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i am asking you about dermabrasion by pennydaniels 👀
THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTION!!! IM NOW GOING TO GO CRAZY !
DERMABRASION BY PENNYDANIELS is a canon divergent BNHA fic focusing mainly on Todoroki Shouto and Dabi’s relationship if Shouto had figured out his identity and tracked him down at the start of the UA school year. It is over 400k words, 41 chapters, and is one of my favorite BNHA fics (or just plain fics) ever. I cannot recommend it enough.
I will try SO HARD not to spoil anything in this rant/essay in case you haven’t read it… But minor spoiler warning anyway in case I mess up.
Some of the stuff I’m going to talk about is waay down the line (like 40 chapters out of 41 chapters type of down the line) but the fact that you know it’ll happen won’t take away from the joy of reading it because the execution is just that good. Probably. The build-up to these moments is just as good as them happening, if not better, I SWEAR.
OK. RANT BEGIN.
For reference, this fic began December 2020 and finished January 2023!! We got the Dabi is a Todoroki reveal November 2020 and then more about his backstory February 2021.
So this means that Dabi’s characterization and backstory here aren’t 100% canon compliant. Despite the fact that it’s in AU territory, the fic handles Dabi’s character and motivations really well?? Arguably, its because it’s not canon compliant that the fic is able to give us such a good insight into his character... Wow… When authors can expand on existing narratives while staying true to the essence of the characters… 😍…
Dabi’s motives, which I think are actually super close to canon (!!!), and how they inform his choices within the timeline of the fic and in his backstory make me so crazy. I am going to be cryptic and just say that the glimpses we get of young tweenage Touya in this fic is everything to me. His whole relationship with Endeavor at literally at any point in the story is especially well done…
A large part of this fic’s appeal to me is how it handles Endeavor. I am a huge fan of the Todorokis’ whole plot and since Enji is the dead centre of that fucked up family storm, I think getting him right is probably one of the most pivotal points in writing fics that puts emphasis around literally any Todoroki. Not even just how Enji himself is, but also the way other characters think about and act around him should be given thought and written with care... Dermabrasion does him, his affect on his kids and his wife and his development so much justice.
The fic begins with Season 1 Shouto’s Endeavor hatred. His vehemence for the guy is so obvious even in just the first few paragraphs where he dubs him ‘that fucker.’ He does this consistently throughout the fic LOL
Tbh. This put me off the fic a little, since I’m not interested in reading Endeavor-bashing fics (no matter how deserved they are HAHA) but I just got over myself and realised no, yeah. This is in character, it is completely understandable and a little hilarious...
What I like here is that his feelings towards Endeavor (negative or otherwise) aren’t a static thing — it progresses not just as Endeavor changes, but as he grows closer in understanding Dabi and the rest of his family and as he, himself, grows up. It’s so rewarding to see it unfold throughout the storyline little by little. I want to say that it happens in the background but honestly Endeavor haunts this entire fic. It’s not that he’s always there. Honestly, he doesn’t show up that much, but it’s only by virtue of his actions that this storyline exists at all so it’s like every action taken is an echo of his. Something about how even when he’s not there, everything is always about him and what he’s done. It’s great, and I mean that genuinely. I love this so bad.
Shouto’s character here is perfect for this sort of fic, I think. He’s stunted and it’s openly acknowledged by other characters how… weird?? he can come across. I think it just makes his arc all that more apparent... He becomes somewhat of a moral paragon and I’n not even upset about it. His development as a character is thoroughly explored and so hard-earned that his transformation from a dead-faced, dead-eyed kid to who he is at the end of the fic is just. rewarding.
AND ITS NOT JUST HIM… Almost every main-focus character goes through some sort of gratifying journey and are made to reckon with parts of themselves that in Dabi’s case, would mean redefining his entire identity. You can tell that all the characters in this fic want to be better, not just for themselves, but for the people around them. It’s one of my favourite things about this fic, how personal improvement is such a huge part in it. This is definitely the Mob Psycho 100 lover in me speaking.
(Side tangent: MP100 being a story about an overpowered, stoic, repressed kid who, with the company of a dubiously moral older brother figure, learns how to become a better version of himself and by doing that, he inspires those around him, including that dubiously moral older brother figure. This is Dermabrasion in a different world. If you love MP100, I will eat my entire shoe if you don’t enjoy Dermabrasion too.)
