guy, opera gloves, large jewels inherited via a vague late grandmother, tarot readings, incense lighting, angel & princess, sex scene equivalent to panning to an ocean view, showering in your own home. part of ten million jenny. enjoy!

Years ago, your little apartment had served everything you wanted. Windows that opened so you could blow cigarette smoke out of. A small kitchen you spent hours in, brewing coffee for your doctorate, and hours creating the perfect hangover recipes from too-long nights out in the club.

Now, however, instead of house music hits from the early 2000s blasting through the apartment to keep you awake, you have soothing blues music, crooning through your speaker to keep you calm and alert. Keep you from being too nervous as you apply the last of your jewelry in the mirror. In the reflection of the vanity you’ve had since you were a teenager, since you began this trip into education and been too lazy to move out of your apartment, you take in your appearance. Glossy lips, smoky eyes, teardrop pearls from your grandmother’s premature inheritance.

You’re honestly still quite confused at how you’ve ended up back here, dolling yourself up with the excitement of a date. A nice, proper date, one where you had to break out a floor-length gown, pearls and emeralds. A date with a man who had punched a hole in your perfect, ten year plan you’ve had since you started college. Get the degrees, as many as you want. Become a spinster. Don’t have kids, whatever you do. Enjoy post-work drinks with your mother on Fridays, because you’re both workaholics.

Instead. Instead. You’re waiting for a text that your date is here, waiting for your… Your date who you’ve tried to explain to numerous times that you can’t be in a relationship, that you can’t date because… Work, because family, because work, because work, because—

Instead of a text, there’s a knock at your door. A little startled, you apply the last touches of perfume over the dots of vaseline you allied moments prior. You pull on the opera gloves, and clasp a bracelet over your wrist as you head to the door. Your dress swishes around your slippers.

After a quick look through the peephole, you gasp upon seeing Kuroro standing there, with one hand behind his back. You undo the multiple locks, throwing open the heavy door and giving him a breathless smile. He looks handsome, standing before you. The snow flurries dust his shoulders, his scarf hangs open around the lapels of his blazer, his jacket.

“I was expecting a text,” You say, inviting him into your home. He ducks his head as he enters and stays in your foyer, not wanting to bring his outside shoes in.

“Your neighbor was entering the building the same time I was,” Kuroro says. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” You say. “Let me get my shoes on and we can head out.”

Kuroro produces a bouquet of winter flowers from behind his back, filled with anemones and camellias, with a few roses sprinkled throughout. Your breath catches, slowing your movements and keeping you in the foyer.

“Oh these are gorgeous, Kuroro…”

“They’re just trying to be as wonderful as you,” Kuroro responds sweetly.

“You’re a flatterer,” You respond. “There are vases on the top shelf of the kitchen, and there’s a step stool tucked between the fridge and the wall if you need it. Make sure to use—“

“The filtered water, I know,” Kuroro finishes, sliding off his shoes for the brief walk to your kitchen. This isn’t his first time filling up a vase in your apartment. He’s glad that the white roses are still in their vase by the window on the tiny breakfast table, even if they are browning on the edges.

After you had turned down his offer for a steady relationship, a relationship with a title, he didn’t think the roses would still be around. He didn’t think he would still be around. Nonetheless, he retrieves the vase, fills it with the filtered water from the fridge. Places them in your living area. Waits for you to reappear.

And when you do, you’re a vision. Fur draped over your arms, heels in your hand, a little clutch bag with a delicate chain hanging from your shoulder.

“There’s my angel,” Kuroro says. He gives you an arm for balance while you slide into your heels, then helps you into your coat. Your perfume wafts over him, and he desperately wants to lean in and smell you better. Place a kiss against your pulse point.

Instead, he keeps his hand on your waist as you lock your door, escorting you down to his car outside. It’s still sitting out front, hazards on, true to his story.

As shallow as it is, you can’t remember the last time that you had dated a man who owned a car. What an exciting new aspect to explore. There had simply never been a need for one growing up in the city.

Kuroro opens the door and has you slide into the warmth before you can formulate a response. It shuts, leaving you in the roll of the heaters. You pull on your seatbelt. You let the shoulder of your jacket fall slightly, only to quickly pull it back up as Kuroro opens his door and slides in.

His gaze lingers on your once-bare shoulder, before quickly flitting back to your eyes. He fixes you with a charming, half smile that you can’t help but dream about. It’s honestly quite embarrassing.

Should tonight go well, you’ll be thankful that you cleaned earlier that day. Sometimes with the rush of work, it makes everything so overwhelming. Something about Kuroro…

You don’t dwell on it. Instead, you place your hands in Kuroro’s personal space. He hates it with others, as you’ve noticed, but loves it around you. Stands in your spaces in lines, sliding through the metro turnstiles right after you. (Sometimes, while this is not a violation of your personal space, but an extension of the previous point, he hops turnstiles to pick you up at the station by his house. Someone has to carry your all too heavy work bag back to his home or yours.)

You place your hands in Kuroro’s personal space, gently tucking back a strand of black hair to see his earrings better. They’re jade, heavy and silver. You lightly run your thumb along the shell of his ear, acrylic nail clacking against the expensive stone.

“You look handsome tonight, Kuroro,” You say. Kuroro preens under your touches. The blinkers turn off. Gentle music fills the car. It reminds you of some of your own playlists.

“I had to put in a little extra work tonight, I knew you would upstage me by a long shot,” Kuroro responds easily. “I have company tonight. I intend to impress.”

“Oh?” You asked, knowing and teasing all at the same time.

Kuroro hums in agreement. His hand comes off the shift to take yours. He kisses the back of your knuckles as if his heart isn’t thumping in his chest. He hopes his hands aren’t clammy.

“I barely realized you were wearing gloves,” Kuroro says, after realizing he was kissing velvet, not skin. His thumb smooths over the fabric. “You never fail to surprise me.”

“I don’t get opportunities to wear them that often,” You reply, breezily and easily. “I’m grateful for the chance.”

Kuroro lets out one of his little chuckles, where he knows something you don’t. It makes your heart skip a beat.

“I would have looked like a fool showing up by myself when I had two tickets.” You both know he’s lying, and he bought the second one especially for you. You both only know his reluctance is because you had told him only a few days prior; No, Kuroro. I can’t be your girlfriend, not right now. I have too much going on to be in a relationship.

In all honesty, you were surprised that denying him hadn’t severed your relationship. He had taken it in stride, asking if you wanted a ride home. As long as you aren’t uncomfortable with me being here. Given that you woke up there the next morning, it was safe to say the two of you were alright (for now) of not defining anything.

The drive to the concert hall is quiet, but it’s not like you aren’t familiar with Kuroro’s silences. It was always as if he was expecting you to offer up some sort of silly conversation for him to dissect.

Instead, you rest your arm on the centre console and hold his hand. It’s bizarre, how much you miss the feeling of his skin pressed against yours. The cool of his rings clinking against yours.

Upon arrival, Kuroro takes great pride in arriving with you. He’s able to help you up the stairs, taking each stone step slower. It felt like gliding. At the coat check, he slides your coat off before his, rests his hand on your lower back to guide you through the crowds.

You end up standing to the side of the theater with Kuroro, each of you holding expensive plastic glasses of champagne in your hands. It’s always so exciting when you get an opportunity to indulge in the bubbly drink. The inability to use your fingers proved freeing, instead of irritating. You knew it was alight with notifications, as it annoyingly is.

“Normally, when I’m coming to see something here, it’s daylight and everyone is much more casual,” You state.

“Is it?” Kuroro asks, facing you with genuine interest.

Drawing your gaze back from the crowd, you let yourself fall into the tunnel of Kuroro’s eyes. The world melts away when you retract your focus back to him. It’s calming, in a sense you’ve never felt before.

“The university uses it for performances from time to time,” You elaborate. “And to beat the crowd we’re in right now, they’d be right after classes finished for the day. So… Much more casual.”

You bring your freehand to rest on the lapel of Kuroro’s blazer. Your finger slides under the thick fabric, appreciating the fold of the wool.

“It’s quite amazing, you know. How involved you are in everything around you.”

You shrug. “I get invited, and I wouldn’t want to tell any of them no. For all I know they’ve been stood up by their parents for every single of their performances growing up. It’s the least I can do.”

Kuroro takes in your statement, digests it through his brain. His heart feels like it might pop out of his chest. “Do you go often?”

“They normally happen at the end of the semester, so. Yeah.” You take a sip of the dry champagne. You wish you could follow it with the sweetness of Kuroro’s tongue. “But I’m going to be completely honest, some of them are horrible.”

Kuroro can’t help but chuckle at your candidness. “Really?”

“Really,” You say, shaking your head. “It’s honestly quite ridiculous. I couldn’t imagine spending this much money to end up with such a shit result.”

The chuckles continue. “Ophelia…”

“I’m telling the truth,” You insist, doubling down on your statement. You can’t help but smile alongside Kuroro. “Some of them are really good! I get a surprising amount of opera students in my room.”

It’s absolutely insane, how Kuroro cannot help himself around you. How genuine it feels, talking to you in public like there’s no one else there.

“I enjoy going,” You summarize to him.

“You must.” One of his hands comes to rest on your hip, gently pulling you closer. The velvet feels like gold under his fingers. “Not to cut you short, but I have to reiterate how absolutely beautiful you look right now. Everytime I see you…” He shakes his head. “It’s always like a dream.”

You can’t help but give the poor boy credit where credit is due. “You picked the place, angel.”

“I did,” Kuroro says, wrapping his arm further around your waist, from your hip to your lower back. “But it’s the company that makes the moment, no?”

The seats Kuroro had purchased were nice, not too close but not too far from the stage. A little off center. To your left was a balding man sweating in his tuxedo next to a much younger woman, who was busy texting on her phone.

You look back to Kuroro, who is fixing you with a similar look. Amusement and intrigue at the scene you’ve stumbled upon. With both of you sitting down, you take the pamphlet out of Kuroro’s hands. Boldly, he places a small kiss to your cheekbone, all too intimate for the situation. Or perhaps that’s the angle he’s going for.

“Do you know anything about the composer?” You ask, crossing your legs and slanting your knees towards Kuroro. He gladly places his palm upon the hidden skin.

“Not much, quite honestly.” He had been more preoccupied trying to obtain tickets so he could take you on a show-stopping date. “I know he’s Czech. And he’s from the 1800s.”

You raise your eyebrow. It’s rare for Kuroro to admit he doesn’t know something. Instinctively, you reach for your phone, but remember your gloves. You fix Kuroro with a pleading look, shimmer highlighting the inner corners of your eyes.

“If only there was a way we could find this information. It’s a shame we’ll have to go to the library tomorrow and look it up in an encyclopedia.”

Kuroro smiles, pulling his phone out of his blazer pocket, deleting a few notifications before opening up his web browser. He reads the brief summary close to you, allowing you to peer over his shoulder as he reads. You let your hand rest on his arm, thumb slowly making patterns in the thick fabric.

More and more patrons start to enter, and an elder woman seems thrilled to be sitting in front of Kuroro. The lights dim, and Kuroro straightens up slightly, adjusting his cufflinks in the dim lighting.They catch your attention, and you catch his wrist to examine them as the orchestra begins to file in.

The examination turns into successful hand holding. Kuroro’s fingers end up moving up and down, to your wrists and the tips of your fingers, intrigued by the sensation of the velvet. It’s sweet, if not slightly distracting. You don’t mind.

—

On the drive home, you reapply your lipgloss to distract yourself from your question. “Do you want to come up for a drink?”

Kuroro looks over, admiring the new shine on your lips. Of course he wants to. “I’d be honored to.”

You give him a little hum and put your lipgloss back in the bag, which seals with a little snap. “Cool.”

Instead of parking out from the apartment and putting on his hazards, Kuroro circles and looks for a parking spot. He’d offer to have you over to his place instead, where there's a parking garage and an elevator that isn’t always out of order. The offer is on his lips after he has to find parking a block away.

When he doesn’t get out of the car immediately to open your door, you glance over at him, hands resting expectantly atop your purse.

“I’m not going to your place,” You insist. “I need to take a shower in my own bathroom tonight.”

“Ah,” Kuroro’s face softens, eyes flicking down to your lips before he turns off the car. Before he can open his door, however, you catch his attention by grabbing his scarf and giving it a small tug.

“Donne-moi un bisou.”

Kuroro knows what you mean, but he knows that once he starts he won’t be able to stop. “I don’t speak French.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief while Kuroro smiles, rounding the car to open your door for you. He offers you his arm, which you gladly take. It was quite cold out, but luckily Kuroro took the opportunity to give you his scarf. The most annoying part of the journey is the swishing of your dress between your feet, which requires all of your attention.

The way up to your front door, Kuroro keeps himself close to your back, as if to shield you from anyone so much as glancing at you. The streets are empty, he has nothing to worry about. He smells warm, full bodied frankincense and amber.

It’s a dangerous game, how natural it feels to have Kuroro in your personal space. Down to just his slacks and three of his shirt buttons undone. In his hand is a gin and tonic, made with purple gin and garnished with a mint leaf. Yours sits on the coffee table while you choose which incense to light.

You slide the chosen incense stick out of the box, careful to not let Kuroro see exactly which stick you were choosing. You didn’t need him interfering in your business like that. The smoke joins the atmosphere and you wave it around a bit. Chrollo watches the intricate and delicate waves you make before setting it in the incense holder.

The only part of your outfit that you had removed were your gloves and had exchanged your heels for slippers. It’s endearing, the way you sit on the couch with your drink, lamplight low and intimate. Kuroro’s thankful, in the end, that he was here. It felt a thousand times warmer here than it did at his apartment.