While the focus is definitely mainly on Shouto and Dabi, the entire family has their part in it. Natsuo, Fuyumi, Rei and Enji all get their moments to shine and show their growth and unique personalities. A fun thing about this is how similar Shouto and Enji are… I think it really drives home that they’re family.
I don’t think this is a huge spoiler, since it’s kinda implied in the premise, but when Natsuo reunites with Dabi the interaction is so. Real. And the fact that it takes time and effort for their relationship to be built back is so poignant and crazy and SICK. Everything in this fic is earned through a lot of tears and pain and misery. It’s a cathartic read.
Okay, now that I made it sound like the entire fic is just one huge therapy session, let me mention humour once then immediately go back to doing that HAHAHA I think this fic is funny as hell. Humour is subjective, yesyesyes, but it grew on me and it WILL grow on you. The back and forths between characters, Shouto’s natural temperament making him predisposed to being absolutely Comical, the inherent comedy of being in a Hero Society... As someone with siblings the way the Todoroki siblings interact here, fights and messy reuniting shit notwithstanding, has so much of the annoyed love and care that you get from the people you grew up with. I particularly like Fuyumi and Natsuo’s dynamic together.
They’re outcasts in different ways than Dabi and Shouto are outcasts. The guilt and remorse they feel not just from not being able to step in for Shouto, but for leading their own lives is GAHHH. The entire thing about being in a different world to their brothers and dad is … Augh. Heroes and Villains.
Rei. Rei… I am GUTTED by every scene she is in. I reread ‘when your love has always been enough (for me)’ by classicequinox to cope. That is a different post to make one day when I have the energy.
Idk if I said all I wanted to say. There’s definitely more to this fic. DabiHawks, for one. I think they’re great here. Somehow they AREN’T horrifically toxic, WOO!! The details of this I will leave for you to read… Another thing I like about this fic is how 1A reacts to Todoroki family lol. LOV also has its part in this fic, I think it is sweet what happens to them but ofc since they aren’t really the main focus, it’s more a fun bonus to see what happens to them.
Ok I need to wrap this up. One day I’ll write a proper spoiler-full essay about this with a thesis statement and everything but yk. Life.
To conclude I’ll just talk about the ending of this fic. It’s my favourite, absolute favourite thing about it. The author themself quoted a comment they received in the last chapter that I am going to quote here too: “Even at the end there's the clear sense that the character's lives will continue and that this is only the beginning for them.” That is literally the best way to sum up this fic. These character’s will continue growing and bettering and it gives me so much real, genuine hope in myself that I can change, too. So yeah. Read this fic and if it changes your life let me know.
#dabi#todoroki shouto#todoroki family drama#i talk#bnha fic#todoroki touya#endeavor#todoroki enji#ask#anon#fuelled by audhd#fic so good i had to use capitalization#wrote this like 1-4am and just barely proofread it now#so if it’s absolutely everywhere. thats why#incomprehensible …#ok i realize that i talked abt how important endeavor is here in this fic but hes also like#yes hes sort of the catalyst but also they r their own characters#idk#i want to have my cake and eat it too#endeavor is vitally important but also shouto dabi fuyumu natsuo rei can live w/o him and his pressure
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Fanart of @unpretty 's incredible Squirrel Girl fic If This Kra-van's A-Rockin'...
The moment I read this bit the above image popped into my head fully-formed and would NOT leave me alone!! The entire thing is so so good and funny and hot please read the entire thing go go go
#it is very not safe 4 tumblr so heads up#ham art#squirrel girl#fanart#the unbeatable squirrel girl#kraven the hunter#kraven the hunter x the unbeatable squirrel girl#deleted then reuploaded and tumblr murdered the quality :(#there are TOO many good lines from this fic to choose from unprettys like my fav fic writer shes so funny but also like characterisation???#special place in my heart for circe and the liboartarians#the part about galactus#and you try to embarrass me by saying we had sex I'm going to be like: yes. I hit that. Then I'm going#to high-five Iron Man because we're friends and if anyone's going to understand that situation it'll be him :D#the bit where kraven starts FLEXING and POSING#doreen clapping harder + 'we'll be like a clock!'#kraven's use of unorthodox grammatical constructions to capitalize on fear of the other takes me OUT every time thats a fav#also its hot like yeah its a sexy time#i cant keep going cuz if i did we'd be here all day id copypaste the entire fic#thank u kitty unpretty#anyways full disclosure ryan north and erica henderson's squirrel girl is the only squirrel girl i have read#i own one volume of it from a library book sale and by GOLLY did that get put to use in drawing this
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Hello! I loved your last hobie fic btw it was really good!!