Kuroro truly doesn’t know what’s come over him, what’s caused him to become so enamored with you. He is also at a complete loss at what he has to do to convince you to be around him all the time. Nonetheless, he had to get to the bottom of it. You were so… Indifferent around him. You didn’t care whether he stayed or went, but always invited him along.

It was addicting. That’s the only description for how he feels towards you.

“What do you want to listen to?” You ask.

Kuroro shrugs. You settle for one of your playlists that isn’t too loud and isn’t too quiet. Blends of classical and R&B that fill the air.

He sits on the couch, legs spreading apart in front of him, and gestures to the collection of tarot books cluttering your coffee table. “Do you read?”

The simplicity of the question causes your brows to furrow, and follow Kuroro’s motions to piece the sentence together. How did I forget? “Sometimes,” You decide on.

Kuroro hums, “What sort of questions do you ask?” The glint in his eye has the implications you know it does. Two of Cups, Knight of Pentacles, the Lovers.

“None of your concern,” You easily blow the question off, coming to sit next to Kuroro. Still in your dress, your legs slant to the side and you take a careful sip of your drink. You need to stop filling the glasses so high.

“I only ask because I’m interested,” Kuroro reminds you. “I’ve always been fascinated with tarot.”

You raise an eyebrow in interest. “Really? I should have guessed.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you look like a tarot kind of guy.”

“I didn’t think I was that easy to pin.”

“You let me look at your star chart,” You explain, setting your drink down on the coffee table. You bunch your gown up some, so you can tuck your legs under yourself. Part of you desperately wants to go put on something more comfortable (literally), but the other part of you is enjoying the intimacy of the end of the night.

Kuroro chuckles. “And now you know everything about me?”

“I know a few things about you,” You say, smiling easily. “Jealous you can’t look at a circle and know all my secrets?”

It absolutely does. Like a knife to his heart every moment of the day. “All I want to know is what is going on with whatever is influencing you to not be in a relationship.”

As if you weren’t already. You didn’t have enough time to be in anything as committed as a relationship. You’d drop the ball too suddenly, as you always do.

“Not a placement, angel, but simply work,” You say, sipping your drink again.

“Hm,” Kuroro says, looking around your apartment. Takes in the art and the books pile on each other. He then looks back to you, admiring how relaxed you were at home. “Can I watch you read the cards?”

Your gaze drags over to them. “I dunno, what do you want to know?”

“That’s quite the open ended question.” Kuroro tips his head back to seriously ponder the question. There’s a crack in your ceiling that makes Kuroro slightly worried. “How about… Hm… Alright.” Kuroro looks back at you. “There’s this wonderful woman I’m talking to right now. How are things looking for us?”

You can’t help but giggle. “Sounds like quite the predicament.” You take one last sip of your drink, before exchanging it for your tarot cards. The large cards shuffle easily in your hands, after the countless years of practice you’ve had.

“It is,” Kuroro bemoans, “I need any guidance I can receive.”

“I’ll do you, her, and you both. How does that sound?” You ask, knocking the cards three times before placing a little kiss to the deck, and then resuming your shuffling.

“Sounds wonderful,” Kuroro says, watching with purse admiration and fascination. The three cards all but slide out of your hands, and you look at them with interest.

“Oh, this is interesting,” You say, “You’re the Chariot, she’s the Queen of Cups, and together the two of you are Death. It looks like no matter what happens there will be a lot of change and rebirth that happens.”

“What does the Chariot mean?” Kuroro asks.

“Success and victory,” You say, letting him look at the card but not touch. “He’s a king who is able to parade his triumphs around, and deserves it. The Queen of Cups on the other hand…” You can’t help but bite your bottom lip. “She’s a dream. A wife. A more traditional woman.”

“Is she?” Kuroro asks. You nod. “Interesting…”

“But death is a good card. It brings a lot of good, healthy change. And it’s your card.”

“My card?”

“Scorpio card. Card of transformation and all that,” You say, adding the cards back to the deck. You shuffle them once more, and then set them back on the coffee table.

Queen of Cups… it wasn’t a card you were used to seeing describe yourself. And you had a hard time believing there was another woman. Another force, yes, previous readings had said the same thing. But work can be a powerful force.

Kuroro thinks that over, watching as you begin to take off your earrings. “Do you want some help?”

You stop your fiddling and place your hands in your lap. “If you’re offering.”

“Of course I am,” Kuroro says, setting his drink down and scooting closer on the couch.

To keep him close, you rest your hand on his thigh. His fingers are feather light against the clasps of your jewelry, which he sets delicately in your hands. The jewelry is discarded on the coffee table with little clinks. Your legs extend out, opening up your chest to Kuroro. Much more inviting.

Kuroro stays close by, letting his arm extend over the back of the couch as conversation drifts between you. Both of your drinks eventually end up empty.

“Do you want another?” You ask.

As much as Kuroro wants to say that he doesn’t, that he needs to drive home soon and leave you be, he doesn’t want to. He straightens out his arms to check the time on his watch. 22:34.

“Do you have work in the morning?” He counters.

“I have my yoga class in the morning…” You respond.

Kuroro hums. He brings his hand down to rest upon your velvet clad hip. He glances up at you, through his lashes and directly into yours.

“I don’t want to come in between you and that,” Kuroro says.

“You wanna come with, pretty boy?” You ask, sliding your fingers through the little strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

Kuroro chuckles, cheeks heating at the petname. “I don’t— Yoga really isn’t my style.”

“One more drink, then,” You say, tapping his wrist with your hand. He stands, holding his hand out for you.

“I need to get out of this dress,” You say, restituating the garment as you stand. Kuroro’s eyes don’t miss the way the shuffle causes your breasts to shift and press against your chest before settling back into place within the dress.

“If you dare trust me, I can make the drinks and you are more than welcome to change.” Normally you make the drinks, as you were particular about small things. Kuroro often only served wine.

You contemplate his offer. “Okay, just don’t change the liquor.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kuroro says, dipping down to give your hand a kiss, then your cheek. “Don’t take too long.”

You don’t. Your dress gets laid out on the bed, discarded to be placed into its bag later. In its place, you settle for a large sleep shirt and slippers. Your jewels from the night join your jewelry box again, your hairpins into a pile on the counter of your bathroom.

It feels like heaven when you’re able to run your acrylics along your scalp. Exiting your bedroom, you leave the door open. There’s no need to close it, no true need for privacy around Kuroro. He’d already touched your soul.

Entering your kitchen, you stop in the entryway to fully process the scene in front of you. Kuroro, his back towards you, rooting around in your fridge. You come up behind him, running your fingers up and down his spine.

It’s a little disappointing that Kuroro doesn’t react to the light touches.

“I can’t find your simple syrup,” Kuroro says, frowning as he pushes around some condiments.

You reach around him, opening up one of the drawers and pulling out a tupperware. “Right here, angel.”

Kuroro wraps his arm around you before you can go too far from him. Your kitchen is small, compact. There isn’t anywhere to go, but Kuroro still feels the need to pull you in. He doesn’t want to shout across the room.

His compliment gets lost in your beauty. He’s fucked.

“Wanna help me make them?” You ask, tilting your head to your side. “You’ll have to pay attention.”

“I’m always paying attention,” Kuroro says. His thumb slides over the soft material of your shirt.

“Mhm,” You say, unconvinced. One of your eyebrows raise, and Kuroro leans in to place a kiss against the incredulous gesture. A grin breaks across your face, relaxing the muscle immediately.

With easy, rocking steps Kuroro is able to press you up against the counter, right next to where the drink ingredients lay. Your lower back hits the sharp of the granite counters, and his lips slide against yours, drinking in your little gasp of surprise.

A familiar warmth shoots through you. It's always so easy to get lost in your memories and your dreams, to get a little ahead of the situation. But you’ve had a long day, you had champagne and now liquor, and there’s a gorgeous man backing you up against your kitchen counter, kissing you like there’s all the time in the world, and this is the one thing he wants to do.

You set the tupperware of simple syrup on the counter, next to the shaker and the mint, not breaking the kiss. Your fingers thread through the hairs at the nape of Kuroro’s neck, dancing along the knot securing his tattoo covering.

“Are you staying?” You whisper against his lips.

“I don’t know, am I?” Kuroro asks, smile prevelant in his voice,

For once, you don’t feel like formulating a witty comeback. No sharpness to bring him closer. “You’re more than welcome to if you’d like. But I can’t force you to stay.”

“I’m sure you could,” Kuroro murmurs against your lips. “You could lock the door, you could chain me up—“

“Chain you up?” You laugh. “Will it really be that hard to keep you here?”

Kuroro’s lips twitch into a fond smirk. “I’m just offering ideas.”

“Such an odd thing to suggest,” You hum. “I was just going to hope another drink would suffice…”

“And it absolutely will,” Kuroro assures you. He places one more kiss to your lips, then to your forehead. “Will you trust me enough to make your drink this time?”

“No, I’ve got it, I’m here now,” You say. Always a ‘control freak.’ Kuroro can’t help but chuckle lightly.

Instead of taking his usual perch, leaning up against the counter, he lingers along your back. His hand is loose, sliding back and forth from hip to hip.

He keeps a careful watch as you make the drinks. One day you’ll let him make them. That he was sure of. You muddle blueberries with mint, add tonic water that you somehow never run out of. Spoon out simple syrup. Shake and pour over fresh ice.

“Do you want something to eat?” You offer, handing Kuroro a glass.

It's hilarious how quickly you can watch Kuroro’s thoughts turn dirty. Perhaps you should have made a martini with a splash of olive brine to match. You tilt your head to the side, a teasing smile weaving across your face. You reach up to ‘fix’ Kuroro’s collar, despite it not needing any help.

“It would not be proper of me to ask,” Kuroro says, gently tugging your hand from his chest to his lips, placing a kiss against the pulse point.

“Are you asking for cheese in a lactose intolerant lady’s home?” You ask, smiling wider.

Kuroro can’t help but chuckle against your wrist, then against the palm of your hand. “You are impossible for me to flirt with, Ophelia.”

“What are you going to do? Chain me up?”

Kuroro’s eyes glint in the antique ceiling lighting of your kitchen. “Are you going to make it that hard for me?”

With the leverage from his hand in yours, Kuroro pulls you closer. He has the foresight to set his drink down on the table. Instead, you purposefully tilt your glass towards him so the purple mixture trickles down the front of his shirt.

“Oops,” You say, unremorsefully. You set your drink down on the counter. “Looks like you’ll have to take your shirt off.”

Kuroro chuckles and shakes his head. He leans against the counter behind him. Your kitchen is a shotgun— barely an aisle between both counters.

“If you want me shirtless so badly, you are more than welcome to help yourself.”

Your bottom jaw drops in shock, and it takes a moment for you to collect your senses. You raise your hands up, showing off your five-day-old manicure. “I can’t, I just got my nails done.”

Kuroro hums, taking your hand back into his, examining the nails. “I’m pretty sure I paid for these. If you mess them up, I’ll just do it again. I know how horrible buttons can treat dried nails.”

His teasing causes a scowl to form across your face. You pull your hand out of his to pick up your drink, taking a sip of it. “Fine. Enjoy being wet.”

Kuroro reaches next to you to pick up his drink, already undoing one of his buttons. “That sounds like something you‘re much better at than I am. Do you want to join me back on your couch?”

“Let me get your shirt in the wash, first,” You offer.

Intrigued, Kuroro raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

With a soft, too-loving sigh, you begin to unbutton the now-soiled shirt. “I have no reason to be rude to you.” Your acrylics tap against each other as you undo the buttons, revealing the expanse of Kuroro’s chest, marred by an undershirt. You pull his shirt out from his slacks, and continue to undo the last button. Your hands slide across the planes of his chest to push the garment off his shoulder.

With the shift in your hands, you begin to bunch up his undershirt around his bellybutton, pulling the front free from his pants. “Do you want something else to wear while your stuff is washing?”

Kuroro pulls his shirt off, muscles flexing in the antique lighting. A little smile pulls at his lips, as he catches how your gaze lingers. You’re always lingering.

“I don’t think I’ll get cold,” Kuroro says, “Let me keep you company.”

You lead Kuroro to where your laundry machine is, back away in your closet. It’s a bit of a mess, but you lift the stack of towels off the washer and place them atop the dryer to be taken to the bathroom later. You take Kuroro’s shirt and lay it on the washer, applying a stain remover to it. Liquor stains were nothing new.

As the machine begins, Kuroro turns you around to face him with his hands on your hips. You rest yours on his chest, heart thudding in your chest about how intimate the situation was. It’s so loud, in your ears, that you wonder if Kuroro can hear it too, in the small space.

Lightly clearing your throat, you glance up at Kuroro, tilting your head back a bit. You’re able to see the sharpness of his jawline, admire the way he slowly tilts his head down to make eye contact. “Do you want to change out of these?”

Your hands slowly slide down his chest, towards his waistband. As your thumbs narrowly dodge his hard nipples, you can feel his own heart under your hands. Your fingernails gently slide along his waistband, along the metal of his belt buckle. Kuroro’s abs tense for a moment before relaxing.

“Would you like me to?”

“It seems rude of me to not offer. I can’t imagine your slacks are very comfortable.”

There’s a brief moment, where Kuroro wonders if you’re also speaking of the growing harness in his trousers. And no, it was not comfortable.

“Do you have anything for me to wear?” Kuroro asks.

“I should have something, but you’ll have to give them back before you leave,” You say.

“Oh? Why’s that?” Kuroro asks, keeping you boxed against the rumbling washer.

You bite your bottom lip before losing it to a devious smile. “Because I need them.”

“You need them?” Kuroro asks, voice barely a murmur as he dips his head. “I’ll be sure to take good care of them.”