Imagine that in hobies universe you died but when he travels to miles universe he sees you alive 😭 and then the reader introduces themselves to him the same way they did in his universe
Keep feeding us with these ATSV fics 😈😈
Have a great day!!!
Thank you for enjoying my Hobie Brown stuff anon cuz he’s been invading my mind recently. I hope to god this is okay for ya. 🦦
Hobie remembered first meeting you as though it were yesterday, you were within an alleyway vandalising the walls with your spray paint, he happened to be passing by when one of your masterpieces caught his eye; it was of him…well him as Spider-Man clocking a cartoonish Osborne -appropriately adorned with devil horns and a tail- in the head with his eyes crossed out in red spray paint as though he were dead.
It got a good chuckle out of him that was for sure and from that alone he knew he had to know you more on a personal level. ‘Whatcha gonna call that?’ He asked aloud, making you jolt, you were pretty sure you had chosen a spot where you weren’t going to get caught by the authorities or those that’d grass you up for expressing how you truly felt about Osborne and all those just like him. You shrugged, looking up at your finished product before looking back over at Hobie, ‘dunno yet,’ you told him truthfully, ‘my working titles are either anarchy incarnate or death to capitalism.’
Hobie hummed in approval, but he thought you could do better, ‘how about anarchy is the death of capitalism?’ He suggested and he couldn’t never forget the light in your eyes upon hearing his working title, that in the midst of your excitement you had grabbed him by the arm, ‘that’s it! That’s what I should call it, you’re a genius man!’ You cried before realising what you did and immediately removed your hand from his arm, ‘sorry about that.’ Hobie dismissed your apology by slinging an arm over your shoulder. ‘Nah, don’t give me that shit, you shouldn’t have to apologise for being yourself for that’s what they want you to do.’
‘I don’t think I ever got your name.’ You said. ‘Hobie. Hobie brown and may I get to know the name of the amazing artist behind this.’ Hobie gestured to the spray painting. ‘Y/n l/n.’ You replied. ‘Well y/n, I think we’re going to get along quite well.’ And you did.
So when your untimely death happened, Hobie felt as though he were Achilles having lost his Patroclus. He cradled your body into his arms even long after you had said your final words, ‘keep fighting the good fight, my little anarchist.’ and much longer after it had already gone cold. You had told him that you were heading out to go spray paint with some people you’ve met and the worst soon came when despite knowing that you didn’t have to, you still went out of your way to act as a distraction so that the rest may escape; which resulted in the way that it did.He knew he should’ve gone with you that day because then maybe you would still be alive and taking the piss out of him for worrying about you but he didn’t, so you weren’t.
Ever since then Hobie had made it his goal to keep fighting for not only his chase but yours as well in your memory. He made you a memorial in the exact same place where you first met, always paying it a visit whenever he felt as though he needed you with him, which has lead him to start talking to your spray pairings as though they were actually you. There was without a shadow of a doubt that you were quite possibly one of the greatest artists to have ever lived, alongside with being an avid inspiration to many to the youths who felt as though they had no way of expressing themselves when feeling slighted by the society they were born in. Hell you even inspired him! So much so that there were a multitude of songs he would perform that depicted a individual with stardust in their eyes, a rebellious fire in their heart and a insatiably need to insight the themes of anarchy within anything they touched.
After your death Hobie kept a good portion of your things; such as your spray cans that would never get used, your clothes that still clung onto the very last essence of you much like he did and even kept the picture you took together after helping you finish a project you had been wanting to pursue for a long while; and who would’ve thought that it would be him, not as Spider-Man, just good old Hobie Brown with the message, ‘keep fighting the good fight, my little anarchist.’
So when he caught himself walking down a alleyway much like he did long ago but this time in a completely new place, he felt as though he was being hit with a wave of de ja vu when his ears picked up on the familiar hissing sound of a spray can. It was like he was back there again and if his memory serves him right, he knew what was to come next the moment he, Gwen and Miles made it into a clearing where they were greeted with the sight of someone’s back as they were deeply engrossed with their own handy work. ‘You’re going to love them Hobie, they’re like super cool and awesome.’ Gwen told him but her words went in one ear and out the next as he stared up at the spray painting of Miles as Spider-Man mid swing; it was beautiful without a doubt but they style in which it was drawn was all too familiar.
‘Whatcha gonna call that?’ Hobie had said without realising it until you jolted before turning to look directly at him, regaining your composure, ‘dunno yet.’ You shrugged and your voice sounded like an echo to the past for Hobie who so desperately wanted to pinch himself in that moment. ‘my working titles are either a bright new era or rising above all expectations.’ Hobie didn’t say anything for he knew he was going to say something that would only scare you away, just because you were another version of his y/n didn’t mean you shared the same memories; to you, he was just another spider-man from another reality, he wasn’t your Hobie despite how he wish he was but he knew he couldn’t put that on you.
He also couldn’t blame you for being alive while his version of you was dead. It wouldn’t be fair on you for being blamed for something that wasn’t your fault to begin with and it wouldn’t be fair on him either, as despite how many times he made himself believe that he has accepted your death, his heart would remind him that he truly hadn’t. You were such a pivotal part of his life that he couldn’t seem to let go of. ‘Hmm, both titles sound cool but I think we can do better.’ Miles pipped up, breaking Hobie out of his headspace that was running rampant with all the best memories you shared together. ‘How about…the bright new era of rising above all expectations?’ Hobie interjected.
You made a face at the suggestion before a wide smile spread across your face as you lost yourself in your excitement and grabbed ahold of his arm like you did when your first met, ‘that’s it! That’s what I should call it! You’re a genius dude, thank you.’ But before you could remove your hand from his arm, Hobie grasped your hand and held it firmly. ‘I don’t believe I told you my name, it’s Hobie by the way.’ Your excused his actions as an exchange of formal greeting and grasped onto his hand with the same about of force. ‘Nice to meet you Hobie, I’m y/n.’
‘I know’ is what Hobie desperately wanted to say but kept it all contained under a strained smile.
#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spider man: across the spider verse#spiderman atsv#spiderman atsv fic#spiderman atsv imagine#spiderman atsv x you#spiderman atsv x reader#spiderman atsv imagines#atsv x reader#spiderverse x reader#hobie brown imagines#hobie brown fluff#hobie brown x you#hobie brown imagine#hobie x reader#hobie brown x reader#spiderpunk x reader
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The girl with the pearl necklace (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)
Summary: You marry Daemon to secure an alliance. But surprisingly, you find a haven in him.
Warnings: Fluff. Smut. Oral (F receiving) Talks of race, colorism, racism, and self-esteem issues.
A/N: This has to be my most personal fic. It might not be as universal because it is part of my personal experience with race as a mixed person living in what is essentially a mixed region. I hope I do not get a bad response, but I will remind you what the title of my blog says.
“YOUR HAIR IS ugly.” The girl says, displeased. She is trying to comb through your hair with some coconut oil, but instead of curling prettily, your hair just falls flat. She has been at it for at least half an hour, her tugs to your hair getting increasingly more painful.
This time, you cannot hide the flinch. Pain, you had excused with being her first day. Making a mess, with her being unused to your hair. But calling you ugly? She was but a serving girl, she had no right.
The girl looks horrified at what she has just said. She is barely fourteen. But yet again, you are too. You have never called anyone ugly to their faces. You keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself.
“She is young, milady.” The older maid, the one that is supposed to supervise her, says. She smooths your hair back, trying to fix it. Her touch gets more and more desperate the more she tries. Your hair will simply not obey. The younger one has put so much product on your hair, it looks greasy and unwashed.
You stare at your features in the mirror. The lighter skin, the shock of unruly hair, not quite a wave, not quite a coil, but rather something in the middle. Bad hair, your previous maids called it. You wonder why you bothered trying with maids again.
It is your cousin’s wedding. A lovely young woman, with beautiful dark hair that you bet never reacts this way.
“I am sorry, milady.” The younger maid offers.
Your eyes are still fixated on your mirror. You wonder if your mother ever has these troubles too. With her sleek hair, and foreign features, you doubt anyone dares call her ugly. She may not have a title, as you do, but she was once regarded as the most beautiful woman in Lys.
But you. Oh, you. With your too wide nose, but too upturned to be a dornish one. With your high cheekbones in a short face. With dark eyelashes, purple eyes, and hair that is not quite right.