He pulls away all too soon to let you go through your closet. Opening up one of your drawers, you retrieve the oversized pair of sweatpants and present them to Kuroro. He takes them with an amused look on his face, unfolding the maroon fabric.

“You know, I’ve been looking for these.”

“Have you?” You ask, pretending to look surprised. You don’t know how well it’s performing, but you assume it's not well. Kuroro’s eyebrows raise as he licks his lips to keep himself from smiling.

“I have,” Kuroro says, his reluctant smile breaking through. He begins to undo his belt buckle. “I don’t remember leaving them here.”

“Oh, that’s strange,” You say, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the topic. “If you want to, you can throw your pants in the wash too. I’ll be out in the living room.”

You slip out of the room and head back into the kitchen, retrieving both drinks and setting them on the coffee table in the living room. While waiting for Kuroro, you find a throw blanket, one of your lightest, and drape it over your lower half, tucking your legs under your body. You also click on the TV, pulling up soft music for the background.

When Kuroro finally makes his reappearance, there are a few strands of wet hair that frame his face, as if he’s splashed water on it. His tattoo is on display, which you’re quickly loving more and more than the first time you saw it. He remains shirtless, a simple, silver cross hanging around his neck like normal.

Kuroro pads across the room confidently and sits in the middle of the couch, pulling the throw blanket over his thighs, resting his feet on the coffee table. “I like your new hand soap.” The new soap addition smelt of roses and pumped out a little foam rose into your hand when you used it.

“Thanks, I picked it up the other day at the grocery. Isn’t it fun?”

Kuroro hums in agreement. He leans in, cupping your cheek with his still-chilled hand from the water. The rose scent lingers just slightly. You tilt your head back to refrain from opening your eyelids any more than you had to.

There’s a constant question thrumming on the back of your mind. Kuroro is intoxicating, why were you so adamant about keeping him at arm's length?

Because he is intoxicating. Of course. It's always good to keep things far away that are a source of addiction.

“Want you to spend the night,” You whisper. You close your eyes so you can only see the sliver of Kuroro’s cheeks. If you wanted to end the conversation, it wouldn’t take much more than a tip forwards to kiss him. “Been having weird dreams lately.”

“Have you?” Kuroro asks, brow furrowing with slight worry.

You nod. His thumb glides along your cheekbone. You rest fully into his hand, cheek smushing against his palm.

“Alright, I’ll stay,” Kuroro murmurs. “You don’t need to convince me, though.”

“I’m just telling you how I feel,” You say, swallowing the shy, scared lump in your throat. Emotions were so hard to convey, weren’t they?

“I’m listening.” Kuroro’s lips slide against yours. The kiss starts off soft, gentle. With Kuroro’s hands tracing your hips, sliding down your sides and questioning your tummy, your back.

You press into his space, encouraging him to lean back. The throw blanket creates a soft barrier between your panties and his sweatpants. It’s too thick to see if he kept his underwear on. Gods, you hope he didn’t. If he didn’t you wouldn’t be giving them back.

Gently, Kuroro’s hands wander under your shirt. His fingers ghost over the hips of your cotton panties as if he’d never traced those lines before. They dip under your shirt, keeping a steady hold on your hips. Your lips move against his in careful, slow movements, always following Kuroro’s pace. One wrong move, and you worried he’d slip out of your fingers, despite Kuroro’s stickier fingers.

Kuroro’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip, sweet and minty. All too quickly, you let his tongue tangle with yours. One of your hands twirls the strands of inky black hair in your fingers. You wonder if he dyes it. A light moan slips into your mouth from Kuroro’s as you lightly suck on his tongue before his bottom lip.

You pull away with lidded eyes, to meet Kuroro’s wide-blown pupils. His eyes are so dark, like coffee beans, that they send a spark of energy through your body. Your heart thrums in your chest, Kuroro can feel it through the throw. He shifts in his seating, as if it’ll be embarrassing for you to discover how hard he is.

He’s worried about how good it will feel when you start teasing him for it.

Kuroro pulls away with expectant eyes that search yours, while his hands slide further and further up your body, inching your shirt up more and more. He exposes the crease of your thighs and hips, the barest hint of your mound, before the fabric falls back over his hands and bunches up at his wrists.

You settle yourself fully in his lap, pressing your chest against his. In a daydream, moments ahead of you, you dream about the sensation of your nipples sliding against his smooth chest. Of the way your nipple piercings will slide and roll and electrify…

You sigh into Kuroro’s mouth, one of your hands tracing their way down his neck, over the muscles, over the bump of the silver chain. A shiver rolls up his spine at the touches. Your chest presses against his, your hand splaying out on his collarbone, just below his neck.

There isn’t enough fabric to conceal the way both of you are aching for the other. Throbbing sex pressing into the tent, not even the hardness yet of Kuroro’s cock. Everything is so warm.

Neither of you push the other into the fire, instead gently kindling. Kuroro’s hands knead the fat of your thighs, grazing over your ass. You shiver under Kuroro’s fingers, as they move further up your spine, the other passing over your ribs.

You slowly roll your hips against Kuroro’s, exchanging soft groans against your tongues. His hand slowly slides to cup your breast, thumb gliding under the crease. A gentle sigh leaves your lips, slowly pulling back from the kiss.

“You’re good, angel,” You whisper. With one bold hand, you take Kuroro’s wrist in yours and slide his hand all the way over your breast. His Adam's apple bobs as your nipple slides between his fingers, when the full weight of your breast sits in his hand.

Kuroro pulls you close, lifting your shirt quickly so he could watch the way you fit in his palms.

“Shameless.” Your voice is breathless, washing over Kuroro. His gaze moves from your chest to your eyes. He’s unable to hold your gaze for one moment, eyes dipping back down before fixing back upon yours with reverence.

The two of you gravitate back towards each other. Kuroro slides your sleep shirt above your head with no resistance. Your arms wrap around Kuroro’s neck, nails sliding through his hair. As he rolls you onto your back, he slides his thigh between yours. He lets out a breathless sigh at the heat pooling from your pussy, from the way he can feel how your underwear grazes against your wetness like satin.

Kuroro lowers his head from your lips down your jaw, tracing a path behind your ear, down your neck. He leaves heavy kisses along your pulse points, purposeful in their intent to stutter your gasps, their intent to have one of your legs clasp around his hip, tightening.

His tongue swirls around your nipple, stoking the warm waves in your groin. His muscles ripple along his back as he lowers himself, placing more of his bodyweight on yours. There is no mistaking his erection, not with the way it nudges at your clit, slides so close to being between your folds.

Kuroro’s movements remain firm and steady, confident in the way they make your body shake below him. His fingers dance around whichever nipple his mouth cannot attend to, his hips roll ever so slightly against your aching cunt. You stifle a moan, moving your hand from Kuroro’s hair to cover your mouth instead, facing away from him to try and hide it.

“Ophelia…” Kuroro cups your face, turning your head back towards him, back so you had to look at him. He smiles softly, upon seeing your pretty eyes open for him.

You give him a little whimper. He grinds the firmness of his cock against your heat again, so, so close to being perfect. It’s like torture. You know what he looks like, what she feels like. You want to taste the saltiness of his precum that dribbles onto a little pool, want to be able to see the way it collects at the uncut tip.

“Princess…” The nickname is patronizing, with the way he tilts your chin back to look at him, out of your daydream. “Where’d you go?”

You can’t help but bashfully look away again, despite Kuroro’s attempts to get your eyes to meet his again.

A soft puff of air hits the shell of your ear, Kuroro exhaling, perhaps laughter, before your body is revealed to your apartment and Kuroro sits back. His hands slide up your stomach, your thighs. His thumbs press into the fat, encouraging you to let him just have a little look at the way your cute bedtime panties had a damp little spot on them.

“Pense de toi,” You whisper, using your knee to urge Kuroro to come back to you, back to kissing you. He obliges, hand following the bend of your hip, your knee, slowly extending your leg, waiting for the muscles to shake, waiting for your knees to turn towards each other when he exposed you too much—

Instead, your shamelessness moves slowly. You gently guide his other hand to slide past the wetness of your panties, to gently tuck them to the side and expose the wetness slipping through the velvet folds. Kuroro’s mouth waters. The kiss he shares with you is smooth and slick, his tongue sliding along yours.

As he pulls away slowly, there’s a strand of saliva that holds between the both of you. Before he can break it with his tongue, his fingers, you quickly reach up to grab his face, smooshing his cheeks together. Saliva collects on his tongue, and you can’t help but press your thumb against the muscle.

Kuroro’s lips close around the digit slowly, before his head dips down, leaving sloppy kisses across your chest, at the hinge of your thigh. All he lets touch your pussy is cool air, and the occasional hot breath. Despite your little nudges with your thighs, Kuroro refuses and refuses. You can feel the way his teasing zips through your veins, with the little bites left here and there and—

It’s so unexpected, when Kuroro swipes a fat, wet line through the folds of your pussy, causes your hands to fly to his hair, for a moan to fly through your lips. You can’t cover it in time, and Kuroro smiles with pride. His tongue swirls around your clit a few times, before he brings his face level with your chest. He rolls the buds of your nipples, lets you drag your pussy across his still-covered cock.

Both of your releases roll through you, ebbs and flow in an unexplainable synchronicity. They roll through your bodies, almost unnoticed by the unhurried pace you kept.

It’s fine, though. You’re only able to continue your acquisition of Kuroro’s sleepwear if he continues to cum in it. Kuroro’s face is cute when it’s pink, when he’s whining your name into your neck and the two of you are left sticky and nearly connected. Nearly connected, because the condoms are in the bedroom and it feels too good to stop the rutting against each other.

Kuroro makes sure you received your earlier wish, from in the car. That you’re able to shower in your own bathroom tonight. He joins you, enjoying the tighter fit and the eucalyptus and lavender.

In all honesty, he just doesn’t want to have to stop touching. There’s soap and lotion and he stands next to you while you both brush your teeth. His toothbrush hadn’t been put away yet from the last time he was there.

In the light of your salt lamp, the room is filled with a warm glow. Freshly lit incense, lavender vanilla, fills the air. You have trouble sleeping without the same comforts every night. Kuroro doesn’t mind. Your bed is a thousand times more comfortable than his. He’s a welcome guest by this point

The brown noise machine whirs low in the background, keeping your eyelids opening and closing. Kuroro returns the long blinks, like little discreet messages of adoration. As if there was anything discreet about the way he felt for you.

Instead of your weighted blanket, you cuddle with Kuroro under the chill of your duvet and silk sheets. He shifts and tilts his head, creating a perfect spot for you to press your face against. You eagerly take up his offer, taking a deep, content breath as you press up against him, his hand around your back and pulling you closer.

This was nice. Come morning, come time to get out of bed, he would be a gentleman again. There would be no more wandering hands, no more kisses given out liberally. Instead he’d politely drink your coffee, maybe give you a kiss on the cheek as he walked out of your apartment.

You choose not to dwell on the future.

#chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #kuroro x reader #kuroro #honeypie #when i said last night he used to warm my pussy this is what i was talking about #also dvorak is such an amazing composer PLEASE listen to the linked song while they're at the symphony #his lil cherub banner i think its so darlingggggggg #i will ramble now.#the thing with ten million jenny is that right now they are NOT HAPPY AND GOOFY LIKE THEY ARE HERE !!!!!!!!!!#and i cant stand it AKLSJDHFAKLSJDFH #HAPPY SUNDAY KURORORI LOVERS !!!!!#its sunday it means its chrollo's day #GODS remember when i used to be able to end fics #those were the days #swooning over kuroro in this to this day #the only good thing about my days of drug use was that i used to write shit like this in one sitting

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cookiepie111 · 2 years ago

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Flowers For My Valentine

A/n: where the boys give both traditional and untraditional bouquets/flowers. Sorry, Killer. I couldn't think of anything for him😭 not proofread. Let me know which one is your favourite!

Features sanji, Law, Zoro, Corazon, luffy and Kid x (black) fem reader

Sanji-

A giant bouquet!! A basket bouquet that's spilling with all kinds of flowers roses, peonies, camellias!! like a scene from a movie he's running towards you with flowers all round. Of course that's only one of the many bouquets you'll get this valentines week

Late in the evening, Sanji is in the kitchen, gently rolling modelling chocolate out, shaping the thin disks of chocolate into Petels. Eyes focus on wrapping each one around the chocolate dipped strawberries. When each strawberry is wrapped, he pulls them together and wraps them. He's excited and nervous to give these to you. A show of his love, a product of his own hands just for you, he put his everything into this gift. He couldn't think a better gift to you.

Law-

Working at the hospital means long hours, he knew he'd be late but he thought he was prepared. Making a stop at the florist in the morning to buy your bouquet, so he could make it to you quickly after work at 9.

But plans never go right, now it's 9:48, and he's just done with work. Flowers in hand and running down the street. Shit, he's always making you wait. This is the one time he should be there. It's fine he still has your gift... and you're in sight! "Y/n-ya!" You're so happy to see him!

"Law, its okay you didn't have to rush I know you're busy with work" what did he do to deserve someone do understanding.

"Here happy valentines Day" bringing the bouquet up to you,what he wasn't expecting with the confused look on your face

"umm law? What happened?" "

What do you mean? Gone... The flowers were gone. All that was left in his hands were a few broken stems, most with their flowers buds. 'FUCK!?'

All that running and the bouquet was ruined "y/n-" "Hey, this one is still good!" You said, pulling the tulip out." Law was dishevelled, hair a mess 'she liked it, I guess that's enough' he thought,he let out a sigh of relief looking up, wait when did you get so tall, oh he's floor. All that running, he's had an asthma attack. He can hear you're panicking above him, though he can only make out your blurry outline. Guess he's spending valentines Day in the hospital after all.. well, at least he can look forward to you being his nurse.