It screams outsider. It screams, not here, not there. Not a famed beauty in Lys, not quite the Sword of the Morning.
“Get out.” You say, to the serving girl. “Get out, both of you.”
You need to wash your hair three times for all the product to come out. You are late to the wedding.
The serving girl is relocated to the kitchens, where no one needs to talk to her. The older one is sent to tend to your father. You pass her sometimes, in the hallways of Starfall, and wonder if she is thinking your hair is ugly too.
You wonder the same thing on the day your fate changes. You are getting dressed when you see her, an ill omen in the middle of Starfall. Prince Qoren has summoned all the unwed noble ladies of Dorne to Sunspear, wishing to announce something. You think it can’t be anything good, considering he has refused to use a royal proclamation to do so.
The travel to Sunspear is taxing. You travel to the capital accompanied by your mother, a day before the actual meeting is set to take place. It allows the two of you to spend the night in a manse before having to meet the royal family.
She doesn’t know how to fix your hair. Your mother’s hair is pale silver, easy to manage and twist in the ways women up north prefer. She had tried hard to tame yours as a child, spraying it with water and stretching the curls with a brush so it laid flat. It never seemed to work as it did in hers.
You pin your hair up, a clip made of pearls and amethysts keeping it up. You do not have the same texture most women here have, that ensures gorgeous volume, so you play to your strengths, showcasing the deep color you have and using it as a backdrop for gorgeous accessories.
Your dress is chosen with great care. A deep lavender, with a tasteful cleavage, held at your shoulders by twin brooches of falling stars. Not even hearing your mother say you look beautiful eases your anxiety. You had seen her, the servant. She only appeared in your life when something was about to happen.
You are not the superstitious kind, but when you stand in a line in front of Prince Qoren’s throne with all the noble maidens of Dorne, you know you were right. That woman was a bad omen.
Prince Qoren smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I am glad all of you chose to accept my invitation.” He stands. All the women in the room drop into a curtsy. “When I look at you, I see the best this Kingdom has to offer. It makes me proud. And it makes me confident enough to know I can ask this of you.”
You tense. Whatever he is going to ask is something bad, you can already tell. Some of the more clueless girls in the room look flattered by the delicate compliment, but it is a tactic you know well. You have been mocked enough to know that when someone compliments you so elaborately, a but usually follows. And it tends to be devastating.
His kind demeanor isn’t fooling you. Not in the least.
“We have never coddled our women, as the other Kingdoms do. War is coming for us, and we need strong allies. The Iron Throne offers us their support, but as always, it comes with a price.”
War. Of course it comes down to it. You have heard your parents whispering about it when they think you cannot hear. How Prince Qoren is thinking of sending his troops, instead of his money. How he expects your brother or father to lead them, sometimes against the Triarchy, sometimes against the Iron Throne.
It seems he has made his choice. Against the Triarchy. Your heart is seized by the sudden terror of the thought of your father going to war and not coming home. His sword, Prince Qoren called him.
Your house has been Dorne’s sword for decades. Ever since the first Dayne picked up their sword from the heart of a flaming star, you have defended the Kingdom against their enemies. Your very home once burned because of it.
Amongst the tales of flaming swords and fallen stars, you had never thought war would touch your home. Your brother was the current wielder of Dawn. Your father the head of your house. They would have to fight.
“A marriage pact. From a daughter of Dorne, to a Targaryen Prince. To bind our kingdoms, to ensure peace in this new alliance we embark. Dorne must remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken. House Martell has no daughters of their own to offer, so we ask one of you to go on our stead. It’s us who will pay your dowry, and you shall always have a home here.”
His words barely register as you brood about the upcoming war. You have heard of the Crabfeeder, and his brutality. You think of your kind, kind brother, and his sweet smile. He is a few years younger than you, untested in battle yet.
Some girls cheer. You look at your mother and notice she has the same stricken look you must be sporting. Some of the other parents talk animatedly between themselves, calculating the potential such a match offers their daughters. None seem to realize what it means.
War. War will come for Dorne, and the situation might turn out so bad, proud Prince Qoren will need the dragons’ help. The once unbowed man is being made to bow so low his forehead is touching the floor.
Prince Qoren raises a hand, quieting the hall.
“I am not asking for volunteers. I simply wished to gaze upon you myself, and decide who will marry Daemon Targaryen.”