Zoro-

What was zoro supposed to give you!? You were a florist for goodness sake!? No supermarket flowers would be good for you. Would you even want flowers? You spend all day with them,would he even be able to get the right kind? These thoughts consumed him for almost a week. Shit should he even bother....

In the early hours of the morning, you're setting up the shop when the door chime rings, "we're not open yet - Zoro!"

Any other day he'd happy to see your bright smile but today it made him falter, his eyes looking everywhere but you. He didn't want to see your smile drop when you saw his gift.

"I'm so glad to se- oof." Zoro's hands quickly moved in front of you.

"Here Happy valentines day" it took a minute to process everything, but here, your boyfriend was blushing nervously all over a valentines Day gift! For Zoro, this felt like too long. He wasn't the sappy type but just wanted to do something for you- 'Oh, you're smiling.' Your face lit up, jumping happily at the man

"A bonzi tree! Zoro I can't believe it thank you!" Planting kisses all of the man. You loved it, a wave of relief washed of zoro, feeling his jaw and shoulders relax

A few months later. " I love you very much, you're going to grow up strong, you're the cutest swordsman ever!" You would say kind words to the tree whenever you had the chance supposedly to help it grow faster. Of course , hose words were meant for Zoro too , but he didn't know if he should be proud or jealous of the tree.

Corazon-

Corazon had planned a valentines date with you at the botanical garden. He couldn't think of a more romantic place!

That memory was far away now. It had been a difficult week, his brother was on his antics again, and Law was stressed,busy with school. When law's stressed, so is he. Now pacing around his room until he tripped. Thinking to himself "... I should just stay here for a bit. " Pulling his body up from the floor, he saw up he a photo."It must have fallen out." A photo, from the botanical garden..... corazon felt all the stress melt away from him as his goofey grin returned on his face. How much joy you brought him. Seeing you like happy, a wide smile across your face surrounded by the greenery, it squeezes on his heart. Yes, the week may have been bad, but at least he had your smiling face to get him through it.

Luffy-

Whenever Luffy saw flowers he liked, he'd shove them into his pockets to give to you later. The issue was that he wouldn't always see you right away.

Sabo found a bunch of wilting flowers when doing the laundry and asked luffy what the flowers were for "oh they're for y/n!" He smiled so brightly ,sabo's heart ached for this brother.

"Well they're wilting I don't think you can give these to her now" luffy pouted, he knew he couldn't give them to you now but seeing those flowers you loved reminded him of you. Sabo spoke up "hey here what we'll do...."

The two brothers sat at a table with glue, paper scraps, and all sorts of felt scattered about. It looked like arts and crafts time

"Hey, but I like this picture of us better!" Luffy shouted "alright just stick it down. " The two spent the afternoon decorating some photos of the couple with dried flowers that luffy had collected that week. Even with his best efforts, Sabo couldn't keep the picture clean. He could see how messy it was getting. "Where did he get the glitter from!?" But luffy couldn't be happier, lifting the picture frame to the high."She's gonna love it!"

Kid-

Kid had made a fuss about valentines a week before. "Don't expect any flowers from me! I don't do all that sappy shit. " But here, Kid was handing you a bouquet of your favourite plushies. "Aww, Kid, this is so sweet! Are you getting soft? " You grinned poking at him.

"Whatever" he said, avoiding your eyes. He was right, though, no flowers, but this was even better. You couldn't wait to put them in your room, wait... "Kid ..did you hot glue these on???? Kid, how am I supposed to take the plushie off!"

Kid didn't think that far, and honestly, he was regretting not watching the youtube video like Killer said ... he thought it couldn't be that hard(his toxic trait is thinking that he can make everything cause since he's good at metal work. He can't) shit he was panicking now. What good would they be ripped up. He moved to grab the bouquet from you. "Wait y-"

"You spent a lot of time on this, didn't you, Kid?" your eyes softened, looking down at the cute packaging of the bouquet. The paper was rumbled and creased from failed folding. You giggled to yourself, 'I'm sure he spent all night working on this.' " Thank you, don't worry, I can sow them back up, thank you"

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #sanji #sanji x reader #law x reader #zoro x reader #corazon #corazon x reader #luffy #luffy x reader #kidd #kidd x reader #x black reader #sanji x black reader #one piece x y/n

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rashoumon-homo · 9 months ago

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"You want to kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid." - SKK Valentine's Week Day 2

Prompts used: Camellias | Floral Troubles | “You want to kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

The cubicle Dazai was paid to sit in from 9-5 every weekday was in a cluster of identical cubicles, of which there were a dozen or so clusters on his floor– floor eight of twenty-something in the particular office building he worked at. His desk held his computer, his plain blue mousepad, a pad of sticky notes, and a cheap, dime-a-dozen ballpoint pen. If he had it his way, the three and a half flimsy gray walls he was surrounded by for the majority of his time on earth would be decorated with photos, artwork, or at least a wall calendar. But, as outlined in the employee manual shoved deep in his desk drawer, “Alteration or decoration of your assigned workspace is strictly prohibited.” In his first year working at the company, he’d made the mistake of hanging a mini wall calendar– each month displaying a picture of a rare flower along with fun facts about it. His boss had assured him he wasn’t in trouble, necessarily, just that he should consider their meeting a verbal warning and that he would do well to re-read the manual to avoid further issues. And, of course, remove the calendar from his cubicle. Immediately.

His only solace from the monotony of work was coming home every evening to work on his garden. He’d spent years gathering an impressive collection of rare and interesting plants which now filled every available space in his backyard. Each one required specialized care, the details of which he’d memorized along with every interesting fact there was to be learned about them. The overall look of his garden was, well, complete chaos. The colors and styles clashed ridiculously, and since he rarely planned out the layout of the outdoor space before bringing home a new plant, they were gathered in random clusters with absolutely no organization in mind. It was his personal heaven. Personality oozed from every square inch of the space; a complete contrast to his sterile work environment. It was here that he could truly express himself.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway next door put a damper on his mood only slightly. He and his neighbor had only one thing in common: a love for gardening. After that, the similarities ended. While Dazai’s garden was a sanctuary of personality and intrigue, his neighbor’s was as boring and flavorless as it could get. The rose bushes were meticulously groomed to the shape of perfect cubes, all set in rows that reminded Dazai of the cubicles at work. The colors of the roses in each bush formed a gradient, with each manicured block hosting a slightly lighter shade. It was disgusting how perfectly the garden conformed to the “ideal” suburban look. Honestly, who was he trying to impress with all that?

Meanwhile, next door, all Chuuya wanted was to get out of his scrubs and take a long, long shower. He’d been on shift for 12 hours at the emergency room, one of the busier days he’d seen. The whole day was just a constant influx of patients, and as the charge nurse, he was expected to direct all of that. Not to mention they’d had a teen admitted who was badly injured in a car crash— he ended up passing away during treatment.

In his line of work, everything was constantly chaotic and out of his control. Even with his best efforts, he failed to save patients from time to time. A job as stressful as his would be unmanageable without some kind of escape, so he’d thrown himself into gardening shortly after taking the job at the ER. He’d come to love the meditative, repetitive actions involved in growing and pruning his roses. It was something he could control— the effort he put into their care had a direct effect on how they looked. On the harder days (like this one), even a quick glance at his garden was enough to boost his spirits a little.

Chuuya dropped his keys and his bag heavily inside the door. One quick look at the garden and some deep breaths, then he’d head up to shower. But when he opened the blinds over the kitchen sink, he saw something that made his blood boil.

He stormed outside and crouched by the rose bush to look closer at the offending item. It was a camellia, red and stubborn, rooted firmly in the dirt next to the path. He ripped it from the ground and stood up, trying to calm his breathing. This was fine. It was just one weed amidst a garden of hard work. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

But then he spotted another, just a few feet away. This one was younger, barely a bud. He let his eyes roam over the garden and was infuriated to find camellias everywhere. Fully bloomed, tightly coiled buds, and sprouts alike; all over his sanctuary.

The sound of a plastic container being opened drew his attention to the backyard next door. Dazai stood near the fence, feeding his Venus fly trap dead flies with a pair of forceps.

“You!” Chuuya hissed, marching over to the fence.

Dazai glanced up, surprised. “What are you wearing..?” he asked.

“Hah? I’m a nurse, dumbass. We’ve been neighbors for years, how did you not know that?”

Dazai shrugged and fed the plant another fly.

“What the fuck is this?” Chuuya demanded, shoving the camellia in his fist across the fence.

Dazai wrinkled his nose. “How should I know? I don’t plant boring shit like that.”

“It’s a camellia,” Chuuya sneered. “And I know you hate my roses. You’ve probably been looking for an excuse to mess up my garden since I planted it.”

Dazai put the lid back on the container of flies and rolled his eyes. “It’s ugly as hell, yeah, but you overestimate how much I think of your boring-ass flowers.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” Chuuya said, then pointed over Dazai’s shoulder. “You’re growing camellias right over there.”

Sure enough, there was a small cluster of the red flowers next to the fire lilies. Dazai scrunched his brow. “Huh? I didn’t plant those.”

“Suuure,” Chuuya said sarcastically. “And you didn’t plant them in my garden either.”

“I didn’t!” Dazai insisted. Against his better judgment, he muttered, “Your stupid garden could use a little personality, though.”

Chuuya grabbed Dazai by the front of his shirt and pulled him forward harshly. “And yours could use a little uniformity, but you don’t see me complaining,” he hissed.

To Chuuya’s surprise, a grin spread across Dazai’s face. “Oh I see what’s going on,” he said. “You created this whole fight just so you’d have an excuse to talk to me. Planted some seeds in my garden while I was at work, then in yours too so you could blame me.”

“The fuck?”

“Just ask for my number. You don’t need to do all this, chibi,” Dazai teased.

“Wanna say that again?” he growled, instantly bristling at the nickname.

“You’re even pulling me in by my shirt,” Dazai said with a laugh. “You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Chuuya narrowed his eyes. “Do you try to get out of all arguments by flirting?” he deadpanned.

“Only ones against cute guys.”

Chuuya hated the flush that rose in his cheeks; hated that he broke eye contact for just a moment.

“Is it working?” Dazai murmured.

“You asshole,” Chuuya grumbled, then yanked Dazai the remaining distance. Their mouths collided harshly, teeth clacking. Chuuya kissed him angrily; desperately. It apparently amused Dazai to no end, as he smiled against his lips while holding him close with a hand on his neck. When they pulled apart, Dazai tugged Chuuya’s bottom lip between his teeth slightly. He was still grinning as Chuuya failed to hide his blush behind his hand.

“Shut up,” Chuuya muttered.

“I didn’t say anything!” Dazai said defensively.

“Well… stop thinking then.”

Dazai laughed then, and it was a crime how cute it was. “Wanna come over for dinner?”

Chuuya sighed. “Fine, let me shower first. And take back your dumb flower.” He shoved the camellia into Dazai’s chest and started walking back to the house.

“Chibi gave me a flower!” Dazai yelled happily, twirling in a circle and waving at a scowling Chuuya. “See you tonight, my love!”

A strong breeze blew through the early evening air, past the cluster of industrial buildings in the city, over the wheat fields by the high school, and finally through the flower fields less than a mile from the neighborhood Chuuya and Dazai lived in. Small red flowers bobbed in the wind, scattering their seeds where the wind blew them. The camellias looked beautiful this time of year.

@bsdfanweek Read this work on AO3

Back to Masterlist

#rashoumon writes #bsd #bungou stray dogs #soukoku #skk #skk fanfic #soukoku fic #soukoku fluff

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swimmingrascalbatdragon · 3 months ago

Text

Starman Prologue

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Potter!OC

Word Count: 919

Summary: In a world where Harry has a sister...

a/n: Ahhh, I'm so excited! This is my first story post, and I hope you enjoy the start of a series.

. 。・゜✭・.・✫゜・。.. 。・゜✭・.・✫゜・。.. 。・゜✭・.・✫゜. 。

31st of October 1981

This was the second Halloween a particular little family in Godric Hallows would participate in. Two young parents were eager to dress up their children to make the best of their situation. A little boy with jet-black hair and a little girl with copper red.

“Oh, James, just look at them! They are just too cute!” exclaimed the woman with a grin.

“I don’t know, Lily. Sirius will have a fit when he finds out we dressed up Lia as a cat. You know what he’s going to say, ‘A cat, you dress up the poor child as a cat instead of, I don’t know, a dog? You know as her favorite uncle.”

The woman just shook her head, letting out a light-hearted scoff, paying no attention to her husband's little act, focusing on the children in front of her, “I wouldn’t say that little Lia’s favorite uncle is Padfoot. Moony seems like he can give Sirius a run for his money. Isn’t that right, Camellia? You love Uncle Moony?”

As if to answer her mother’s question, the little girl squealed and clapped her hands in amusement. She looked back up at her husband with a triumphant smirk.

“Do you want to bet on it, Potter?” He looked back at his daughter and his wife, a smirk of his forming.

“You forget, Lily flower, that you are a Potter too, for better or worse.” She got up from the floor to kiss her husband before saying, “Look at you, being right for the first time.”

“Oh, you are a cheeky bugger, aren’t you?” Pulling his wife into a loving kiss.

As if, on cue, both kids decided now would be the perfect time to start babbling, just cause the adults to pull away from each other. The parents admired their children, small and innocent, with no knowledge of what was happening, no knowledge of the war, nothing. Just two babies dressed up for the occasion, conversing little with their gurgles, babbles, and laughter. The young parents held each other with bittersweet smiles on their faces.

“Well,” breathed out James, “How about we whip up some dinner while we wait for the others to arrive?” Looking at Lily, he watched as she shook her head with a slight amusement reaching her eyes.

“You, cooking? Certainly not, especially not after you try to burn the house down.” Offended by such an accusation, James put a hand over his heart as if he were wounded.

“My wife, the mother of my two beautiful children, accusing me of burning the house down. At least I didn’t start the fire of the cookie incident; that was Sirius, and you know it!” He countered.

“Whatever you say, love, whatever you say.”

With dinner on the stove, the hours are ticking by. “When do you think the lot will drop by?” James wondered, looking at the clock and his wife.

“I am not quite sure. Sirius said that he would be dropping by around seven before the kids are put to sleep, but it is already half past seven.” She responded, biting her lip. She ask quietly, “Do you think he ran into trouble?”

“I don’t think so, but you know Sirius might be running late with the costume he had planned for the kids.” James tried to reassure his wife. Turning to the two children on the floor blabbing to each other hearing a slight distinction of their words, mixtures of 'pa-foo' and 'ooony'. Lily looked at the pair with hinted sadness before turning back to her husband with his eyes on the children.

“I wish things could have been different, James. I wish that we don’t have to hide, to be afraid. They don’t understand the weight of their lives. They’re just children.” She said with a slight exasperation.

James Potter knew this feeling, and he felt it when he woke up and looked at himself in the mirror and at Lily when he looked at his children. The surface never left. It sat in his stomach and would make way to strangle his throat. He felt that it was his fault in the situation that they were in. He thought that he was the one to blame.

“I know love, but best that they don’t know and better that they can be kids. They are too young to know, but let’s hope that war ends soon. If so, they would never have to know and live their little lives peacefully.” He responded hopefully to reassure his wife and calm her down.

“ We can hope,” Lily stated, more so to reassure herself more than anything.

The thing about hope is that it can do so much. A light aimed to fill the darkness and provide the little warmth needed to feel its comfort. This little family had hope, but the world, the war, their enemies, and many other factors used this hope as a beacon to hunt them down.

On October 31, 1981, tragedy fell upon a small family in Godric Hollows. The parents of a pair of twins were murdered in hopes of saving their children. Their efforts, however, were not in vain as the cries of two children, a boy and a girl, no older than a year old were heard. Harry James Potter and Camila Marlene Potter were left orphaned. Hope seemed lost to some, but for others, the rumors of Lord Voldemort’s downfall made it seem that the war was over.

Little did they know it was just the beginning.

#harry potter #potter!oc #series #harrypottersister #fred weasley #george weasley #golden trio #albus dumbledore #hogwarts #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #lily evans #severus snape #minerva mcgonagall #hermione granger #ron weasley #neville longbottom #luna lovegood

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paraliveimaginesblog · 9 months ago

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pink camellia, coriander, red chrysanthemums, daisy, and sunflower for kanata, if you please!!! 👯‍♀️👯‍♀️

Kanata Yatonokami:

🌻coriander: what do they love the most about their s/o, both physical and personality-wise?

Kanata thinks you have a cute smile, pretty eyes, soft skin—there’s really no end to the physical things he likes about you. He could stare at you all night, admiring you like you were a painting in a museum; he’d throw in top dollar just to take you home with him, even though he didn’t put much stake in material goods.

Personality wise he just liked that you were independent, and that you respected his independence (and co-dependence) too. You felt like another puzzle piece sliding into place, not upsetting the natural balance, not pushing Nayuta out of the picture, simply joining to become another member of the family. There aren’t many who’d be willing to indulge him or even attempt to understand his attachment to his brother, but you’ve never grown jealous of their relationship nor have you tried to drive a wedge between them.

🌻daisy: what is their love language, both giving and receiving?

Kanata is more of an acts of service person. If you needed something taken care of, then he’d take care of it without even needing a ‘thank you’. He doesn’t really think about the things he does for you nor would he consider them abnormal, which does come from his experience of constantly doting over Nayuta when he was ill. He can be overbearing but he preferred getting his hands dirty rather than you having to stress yourself out, so sometimes even when you told him not to worry about something, he’d still find a resolution that didn’t require too much energy from you.

He supposed if there’s one love language that spoke to him it would be quality time. Kanata is pretty busy overall, and he’s still glued to his twins’ side mostly, but when he does have a moment to himself he’ll always choose to call on you. It never matters what you’re doing as long as you can spend the time together, and a lot of it is generally strolling around outside or lounging around as you force Kanata to actually relax rather than having his brain constantly working like it normally is.

🌻pink camellia: how do they react when their s/o is gone for a week? a month?

He’s not thrilled with the concept of being apart but he doesn’t complain. He gets antsy if you’re not in regular communication, even if it’s just one call a day, but the maximum time he could mentally stand was about a week. A month makes him anxious, like you may never come home and he’s more irritable in your interactions because it doesn’t feel like enough. He won’t demand you come home before you’re ready but if you say you’re extending the trip he’d have to scream into a pillow.

🌻red chrysanthemums: how long does it take for them to say ‘i love you’?

Kanata knows he loves you before he ever says it. There were moments he felt the time was right, yet his voice gave out, and he hesitated when you were face-to-face. You wouldn’t consider Kanata a shy person, but he could easily overthink things, so it wasn’t unusual it took him time to meet important relationship milestones.

🌻sunflower: how would they confess their feelings to their crush?

There’s nothing pre-planned about Kanata’s confession, it really seems like he’s tossing all his cards down on the table and looking at you expectantly; either you’ll neatly gather them and respond by showing your own hand, or you’ll sweep them onto the floor and let him know where he stands with you. It was romantic in a way on Kanata could make something romantic, raw emotion pouring out of him, the vulnerability making him feel like he was being choked. He hated every moment of it until you returned his feelings, thinking it was worth the risk after but hoping he’ll never have to do something like that again.

#Paradox Live #Paralive #Paradox Live x Reader #Paralive x Reader #Paradox Live Imagines #Paralive Imagines #kanata yatonokami #kanata yatonokami x reader #plant meme

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weekend-whip · 1 year ago

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Can headcanons 🔫 hand ‘em over

(Jamie babysitter? First words? Accidental surprise powers?)

I was like 'can headcanons gun'??? What??? Is that a meme?? And then I realized

Baby!Camellia HCs GO!

General-

Cam's "birthday" is October 27th! (...which is the day Enter the Aftershock happened. Totally planned on Jesse's part.)

At first she sleeps, like, all the time, to the point that Jesse thinks she's sick or something (she's just extra exhausted from suddenly being spawned into existence). And Cole, always glad to have an excuse for nap, will sprawl out on the couch and cradle her on his chest so she can rest to his heartbeat.

...And then she shifts quickly into nearly never sleeping at all, constantly being fussy and crying, to the point that everyone in the Monastery has to take shifts staying up with her so they all can get some sleep (though Jesse takes on the bulk of these cuz he feels primarily responsible, but no one's actually mad nor minds)

They all then discover she will fall asleep instantly to Cole's Glow Worm song......and wonder if her crying all night is better than enduring Cole's singing. (Jesse can sing her to sleep too, but it takes way longer and you've gotta rock her at the same time)

She gets frightened by unfamiliar things very easily- unrecognizable sounds, new places, different faces, certain sensations (like putting a foot on grass/in water), etc. Lloyd is the one that patiently tries to help her adjust to the overwhelmingness of the world because he knows

She is very grabby, tugging at hair and clothes when and where she can and poking people's faces. She also likes messing with Lloyd's pointy ears (which he'd normally hates, but he can make an exception just this once)

She will steal what she can get her hands on, and will run off giggling with her loot. Cole's vibration tracing helps keep track of her baby crimes, thank the master.

She is obsessed with unicorns. Jay makes the mistake of gifting her a stuffed rainbow plush unicorn that they call 'Corn' and she almost never lets it go and turns into a monster when you try to take it from her.

("MY CORN!! MY CORN!!" "Jay what have you done" "I JUST THOUGHT IT WAS CUTE!!!")

Pixal is the one that designs/builds her bedroom, while Zane and Nya fill it with all the much needed supplies. Maybe too many supplies.

Wu is the one that gave her the headband with the pink camellia (he knew what was up)

Kai: ...I personally think she's got enough hair to get The Kai style~ Jesse: I'll kill you :D

Babysitting!-

Kai's idea of babysitting is taking Cam for rides in the Charger to get her to fall asleep (with Jesse nagging him constantly to not drive like a maniac). At first Cam is intimidated by the car rides, but winds up loving watching the scenery whiz by and enables Kai to go faster (which entirely defeated the point of the car rides in the first place)

"...All right don't tell your dads" *floors it* "WHEEEEEE!"

Nya and especially Jay get baby fever whenever it's their turn to watch, and use Cam for potential future practice. Nya tests out if she'd even like to be a mom...while Jay is up to his arms in notes on parenting snksnksn

Zane is a godsend when she starts teething, constantly making icecubes and freezing stuff over for her to gum on (otherwise she starts gnawing on his and Pixal's colder exteriors instead). He also makes the best homemade babyfood. Jesse tries and fails to not be jealous.

(Cole will also gladly eat the baby food for himself "just to make sure" until Zane smacks him with a spoon)

Lloyd doesn't get many opportunities to babysit (too busy being overly important) but he always gets a little choked up whenever he holds Cam and marvels at her mere existence and he can never fully explain to anyone why.

Jamie is the go-to babysitter when random crises pop up (Or when everyone needs a date night/me time ...or Jesse and Cole just generally spent.)

Jesse: *appears on Jamie's doorstep* *drops Cam in his arms* Jamie: Wha-? Jesse: *collapses on floor* We just need like twenty minutes– Jamie: ...You look like you need a thousand years

Jamie also takes hundreds of photos of this child. Jesse keeps all his on his phone while Cole carries three wallets full of the prints.

Antonia will babysit on short notice if Jamie's not an option, but she'll always drag Nelson into helping her out. Antonia is also the one that teaches Cam how to read, and Nelson likes to fill out coloring books with Cam (even if Cam's "coloring" is just smearing pink across the whole page).

Cam cannot be left for longer than three days at Grandpa Lou's house. She'll come back humming and singing show tunes she doesn't know the words of at the top of her lungs.

Being left with Grandma Caroline means that she comes home with baskets full of food with her (Cole likes leaving her with Grandma for this reason, along with not having his kid obsessed with showtunes)

Cam is only left with Miranda when no other options are available to (which...seems to happen way too often). Miranda doesn't mind babysitting and spending time with her niece but a) she's not really a kid person and b) she's a horrible influence lmfao. Still, she becomes Cam's biggest idol and inspiration (and Jesse is officially convinced that the universe spites him specifically)

Firsts! (And Magic)-

There's bets going around for what her first word would be but nothing could compare Cole and Jesse for the sucker punch that was when "Miwa" started pouring from their baby's mouth

(Miranda won a very hefty 1000 bucks that day, and Jesse still insists she cheated somehow)

(Her second word is "ubican" –unicorn– and Cole throws his arms up in defeat)

Cole attempts to make Cam's first bite of solid food come from a piece of cake. Lloyd loses his mind explaining why that's a terrible idea.

When she firsts learns to wiggle/crawl, Jay play-races her across the floor and lets her win.

Zane is the one present when she stands for the first time and the sheer excitement in his yells prompt the whole building to come running.

Jesse straight up cries in joy when Cam start toddling towards him for the first time (he was bringing her a freshly-washed Corn, but the point remains)

When Cam gets more mobile in general, she will copy Cole in every single thing he does. The way he stands, the faces he makes —even from across the room, if Cole is present, she is mimicking him in some capacity. He casually lifts a table one time while vacuuming and Cam is suddenly convinced she must be strong as well. She is not and learns the hard way.

Due to essentially and quite literally being made of magic, some of Cam's powers manifest even before True Potential, but she can't control them whatsoever.

"...is our daughter burping sparkles? I think she just burped sparkles."

Nya and Pixal rig up video baby monitors in every room on the monastery the first time Cam gets the hiccups and starts warping

Things will start randomly flying around her room in the middle of the night along with loud sounds and flashing lights scaring the absolute life out of everyone—but that's how they learn when she's having a nightmare. ("Why can't she just cry like a normal baby?! It's like something out of Paranormal Activity!" "KAI.")

Jesse is simply playing patty-cake with her and white camellias start popping up out of thin air.

Cam learns that she can shock people whenever she laughs and finds it extremely funny when people yelp in surprise, making her laugh even harder (and shock even harder. Cycle repeats). This does not work on Jay and that makes her pouty.

Don't make her angry. That's when the fireworks appear.

"Cole, where's the baby?" "...You're not gonna believe me, Jess." "...I'm sure whatever ridiculously insane thing it is, I can handle it." "...she sneezed and is now currently floating on the ceiling." "WHAT?!"

She, like Jesse, also cries glitter.

#ninjago #legacyverse #the ninja legacy whip #ninjago ocs #oc: camellia marvell #oc: jesse marvell #cole brookstone #aftershockshipping #cole x oc #oc x canon #headcanons

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luxury-residences · 1 month ago

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DLF Camellias is a super-luxury residential community in Sector 42, Gurgaon, developed by the renowned DLF Group. Located in the prestigious DLF 5 area, near Golf Course Road, it offers world-class amenities that cater to the needs of the upper-middle class and luxury home buyers. Residents enjoy 24/7 water supply, power backup, and professional maintenance services, ensuring a comfortable and hassle-free living experience. DLF Camellias is one of the most sought-after addresses in India, known for its prime location and top-notch facilities.