Mumbles start again, some girls sounding disgruntled. Others preen and titter, trying to attract the Prince’s gaze. You keep your eyes firmly trained on the wall in front of you.
You would rather not marry this Daemon Targaryen. The politics in the other kingdoms are not your forte, but you have a vague notion of him being the brother to the current King. He must have a dragon, of course. And you think he is the one who has been in the conflict at the Stepstones, so he must be some sort of warrior.
No matter how much of a catch he might be, you wish to stay. If war is truly coming, you cannot bear to think of being separated from your family. Your mother will need you, when your father and brother are called away. And you don’t imagine yourself in a foreign land, waiting for news about them on your own.
Prince Qoren makes his way down the line of maidens. You barely spare him a glance, your mind thousands of miles away. But he pauses in front of you, looking at the shooting stars in your shoulders, the deep lavender of your dress.
“I hear Daemon Targaryen likes his women fair.” He comments. “And you are the fairest of us all.”
You swallow, throat suddenly dry. It takes all of your willpower not to fidget under his gaze. You give him an awkward smile.
Prince Qoren reaches to touch the brooch. His hands are elegant, fingers long and lean. He is about your mother’s age, and wears it just as well.
“Lady Dayne, is it?”
“Yes, my Prince.” You say, meeting his eyes. You may not be a classic dornish beauty, but you were still raised by the most charming woman in Lys. There are hardly any other women with manners as refined as yours, and you know all about the games men in power enjoy playing.
You cannot fawn over him. You cannot show him weakness. Because if you do, you will be common in his eyes, unespecial. It is not about beauty. It never is. That thought has given you great comfort during the years.
“How fitting. My dearest sword will be the one to defend her kingdom.”
Your hands begin to sweat. His choice is predictable. It is the same thing you had been thinking about your father and brother, House Dayne is the sword of Dorne. And swords, even more feminine ones, are only useful when war comes.
It doesn’t make it easier, that you should have expected it. It only makes your chest hurt. You do not dare look at your mother.
Instead, you drop into a curtsy and look at Qoren Martell as if he has made you the happiest woman in the world.
“I will be honored, my Prince.”
He smiles.
“Please, call me Qoren. We are to be family now.”
You look at your mother, insides turning to ice. You wonder how long until he takes you away from her.
In the end, it only takes a month. Qoren had been eager to depart and fix the realm’s issues. You now know plenty about the war in the Stepstones. Apparently, your future husband had secured the victory, giving the killing blow to the leader of the opposing army. But while won, the threat to your Kingdom remains. The Triarchy shall always reform, and not even the death of the Crabfeeder can stop them. Like one of those awful serpents from myth, you cut off its head and two more appear.
Pulling your support as the Triarchy was losing had been a bad move. They blamed Dorne for their defeat, and the Iron Throne thought the dornish were cowardly, only making their choice when it was clear who would lose. To avoid petty revenges and more bloodshed, Dorne needed new allies. And you needed them fast.
“We negotiated a new title for you.” Qoren tells you, as the carriage takes you from the docks and towards the Red Keep. “When you marry, you will become a Princess too, instead of remaining a Lady.”
“That sounds exciting.” You give him a bright smile. It's a very genuine one. Hearing yourself announced in such a manner would please you. “It will be strange, of course, changing it.”
“Nonsense.” Qoren laughs. “Only the best for my daughter.”
You falter, and decide to peer out of the window to hide your expression from him. You do not want him to think you are ungrateful.
The night is awfully cold, but you barely feel it. You are dressed in a purple velvet dress, still amazed by the material. You had never worn something so expensive, or made of such a warm fabric. It has the traditional dornish cut, with a plunging cleavage, but you find the added long sleeves fascinating.
The royal family had spared no expense in preparing your trousseau. As a daughter of House Martell, only the best would do. Obviously, all in their colors. This purple velvet gown was one of the few purple items you had been allowed to bring. It saddened you, having to forsake the color. You had always felt pretty in purple, since it matched your eyes.
You weren’t too sure how you felt about everything. Being sent to protect your kingdom and, by extension, your family from war was a great thing. But you were also being asked to leave your identity behind.
Never having left Dorne before, the journey had excited you, but also made you feel acutely lonely. And the thought of having to let behind your family, your colors, and even your name, only served to make you feel worse.