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dlfcityfloorsss · 1 year ago

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Luxury Living at Its Finest: DLF Camellias Gurgaon

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Explore the meticulously crafted floor plans that cater to your every need, ensuring a seamless blend of comfort and style. The Camellias is not just a residence; it's a statement of prestige. Discover a world of unmatched amenities, from lush green landscapes to state-of-the-art facilities.

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#dlf the camellias #dlf camellias gurgaon #dlf camellias price #dlf camellias floor plan

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one-winged-dreams · 1 year ago

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Fireworks - Part 1

ship: we came alive somehow (adriel wrynn x vincent valentine) source: final fantasy vii (post-DoC) word count: 913

Edge celebrates the 4th anniversary of Meteorfall. Adriel and Vincent are content to celebrate in their own way.

tag list: @dearly-beeloved @camellias-and-coriander @rebel-wolf13 @sunstar-of-the-north @mahitoslittlebird @goldenworldsabound @edencantstopfallininlove @sosoftandsweet @dorothys-wife

The prior two years of recurring disaster had done little to discourage Midgar's previous residents, and less so regarding their coming together to celebrate the anniversary of Meteorfall. Though last year's impending disaster with Deepground and Omega had coincided within the same timeframe, moreso than the surfacing of the remnants of Sephiroth, it only seemed as though humanity had all the more reason to appreciate the lives they'd managed to cultivate.

Edge had gone all out for the occasion, and though the night was alive with revelry, two particular individuals were less inclined to join in on the celebration.

"Are you and Vincent coming down to the bar, tonight?"

Adriel's eyes remained closed as he remembered Tifa's invitation. Letting out a soft breath through his nose, he took comfort in knowing the dark of his bedroom was not the only thing that held him in its comforting embrace.

"Shelke said she'd come if you two did. C'mon, it'll be fun."

The sounds of music and voices drifted up even as far as his fourth-floor apartment, though he didn't mind. Even though participation wasn't for him, it was comforting to know that Edge felt it had something to celebrate.

"Sorry," he had eventually replied, "We've already got plans."

A benign boom echoed through the city, followed by several more until the symphonic pattern of fireworks made itself recognizable. His lashes fluttered open just enough to peek in the direction of his bedroom window.

"Fireworks, huh?" he murmured softly, the height of his unit and the size of his window perfectly displaying at least a good fraction of the pyrotechnics.

A tender touch ran over his hair before gently tucking it off to the side. "You didn't expect this?" Vincent's tone was equally soft, slumberous, almost.

Adriel hummed softly as he nuzzled his face into Vincent's chest, on which he lay atop, one of his hands slightly bunching up the dumb WRO shirt that Reeve had given him. He only ever wore it at home.

"I did. The traffic coming home was crazy, it only makes sense… For a festival THIS big." Despite the comment, he sounded perfectly at ease, lifting his head to look at Vincent and offer him a relaxed smile.

Vincent offered a 'hm,' reaching up to smooth back Adriel's hair. "Not regretting declining Tifa's offer, are you?"

Chuckling, Adriel shook his head. "Not at all. This is much more preferable."

Vincent just gave an agreeable hum as they watched the display through the window, simply offering themselves to the moment. After everything, every fight that had been fought, every instance where disaster loomed on the horizon, all of it was a distant memory when they were here, together. While the intent of the celebration was that of the survival of the planet, it would be a lie to say that, for some, it wasn't about the continuation of their way of life and the ones they shared it with.

Adriel felt fortunate that one such savior of the planet had chosen to share his own life here, with him. After everything Vincent had experienced, the fight against Shinra, the defeat of Omega… And it was here that he ultimately decided to be. He could only express how happy Vincent made him so much before it became needlessly excessive. Neither of them were the type to recquire much verbal reassurance, all that was necessary was one another's presence. And moments like these.

The thought had Adriel's eyes fluttering shut, his grip on Vincent's shirt tightening just an amount that would vent his peaking emotions. Vincent gave him a gentle squeeze in return, not requiring any sort of elaboration. And for a while, they continued to sit, drinking in the vivacious sounds of life, and love, and celebration.

"… They've been going on for a while," Vincent's amused commentary broke the silence, but in a natural manner that didn't jar either of them from the mood.

Adriel looked on for a second longer before facing Vincent again, smiling a drowsy, content smile. "The fireworks?"

Vincent was still looking past him, possibly puzzling, possibly making a simple observation. "Mh. They must have been putting this together since-" He found himself cut off by the sudden realization that Adriel had moved closer, their faces inches apart. The latter's eyes were half-lidded, though his smile was evidence of his intentions.

Vincent found himself incapable of not reciprocating - neither of them smiled often, but when one did, so too, did the other find themselves infected. Their smiles persisted, even as their faces drew ever closer together, even as they could feel each other's breath against their lips, and even still, as their lips came to meet. The noises of revelry dimmed, and even did the explosive booming of fireworks fade to a quiet white noise in the wake of one, simple kiss.

Though soft and tender, it lasted far longer than something casual and yet far shorter than they would have preferred, even still. They had barely pulled away from it before Vincent found his hand against the back of Adriel's neck. The smile persisted still, but the love in their eyes had increased 10-fold.

"How was that?" Vincent extended a playful quip, as his hand traveled off to the side through Adriel's dark curtains of hair until it cupped his cheek.

Adriel merely responded with a pleased hum as he nuzzled into the motion, his smile widening by the smallest of margins before lowering his eyebrows. "Fireworks~"

#flashing gif #self ship #self shipping #dream fics #we came alive somehow #part two is gonna be ~spicy~

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lilac-5ky · 2 years ago

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The Embodiment of a Dream, pt.2 (Takasugi x Courtesan Fem!Reader)

A/N: WELL, I said I'd finish this in February, but somehow it's April now?!?! Crazy, I know right .-. I'm so bad with deadlines, sue me or straight up murder me, I'll take either ;-; On another note, THIS AIN'T THE LAST PART OF THE FIC, there was a change in plans. The third part will be the final one, decided to break it into two pieces since I wanted the word count to stay in the 7k-8k words. Hoping this turned out good enough!

Plot: The continuation of the relationship between Takasugi and a Yoshiwara courtesan.

Warning: Similar to the first part, but this one actually includes smut.

Part 1

In the wake of Shinsuke’s injury, you found yourself running through the halls like a headless chicken, struggling your hardest to prevent an unprecedented situation from blowing up. The Shinsengumi were gone, but the hunt was far from over. If someone had seen him enter your room all bloodied up, someone who knew both his face and the name Takasugi Shinsuke put two and two together, then your heads wouldn’t be the only ones to roll. You sure didn’t hold the people of this house in high esteem, but you weren’t too keen on unnecessary bloodshed either.

Shinsuke’s coming occurred in secrecy, and a secret it shall remain until all conflict can be avoided.

Your first initiative was to weasel your way out of tonight’s workload. Fortunately, one look at your recolored kimono was enough to convince Boss to exempt you. Miscarriages were somewhat of a common trade feature, and judging by the sheer volume of red splattered across your skirt, yours must have been quite the excruciating one.

To say this was part of a bigger, elaborate plan would be a lie. But his false interpretation was most convenient when it came to limiting your quarter’s traffic and definitely earned you more time —three days off, to be precise— than any half-assed sniffling would.

He promised that a hearty dinner be delivered to your doorstep, and you graciously departed, leaving him to smoke through the contents of his hidden stash of Amanto-produced tobacco in peace.

You climbed the stairs back to your room, cradling your stomach and wincing in feigned anguish whenever one of the girls happened to pass you by. None offered help, and none dared make any inquiries. Under the guise of serving Yoshiwara’s much-treasured laws of privacy, they refused to admit their unwillingness to see past the ends of their noses. Not that you blamed them. You were all too familiar with the concept, and if it weren’t for a certain brooding patient confined within the four walls of your bedroom, then you could claim to abide by such rules yourself.

You caught Shinsuke sleeping a deep slumber, his breath quietly sizzling in his nostrils. The painkillers must have finally kicked in. Drowsiness was among the first side effects listed in the box’s endless list of instructions, though as far as you were concerned, the pills’ actual effect on him remained unknown.

What great irony, you sneered. To think that all this medicine that was once meant for you has now returned to him. Truly ironic.

Around him, torn pieces of cotton were sprinkled all over the floor like confetti; the kimono they composed no longer in existence. He wasn’t so provident as to carry extra dressings on him, and you weren’t about to go pharmacy scavenging in the middle of the night. And so, your precious customer’s precious gift ended in thin strips of amputated cranes and decomposing camellias, the first of which stared at you with an accusatory look that begged you to feel something other than the sickening delight you got from snipping them.

After successfully discarding them, you dragged your dresser upon that one stubborn bloodstain on the carpet, grimacing at every instance of shrill sound that threatened to wake him up, and once that was out of the way, you picked out a clean outfit and headed into the bathroom, finding him in the exact same spot you’d left him, with the only indication of his being alive that of his consistently sharp breathing.

There was little you could do at this point. All that was left was to participate in this dull game of wait-and-see until he could confirm his own condition himself.

But what if he didn’t wake up? What if it took him longer than three days to recover? What if he never woke up? Not after three days, not ever again?

Thoughts of equal concern festered in your mind all the while you watched after him, your fingers itching to drop the sewing kit and shake him awake. Unlike that time you’d mistook him for asleep, his current expression appeared thoroughly serene. His identically shut eyelids could very easily be home to a pair of identically green orbs, and as for his lips… his gaping lips were almost calling out to yours.

You sighed loudly and crossed the thread through another hole in his yukata. Without its owner wearing it, the fabric hung lifeless in your hands, creasing and crumpling at your needle’s disposal as you tended to each and every damaged butterfly wing. One would think these were a shogun’s or even an emperor’s garments, for such was your reverence, and yet the color of the patches regrettably turned out a shade too light.

Another sigh followed, joined by a deeper one that was certainly not yours.

“How are you feeling?”

His eye fluttered slowly enough to remind you of its singularity “Like I should be dead instead.”

“I’m glad you aren’t,” you grinned, feeling a weight dropping off your shoulders. “I’d hate to lose my favorite customer.”

“And here I thought you simply wanted to avoid getting jumped by a mob of samurai,” he said, his voice gruff from sleep. “So? Have you grown tired of playing nurse yet?”

“Not at all. If it pleases you, I can dress the part too.” You joked.

A dry chuckle scraped his throat. “Almost forgot we were in Yoshiwara.”

Securing the thread into a knot, you snapped the loose end with your teeth. The job was done, and while you wouldn’t call it as good as new, it seemed decent enough to carry him home— wherever that was.

“How about some water?” You proposed, but Shinsuke didn’t answer.

His interest was drawn past the window sill and the neon-light signs of the opposing building to the charcoal sky above. It was pitch black. No moon nor star dared peak beneath the clouds for fear of leading his pursuers back to him. All was shrouded in a veil of perfect stillness that fed into his gaze, creating a seemingly bottomless vortex at the center of his eye.

“Shinsuke…?”

As if an imaginary plug were pulled, the darkness began to dissipate, unclear whether it poured back out or further in. His shoulders rose up to his ears, although, no later than a second passed, a parched cough came to contradict his shrug.

You folded the yukata to the side and fetched him a flask of cold water. First, he groaned, and then his eye rolled in seeming disdain, but eventually his lips parted and let you tilt the sprout between, his hand forcing yours away once he’d had enough.

“You know, you try too hard to be insufferable.”

“And I’m not?” He smirked.

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I happen to find your whims quite—”

Before you could finish your sentence, a knock against the door’s frame came to interrupt. Must be dinner, you instinctively thought and jumped up, motioning him to keep quiet, just in case.

Right outside the threshold, a tray that contained one steaming bowl of beef udon awaited, the rich aroma of its broth spiraling into your nostrils. Thick noodles, miso soup, shiitake mushrooms, freshly chopped scallions, and golden-brown sesame oil drizzled on top; the signature dish of the corner eatery. Boss didn’t kid when he dubbed this a “hearty dinner.” It almost pained you to part from it, but between the two of you, Shinsuke was the one who needed strength the most.

“Room service,” you declared, sliding through the door. “Please, quit being stubborn and have something to eat.”

He glanced your way apathetically, neither declining nor accepting your offer until a spoon was aimed at his mouth.

“That won’t be needed,” he propped himself onto his elbows.“I’d rather save myself some dignity.”

As he sat up, the sheets receded down his thighs, revealing a series of neatly wrapped dressings whose color gradiented to dark brown. Thank goodness, he must have stopped bleeding out.

You nodded in respect to his request and transferred the tray to his lap, watching each spoonful succeed over another and coughing loudly whenever your stomach dared act up. It felt so empty— your body, that was. Drool drained backward in your throat, your mouth gradually assuming the raw dryness of cotton. Was this the taste of abnegation, you mused.

Becoming aware of your indiscreet stare, he suggested that you split the noodles in half, but when he did, you found it much easier to ball your sleeve over your fist and wipe the corner of his mouth with a smile on yours, ushering him to eat more.

Soon, the bowl emptied and Shinsuke reclined back to his previous position, whilst you sat to his right like a watchful sentry. The minute his head hit the pillow, the light in his eye dimmed, suggesting his exhaustion. Again, he seemed so worn out, that your name barely echoed as a faint whisper past his sealed lips.

“Anything else you need?”

“Undress.” The clear spelling of the word left little room for interpretation. Still, your first instinct was to cower in your corner.

“Don’t get any weird ideas,” he smirked.“Even if I wanted to express my… profound gratitude, those pills you fed me would stand in the way.”

“Then—”

“I’ve already indebted myself borrowing your food and bedding. Least I can do is return one of the two,” he continued. “Take your clothes off, or keep them on, if that’s what suits you. Just come lie down beside me.”