Your father would not be the one giving you away during your wedding, nor would your maiden cloak be the one of House Dayne. Instead, you would wear the sun and spear of House Martell.
But at this moment, as Qoren gets out of the carriage and extends you a hand, you are a Dayne. The purple dress acts a beacon, attracting the gaze of every servant in the vicinity. You stand tall, a star pendant hanging between your breasts.
You will enter decked on your colors. You will greet your future husband as you are, dressed in royal purple. Be a Dayne one last time, before war takes even that from you.
You breathe in and out, the polluted night sky so different from the beautiful stars in Dorne. This is it, you think, a chance to start over. To be whoever you wish to be. These people do not know what a dornishwoman should look like, or how she should behave. They do not know your hair is odd, and so are your eyes. They will only know what you want them to know.
“Go change, my sword. Your maids have selected a dress.” Qoren places his hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you towards the Red Keep. Your smile falls. For a second, you had thought you could attend the feast as you were, draped in your familiar purple and silver. “Make us all proud.”
You should have known better. But it is no matter now. A new life awaits you. Not even Qoren can sour your mood. You square your shoulders and smile.
So focused you are on your inner motivational speech, you do not notice the man watching you, his features covered by a black hood.
The day of your marriage, Daemon presents you with a beautiful pearl necklace. It is made of the purest pearls, with the biggest one you have ever seen right in the middle. It is bigger than the fingertip of your thumb, a perfect circle, roughly the size of a gold dragon.
“My cousin helped me commission this.” He says, during the wedding feast. He presents it to you in a small box, insides lined with velvet. As you reach for it, Daemon closes it, nearly catching your fingers with it. You laugh, startled. He grins at you. “Ah, I want to help you put it on.”
Your fingers fiddle with the simple silver chain you wear, star pendant hanging between your breasts. The hesitation must show on your face because Qoren, at your side, answers for you.
“She is honored, I am sure. Such a gorgeous jewel, to sit in the neck of the greatest beauty Dorne has to offer.”
You smile, trying not to let the sudden flare up of bad memories the words bring you. You remember a young girl, calling your hair ugly. Your grandmother’s face, sneering as you passed her in the hallways. Half-breed, she says, after having too much wine. Not quite right.
The subtle, more hidden, cruelties of girlhood that made your heart ache. When you did not make the list of the most beautiful girls some page was making. How much of a late bloomer you were, by dornish standards. How you had to wait so long for your first kiss, when it seemed like all the other girls were having them already.
Will this be all your life will ever be? Looking for the poison dripping from each word? Doubting every compliment?
You give Daemon what you hope is a seductive look, from beneath dark lashes. You are not good at seduction, having been an observer most of your life. But you are good at pretending.
It has worked, so far. Your arrival, on Qoren’s arm and with an honor guard fit for a Queen, had made people look at you differently. Men, specially, look at you as something exotic. They whisper about your Lyseni mother, and the tricks you must know how to perform. It fills you with dread because once again your looks set you apart, and you don’t quite feel like a person. You had hoped things would be different here.
And they are. Their attention is different, but it’s still wrong and you don’t quite believe them. They only want you because of the novelty, because of rumors about dornishwomen, about how your mother trapped your father. Not because you are beautiful or desirable. It’s sickening.
“Come, husband. Take my necklace off.” And Daemon obeys you, coming to stand behind you. Before he can begin to fumble with your hair, you reach for your hair on your own and lift it to expose your nape. You twist it into a pretend up do, holding it up with your hand.
The gesture is as languid as you can make it, highlighting the curve of your arm, and the elegance of your movements. The cold air hits your neck, making the hairs there stand up.
You both feel and hear Daemon’s sigh. He blows a soft puff of air against your hair, the noise very loud in the small table that seats only Qoren, Daemon, and you. The Queen has already retired, her sickly husband in tow. The Princess and her husband are dancing merrily between the tables.
When you had met Daemon, your first impression of him had been that he was very Valyrian looking and surprisingly whole for someone fresh out of war. And then, he had looked at Princess Rhaenyra and you had understood what Qoren meant when he said he liked his women fair.
Your stomach had turned, back then. Valyrian indeed. Rhaenyra was all milk white skin, light lashes and soft features. You couldn’t compete, you had thought. But then, you had noticed how his eyes followed little Laena Velaryon and you had known there was a chance for you to succeed too. It wasn’t skin color, but Valyrian heritage.