Your eyes locked to affirm the certainty of his tone. He was dead serious about his intentions, though the prospect of sharing a bed was perhaps more tantalizing than he’d intended it to be. It gave reason for your heart to beat faster and for a certain familiar tingle to surge between your thighs, ushering you to acknowledge it— which you unwittingly did, as you shifted in your place and pressed your knees together.

Your habit of fidgeting with your clothes in stressful times resumed, except this once, your fingers were tugging at the obi to loosen it up, each layer uncoiling into a pile of huddled snakes for you to stomp on, as you rose to your feet and shed off your kimono. You had his attention. No, more than that, you had his eye entirely hooked on you, studying each curve of your body with unmistakable interest and fascination, as if it were an art piece for him to appraise. And when he looked at you like that, you realized just how much you longed to be seen.

A little smile stretched from the corners of your lips to his, as you circled around the futon and slipped beneath the covers. Even when he’d barely budged from bed, your side of the linen remained excruciatingly cold for your skin to handle. You tried shriveling in half, but in doing so you bumped your head against his arm. You spluttered an apology and turned the other way, only to conclude the position was equally discourteous.

And thus, you ended up with your arms crossed over your breasts, your conscience idly counting wooden tiles in the ceiling and praying that their numbers were great enough for you to doze off— they weren’t. They didn’t exceed the double digits, and when you finished counting each about five times, you understood that sleep was never an option. Not when you insisted on stealing furtive glances at him, one patch of skin at a time.

You didn’t have the chance to fully appreciate it earlier, but Gods, he looked even better without a darn thing on. His body was the perfect continuation of his beautiful face. Lean, but not actually scrawny. Toned, but not too brawny either. Arms that were tried in strenuous swordsmanship and delicate collarbones that framed his pecs. A thin sheen of sweat coated his abs to the point where you could see them. It made his skin subtly glisten in the dark, and it made you want to skim over him; first with your palms, and then with your lips— if he allowed.

The chilly air subdued to the kind of unsettling heat that had your breath hitching up your throat, restless exhales eventually shaping up into becoming his name.

“Why me?” At last, the question burned its fuse. “There are plenty of women in Yoshiwara— why me?”

“Because,” the sheets to your right rustled, “you were the only one not affiliated with some Bakufu dog.”

“Is that… all?”

“That’s the reason why I chose you,” he confirmed your disappointment, “but aren’t you more curious as to why I kept coming back?”

Your cheek tilted in a cushion of sudden warmth, his palm holding the weight of your gazes together. He leaned closer, so close that you could no longer see him, but feel him. The feathery touch of his purple strands over your forehead, the leftover tobacco essence in his breath, and the shared heartbeat as it pounded in your chests. He prevailed against all senses, common and uncommon, getting the better, if not the best, of you.

“Your eyes,” you heard him say, and popped them open. “A skilled courtesan knows to orchestrate the perfect lie with body, soul, and mind, and yet, your eyes refuse to coordinate. Your distaste, your distrust, and your hatred. The true colors you think the red lights hide,” the smile rang in his voice. “You really think those are hidden from me?”

The very object of his judgment must have betrayed your surprise, considering he was the one to answer his own question.

“Relax. I don’t see beyond what you choose to reveal.”

“And what do you see now?” A shaky voice asked.

“Myself.”

His next breath stole the oxygen from yours, with his lips deliberately ghosting over your jaw in a fleeting motion that escorted him back to his pillow. Was this seduction? If so, it felt an awful lot like frustration.

“This is the second time you question my skills.”

“Does it bother you?” Shinsuke asked. “In any case, what I’m questioning isn’t your skills as a courtesan, but your nature as one.”

“I wasn’t born into it,” you admitted, knitting your fingers over your stomach. “A prostitute, a terrorist, some…. ‘Bakufu dog.’ Nobody is born into nothing. We get assigned to these roles and are expected to play them up to the final round of applause. Some are just lucky enough to fit the part.”

“Turns out I was right, after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those who are interesting either have one screw too loose or have suffered a great deal.”

“And what makes you think I’ve suffered?”

You didn’t expect an answer—not truly, at least. And so, you skipped over to the next question, the one whose answer itched you the most to find. “Have you suffered a lot?”

“Kind of you to exempt me from the first category,” he jested, his light-hearted chuckle barely matching the solemn expression on his face. “Most would assume a man seeking to destroy the world is bat-shit crazy.”

“Because I’ve come to know a Shinsuke, most don’t. To tell you the truth, I…” you bit your lips into a straight line and rolled to face him. He was curious enough to return the gesture, his shoulders shifting in your direction as he balanced himself on his good side.

“I’ve seen you. Way before we were acquainted, I saw you walk those very same streets with people that accompany you no longer. You were admired, and you were praised, and you— I didn’t get the chance to see your face, back then, but I know you must’ve had at least one good reason to smile, didn’t you?

“I don’t mean to pry into your past, and I won’t ask what happened between the two versions of you. But the Shinsuke who brought a lowly courtesan medicine for her sickness; the Shinsuke who told me to live as a woman rather than a puppet; the Shinsuke who in the face of death sought my company instead of a doctor’s; the Shinsuke who gave me a reason to laugh, and sing, and a reason to get out of bed and to endure all the vileness of men, and taught me there’s kindness in the night— Those versions of you are far more precious to me than any war-general or world-class terrorist I could meet.

“And I don’t mean to repeat myself, but I’d like to ask a final time. Have you suffered on your way here? Has it been hard on you?”

A pained smile was all he could muster to reply.

You sighed for him, for the man he was and the man he’d become, and for the little girl whose face still gleamed in your memory between trawlers and rows of fishing poles in her father’s shed, free of tarnish. Someone had to mourn for those and the futures they’d lost, and seeing as he was there right now, you guessed he didn’t have anyone else to do that in his stead.

“If you keep at it, you might convince me that it’s real.” He quietly mumbled.

“Is it not?”

In no time, you’d crossed over to his side, your fingers palpitating between his neck and jawline. It was as if gravity pulled you down to him, a force of attraction so great that when your eyes settled on his lips, your tongue begged to tease them apart. And when they did part, all doubt and uncertainty were negated, for this was no matter of sentiment or intentions, but of bodies coming together.

His hands spanned from your shoulders to your waist and to your thighs below, the softness of your moan meeting with the hoarseness of his groan as wetness met with firmness. He was dragging you closer by any means possible, hips joining and then thrusting in futility of his clothed cock. You opened up for him, your knee coiling around his torso as your fingers slid across his stomach, reveling in how his muscles tightened and tensed up until they gave way to a violent jolt.

“Sh-Shinsuke-san!” You immediately unraveled, your eyes searching for signs of pain in his stiffened expression. “Are you okay?”

“I thought we moved past this.” His lips curled into a grimace as he followed your stare to his bandages. They were still intact, albeit slightly wrinkled. You lowered a hand over his wound and he gulped down hard, his shaky breath contradicting the “I’m fine” he was about to utter.

But when you pulled your fingers off and attempted to return to your pillow, he refused to separate from your waist and held you even tighter, pairing your chin with his shoulder and the small of your back with both his arms. You couldn’t object, or rather, you didn’t want to object. In his embrace, you felt so small that no reason seemed big enough to leave it.

“I couldn’t care less if it isn’t,” Shinsuke whispered, circling back to his previous question. “I don’t care if you are a Yoshiwara woman, and I don’t care how many men you’ve slept with or deceived either. From this moment onward, you can lie all you want. Lie and I’ll believe, because… you are mine.”

Before you knew it, tears began welling in your eyes for a reason you could hardly define. A woman who’d spend her entire life in possession of another, a woman whose body was hardly hers, to begin with, a woman that had nothing to her name— What could such a woman aspire to give? If all parts of you were bought out, what could he possibly hope to own?

However, his words had already seeped under your skin, traversing from one ear to the other, down your spine, and up your head again, as you hesitantly came to confirm his notion with the meekest of nods.

The last thing you made of that night was the shape of his lips against your skin, along with the oath that accompanied them: Even if no part of me belongs to me, whatever fragment of my heart remains is yours to keep. Because… I am yours.

He was gone the morning after.

And the morning after that.

And the morning after the morning after that.

You counted a total of 36 mornings where he didn’t give a single sign of life. Mornings that were succeeded by insufferable noons full of idle girl talk in the balcony, and evenings where the alcohol was nearly not enough to blur out the faces of those around you. But far more intolerable than hearing the same story about some silver-haired scoundrel trying to trade pachinko balls for cash, and pretending to find joy in the way some sleazy merchant plowed you on all four, was not knowing whether Shinsuke was alive or dead.

As much as you’d like to personally dig into it, snooping around when Shinsengumi’s investigation had just been put on hold was bound to turn all eyes on your back, and if he was to ever return, you didn’t want your lack of discretion to stand in the way. Yoshiwara was treacherous enough as it was. Besides, rumor had it that the cops’ failure in capturing a mere “phantom terrorist” forced the Commissioner to cut down on police funds, along with a few heads of his incompetent men. The latter part sounded mostly fictitious, though part of you did hope that the ill-mannered cop from the other day was among those headless corpses.

In any case, it was safe to assume neither Shinsuke nor his body had been found. Whether he’d made it back to his comrades in one piece or bled out in some dark alleyway, knowing he’d escaped their clutches gave you hope. And perhaps, it was hope that brought you to the aforementioned congregations, whose main gossip topic was your house’s love affairs.

It turned out that more than half of those money-depended relationships you previously mocked were built on a much deeper basis than one would imagine. Each girl had this one patron whose talk alone made their eyes shimmer. Some carried a strand of their hair around their pinky— a promise. Others scarcely held onto their correspondence beneath their undergarments until the paper thinned. One kept an entire box devoted to memorabilia of their beloved: a handkerchief they left behind, a jade ring that was their first gift, and pictures. Far too many pictures of them.

A few months back you would have sneered at their faces, but the longer you spent in their company, the more you began feeling some sort of kinship blossom between you. To have a preference escalate to something more, was a feeling you knew all too well.

It was inevitable that by the fifth time you attended their meetings, you’d be asked about your own affairs, and when that moment came, you chuckled politely and switched the topic back to the previous speaker’s flame. So far this tactic had worked 31 out of 31 times, and while neither side shared the information the other longed to hear —in your case, news about the one that got away,— listening to them read their letters out loud had given birth to a new idea.

Now, you weren’t proficient in literature by no means, and the only letters you’d ever exchanged were based on false attraction. But if you could somehow manage to get a letter delivered and answered, your mind would be put to rest.

Your first efforts were defined by a series of smudged-up writings of his name. “Shinsuke” felt too plain a salutation and “Shinsuke-san” was sure to earn you an earful. “Takasugi,” or “Takasugi-san” came off too formal, while “My beloved” was still a matter of contemplation. Eventually, you decided that “Dear Shinsuke” which your latest attempts featured, was the right amount of personal without sounding too pretentious or unnatural.

Once you’d gotten that down, your primary concern became the letter’s main body. What on earth would you write him? The letters of those girls were heavily dosed with words of eloquent sensibility that a mere “I miss you—I’m worried about you—Please come back” could never hope to compete with. Urgency aside, you didn’t want to come off as an illiterate idiot.

You tried your hardest, crumpling one ball of paper after the other and then cringing equally as hard at what came to be the final product among an abundance of discarded drafts that littered the floor.

Dear Shinsuke,

How strange it is to have written numerous letters for my pen to only tremble now. Ink does sentiment little justice, and yet my entire heart’s contents are summed in that first salutation. Dear’s what I’ve come to call you, for dear’s what you are to me.

And so I call you dear again, twice and then thrice, while watching the sunrise. I used to hate all dawns that led to our nights’ demise, but now each dawn brings me new hope. Hope that you’re safe and in good health, for I dare not imagine you unwell. They say patience is a virtue, but how many more suns need to rise before I become virtuous? How many hollow moons until my longing settles?

The ways to express my desire are as plentiful as the stars written in the skies, and I fear, that for as long as you evade my arms’ embrace they’ll insist to multiply.

Nevertheless, I must draw the line here and convey one final thought. I’ve been pondering on words you’ve said, and have concluded that a dream’s end lies between its fulfillment and the waking of its host. Because a dream completed is no different than a goal achieved, and a dreamer’s awakening shutters all that could have been.

Am I dreaming, my dear Shinsuke? Or will my dream begin when we’re no longer apart? If I’m asleep, don’t wake me up, but if I’m awake, please hurry back.

Faithfully yours,

Your improper courtesan.

You must have folded and unfolded that last piece of paper at least a dozen times, sighing at each interval in between. This is so embarrassing, you ruminated, forehead against the table, and hands thrown over the edge in indication of surrender. An entire day went by and this was the best you could come up with. How very embarrassing; words you must have said out loud for you got an actual response.

“Didn’t know Yoshiwara women were capable of embarrassment.” The voice of a man cooed in your ear, its tone so gentle that if you hadn’t been scared out of your wits, you would have leaned back to relish it.

However, the only thing you managed was to flinch in such rapidness that caused the ink bottle to fly straight into his palm. Wide-eyed, you traced the fingers back to their owner, well aware of whom they belonged to. He looked good. He always did, but what set him apart from the last time you saw him was the significant lack of bandages. Even his damaged eye was left bare on a rare occurrence.

“You’re back!” You gasped.

“I am,” Shinsuke nodded. “Although, I can’t say I remember this place looking like a pigsty.”

You glanced around in horror at what the place you used to call your “room” had become. There were more pages on the floor than there would’ve been if you’d shredded an entire collection of encyclopedias.

“How long have you been standing there?” You asked as you attempted to sweep the papers into one big pile away from his legs.

“Long enough to realize the cause of your embarrassment.” His eye wandered toward your makeshift desk and settled on the letter upon it.

Your arms urged to cover the words from his sight, but unfortunately, he was too fast for your own good.

“This isn’t-”

“A love letter?” He smirked, waving it in the air to unfold it.

“Meant for you!” You protested.

“It has my name on.” His forefinger pointed where the title should be.

“It’s nothing important-”

“If it wasn’t, then why waste all this paper?”

“Please,” you tugged at his yukata. “don’t.”

He lowered the letter for your eyes to meet— his narrowed green orb rotating a full circle. Perhaps it was your pleading tone, or maybe the pup-like stare you were giving him. No matter the cause, he was merciful enough to fold the letter inside his yukata and take a seat beside you, his interest soon drawn by the empty bottle of sake on the table’s corner.

Normally, a girl would’ve brought a refill before a guest arrived, but as fast as you were concerned your night wasn’t booked in advance.

“Should I bring you something to drink?” You tried to change the subject.

“No need,” he shrugged, shifting the bottle between his fingers.

“Have you eaten…?”

“I have.”

Was this his way of keeping a grudge, you wondered, spotting the creased paper corner that peaked from his chest.

“Aren’t you going to read that?”

He let go of the bottle at once, head tilting in your direction. “I don’t see why I should when you don’t want me to.”

“Then why are you keeping it?”

Your question brought forth a smile to his features— one that could be considered equal parts smug as it was coy.

“To commemorate the first love letter I receive,” Shinsuke answered.

“I find it hard to believe no one’s ever written you one before,” you said, adding a second part to your sentence in case he found the first too insolent. “You seem the kind of man who receives lots of letters, is all.”

“None I wasn’t allowed to read,” he retorted. “For that, I consider yours the first.”

Allow is a heavy word, you wished to object, though he wasn’t quite wrong either.

“How are you?” You asked in a cowardly voice and then repeated again.“That’s what the letter says. ‘How are you? I’m fine.’”

“Is that all?” he chuckled. “You wrote me a letter to ask how I’m doing?”

“…And I miss you,” you sighed. “‘I miss you, I’m worried about you, please come back alive.’”

The tone of your complexion was reflected on his cheeks, as an inconspicuous red hue spread upon them. You bet he didn’t blush too often, or else he’d know to hide it. Even his smile seemed mellower than before, lacking the usual cunning sharpness.

“You talk more like a courtesan now.”

“Isn’t it time I acted like one, too?” Your hand moved on top of his own and brought it to your lips, unlocking each of his fingers with a kiss. “I want you.”

He cupped your face in his palm and dragged his thumb over your bottom lip, eyes glinting at what was about to come. “Was this also in the letter?”

“No,” you smiled. “I wanted to say this in person. I want you-”

And suddenly, you understood what being his entailed, for your lips belonged to him, along with your tongue, your breath, and all you had to give. It was all his. The neck his eager palm steadied, the silky hair his fingers carefully untangled, the soft thighs straddling him, and the visceral sounds your mouths exchanged. It was all his to take. Every part of you that once was, no longer were. Only a fervent urge left burning in its place, augmented with every little jab across your velvet skin.

His lips withdrew to your neck, arms tightening around your waist for your chest to rise up against him. You tried to untie your obi, but Shinsuke acted first, sliding your kimono well past your cleavage and attaching himself to your breasts— one at a time. His wet tongue rolled around your nipples, sucking them into hardness, while his eye focused solely on your expressions.

You bit your agape mouth shut, gulping the heaviest of breathings down as his hand crossed between your legs to find the spot that begged for him the most. He circled his thumb over your clit in a way that was awfully similar to how he’d held your lips. He moved it languidly and continuously, again and then all over again until a needy moan was coaxed. And when that happened, he kept on going, ignoring the strain in his fundoshi, and persisting until his face was squeezed between your heaving breasts. He remained kissing them and kissing you down from your high, the final of his tender kisses landing upon your fiery cheeks.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

For a minute, you failed to register what he meant, though when you did, neither had the chance at a chuckle as you fell back onto each other. Insatiable fingers freed him from his obi, exposing his body to your touch. He laid back against his elbows, a hint of surprise widening his eye as you planted your lips on his chest and licked your way around his nipples. You sucked one of them in, gently pinching the other with your thumb and forefinger. Does it feel good, you meant to ask, but seeing as his head arched backward, it was safe to assume he savored this no less than you did.

Your mouth drifted to his stomach, hands pushing the fabric aside only to stop at the first of a series of mismatched patches. He could’ve gotten himself a new yukata, and yet he wore the one you’d fixed him with equal pride.

Fawning over the notion, you didn’t notice him turn the tables on you, just like he didn’t notice his knee nudging the table down, the ink bottle he’d tried so hard to salvage cracking into a pool of ebony black across the tatami your head laid upon. He brushed all hair off your face and stared at you for a good while, his gaze almost pious. You wondered what he thought of— if he thought about anything at all, and what he saw— if he saw anything worth seeing in that impressionable face of yours, though soon, you grew too preoccupied with his actions to care about his thoughts.

He claimed your hand and pushed it above your head, locking his fingers together with yours. His arm felt heavy; not as heavy as his hips and certainly not as heavy as the bundle of nerves in the pit of your stomach, but still, heavy enough to restrain you. It was time. Your knees bent back to your stomach, allowing him to align with your entrance. And when he pushed himself in, gods, he was still looking deep within your eyes, at the soul, you doubted existed. He watched it darken and twist in pleasure that you shared, and if someone asked what he did so differently from all others, you wouldn’t dare to voice that four-letter word at loud.

The difference was never in his thrusts or the way he kissed, so full of ecstasy and life. The difference lay in how he made everything burn brighter and blur murkier at the same time, in how he was capable of anchoring you, as he was in making you soar. Because the answer and the question were both him and if that imaginary, indiscreet stranger pried for more, you’d decided to name this your first time, too.

“If someone walked in right now, they wouldn’t be able to tell the courtesan and the guest apart.”

“If someone walked in right now, they’d be lucky if a courtesan and a guest were all they saw.”

One’s words accompanied a dull trail of smoke and the other’s a vibrant melody, with the first pouring out your lips and the second from his fingers. One sat with their knees apart, and the other lay on their back. One was naked from the waist up, and the other completely bare. One focused on the other, and the other focused on their song, both sharing the same complacent smile on their lips.

“You seem awfully fond of my pipe,” said Shinsuke, strumming one string after the other, while you drew short and frequent puffs.

“My father had a kiseru just like this one,” you exhaled, shifting the pipe between your knuckles. “He loved himself a good smoke after dinner. Called it ‘the last instance of affordable freedom in this shit world.’ Ma’ had different ideas. To put it short, she hated it. Opened all windows and fanned the smoke out as if the house was on fire.

“I remember how, once, sis stole the kiseru from his jacket and we took a puff each, not fully grasping what it was. It was horrible, that’s what it was,” a chuckle broke through your words. “But not as horrible as Mother’s shrieks when she found us puking our guts out on the kitchen floor. She’d made us swear we’d never touch tobacco again, and we took the oath without second-guessing.”

“And here you are breaking it,” he sneered.

“Madam’s the same way,” you went past his interruption. “She hates it when Boss smokes and nags him every chance she gets, even though she was the one who taught us how to handle it, should a guest ask us to indulge. One of the many must-knows of the job,” you explained, closing your fingers over the pipe’s neck. “You’re right. I really am fond of this. Maybe because it’s yours. Maybe because it tastes like you.”

His lips curved into a slight smile, his eye never stirring away from the instrument on his lap. “Keep it. I have no grand memories to back my habit up.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Take it,” he insisted. “See it as an addition to your stories, or just something to remember me by.”

“You talk as if you won’t be coming back…”

“‘Increased chances of sudden death’ and ‘low life expectancy’ are both in the job description,” he shrugged. “Who knows when my time to kick the bucket will come? We might not get a chance at goodbye then”

“That’s not fair,” you said in a quiet voice full of complaint, gaze lowering along with the music’s tempo. “Haven’t enough died already?” Haven’t I lost enough already? “Why should you die too?” Why should I lose you too?

“You aren’t wrong. Certainly, more than enough have died to incriminate the Bakufu, but not quite as many shoguns have perished to atone for that sin. I intend to force a draw on the scale. Ten shoguns for each of my fallen soldiers, until no man’s left to step in the ringleader’s shoes. That should be enough to justify their sacrifice, don’t you think? As for me,” his smile turned into a sinister grin while saying those words. “I don’t wish to die in a world where the last instance of affordable freedom is tobacco.”

The lump in your throat began to dissipate with your settling back against the pillow. You knew better than to trust a single word that came out of your guests’ mouths, but his determination convinced you to accept the pipe with a clear conscience.

The music resumed —not that it’d ever stopped—, a tune sweeter than those you were used to. With your chin balanced on your elbow, you found yourself humming in accordance with the notes, nodding along to the mellifluous rhythm he composed.

“This sounds nice,” you smiled once you had his attention. “What is it?”

“Who knows?” He humored you, knowingly triggering your favorite pastime of lyrical guesswork.

“Hmm, it’s soft— like affection, but,” you leaned closer “the way each chord lingers well before giving way to another, is almost like seduction.”

“Are you, now?” He rasped, fingers hesitating to pick the next harmony. “Seduced?”

You stole a playful peck from his lips as an answer, his eye barely given enough time to close.

“Who knows?” you mumbled, his mouth quick to welcome yours with ease. How many kisses had you shared to reach this point of familiarity; a fleeting thought crossed your mind. How many kisses did it take for this to feel like the most natural and right thing in the world?

Even as you straddled his lap, Shinsuke still held onto the shamisen, its tuning pegs sharply digging into your flesh. If this turned anything like the previous night —or the one before— did, he’d soon shove it in the corner and pick you up instead. He’d trail the entirety of your skin, from your neck down to your thighs, peppering little purple love bites wherever he saw fit. He’d throw your knees over his shoulders and he’d drink you up, his tongue prying where his eye couldn’t, and once he was sated, he’d lace your bodies together and pace slowly— slowly enough for your hips to melt together while he’d again be kissing your lips.

You knew exactly how it’d go, for you’d learned his preferences by heart, and yet your excitement refused to fizzle out. You shoved the instrument away from his reach, implementing an abrupt and rather rude ending to his concert. His hands slithered behind your back and firmly hugged your bum. It hadn’t been too long since he had his release, though you could very well feel the extent of his impatience.

“I can’t get enough of you,” one of you said, their voice obscured by the not-so-distant knocking on the door.

Cursing under your breath about how one of these days you’d have to rip it into paper shreds, you stumbled outside, your head peaking first over your naked body, in case you had company. All seemed clear, except for the unannounced visitor that awaited at your feet; a large rectangular wooden box.

“I see it finally arrived,” Shinsuke observed once you brought it to his sight. “About time.”

“Is it an explosive device of some sort?” you joked, lightly shaking the box.

“No,” he smirked. “Only a token of my gratitude. Go on, open it.”

A thin layer of wrapping paper covered what was a dark purple fabric. Silk, you realized as you ran your fingers across its length. A kimono, judging by the lighter-colored cuffs. An exquisite kimono, you added, its elegant pattern of pine, bamboo, and plum trees in gold taking you by surprise. An exquisite kimono in his colors, you concluded, comparing it to the yukata he donned.

“This…” you began, though your stupefied expression seemed to have spoken on its own.

“Save it,” he shook his head. “This is just compensation for your ruined dress and your hospitality. Was supposed to arrive weeks ago, but now that it’s here… turn around.”

He pulled the kimono out of the paper and you did as told, setting the box aside. You felt him get closer, his hot breath tingling your nape as the cold sensation of silk spread over your shoulders. His hands flattened it over your curves, sliding down your waist and hips, and then reaching to your front to fix the hem in place. You couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose, but when his knuckles ghosted over your nipples, you knew his objective involved more than dressing you up.

“Out of all the men to have stepped in here,” you said as he fished out a yellow obi from the box’s depths “you are the first to dress me rather than undress me.”

At first, he didn’t respond. He proceeded to wrap the obi around you, and once it was securely tied, his voice cooed in your ear “Since when were the two mutually exclusive?”

Your gaze met his briefly, as his lips fell on your own and his hands hiked up your dress. Two fingers slipped within your walls, massaging your insides gently while you brought each other to your knees, his palm carefully sinking your head onto the floor. Your heart beat louder than his voice telling you how well it suited you, though you didn’t need to hear it. His touch said all you need to know, sturdy hips lazily bucking against your own.

“Sh-Shinsuke?” you managed, removing his hand from your body. A darkened green orb peered at you curiously, lust not quite shaken from his stare.

“Have you ever been in love?” you regretted asking as soon as you did.

His curiosity turned into something else, something he can’t explain, just like he can’t give an answer to your question. He almost looked offended and you almost apologized, but then he hushed you with a heady kiss that had your head spinning.

“How does this feel?” he asked, well aware of the effect he had on you.

“G—good,” you panted.

He nodded, carefully dragging his open mouth along your jawline and neck where a second, far more fleeting kiss landed exactly where your breasts began.

“How does this feel?” he asked again.

“Good,” you answered, again with the same elementary term you used before.

His winsome smile hid underneath purple layers of hair, as he lowered his head down between your legs and spread them apart. He trailed a path from one thigh to the other, his lips not once closing to cover his warm breath. His fingers dug at your skin while he pulled you closer, the tip of his nose rubbing against your swollen clit that ached for him to touch it. But before he had the chance to either make contact or ask the final of his questions, you moaned the same word you did before.

It feels good. So, so, so damn good.

“Then,” Shinsuke climbed back up, “let’s call this love.”

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