You have been trying to seduce him, with various degrees of success. The attention men pay you is helping you, and so are your purple eyes. You hope tonight goes well. You think you have just about enough Lyseni blood in you to keep him hooked.
His hands gently unclasp your pendant. He pockets it, you think. A memento or because he intends to give it back to you? You feel as his fingers whisper against your collarbones, and this time it’s you who sighs.
You are dramatic about it. Your lips part, as if about to be kissed. Your head tilts back.
“Beautiful.” Daemon whispers, in your ear. He kisses the shell of it.
“It is a gorgeous necklace.” You reply, feeling your face heating up. You feel drunk already, and you have not drank a single goblet of wine yet.
“No. You.” And the kiss against your ear becomes open-mouthed, his heavy breath filling your hearing. His hips brush against the backrest of the chair, searching for closeness. This is something that cannot be faked, you think. Not this kind of desire.
He wants you. He wants you, and you only wish to close your eyes and let him take you right here at this table. You are no blushing maiden, for sure, but you still are new to intimacy. Too many hang-ups about your body and not quite pleasing attempts have not contributed to building a vast knowledge of it. The fact that he wants you so badly makes you wild.
“I think that is my cue.” Qoren says, breaking you out of your stupor. He drains his cup, clearly in preparation for leaving. You had never felt such a connection with someone, not even in Dorne, where pleasure was loud and open. You press your hands to your face, ashamed of having forgotten he was there. Daemon simply chuckles.
“You don’t have…”
“Dearest sword.” He says, as he plants a kiss to your forehead. “You are as tempting as your husband is selfish. He doesn’t seem in the mood to share you.”
“I am not.” Daemon agrees, squeezing your shoulder. He exchanges a look with Qoren over your head. You can only see Qoren’s answering smirk.
“I think I should call for the mummers early.”
You and Daemon slip away as a company of puppet masters from Dorne make their grand entrance, throwing colorful powders in the air.
Later that night, as he sleeps in your shared rooms, you slip on a robe and stand in front of the mirror. Daemon has a massive one, right at the foot of the bed. Mirrors have always scared you, and sleeping so comfortably as he does with one reflecting him is unfathomable. You only intend to cover it.
Mirrors are supposed to be portals to other worlds, your mother used to say. The thought is stuck in your head, so you have grabbed a linen and are ready to place it over it when something catches your attention.
Your reflection. She is glowing, barefoot and in a simple robe, but still wearing the necklace your husband has given you. It should look gauche. It should look too much. But somehow, the necklace looks just right in your neck. You remember Daemon’s eyes, filled with desire when you had bared your neck to him. The sensual way he had touched you tonight, cradling you in his arms, rolling around in his bed. The necklace on the nightstand.
You look at the way the pearls light up your face. For the first time, you feel beautiful.
You make your first mistake a few days after.
It’s the first day of the week, and the Queen has asked you to have tea with her. You go, happily. After Qoren’s and the guards left, you began to feel lonely. There is not much to do here, either. Most of your usual entertainments are considered too sinful or crass. You can not even go for a walk around the city because they deem it too dangerous.
The meeting with the Queen is sour. She is trying, you can tell, but you still hear the disdain in her voice when she talks about your customs, or your people. She eyes the necklace you wear with distaste.
You get the feeling she buys the tales about you. That you are some dornish beauty, exotic and trained in the arts of seducing men. She comments on your mother, on her luck for marrying up, and you have to remember yourself to bite your tongue.
From what Daemon tells you, she is very lucky herself. Going from Lady to Queen is almost as impressive as going from merchant’s daughter to Lady, and you know which one of them did not need to spread her legs for it, and it’s not her. Not if you judge by her plain face.
You look at her, scandalized and pious as she is, ranting about acceptance of bastards of all things, and you surprise yourself at your own cruelty. You should not have thought that. But you are just so angry…
You take a deep breath and look away, trying to calm down. It is then you notice. In the door of the solar, standing to attention, is a man who looks like you.
He has inky dark hair, and olive skin. His eyes are dark, and he has a light stubble, probably because when you have hair as dark as he does, it is difficult to hide body hair. He wears armor and a white cloak. Kingsguard, you think. Why hasn’t anyone told you there was someone else from Dorne here, too? How could you not know?
Queen Alicent follows your eyes, suddenly noticing you are not paying attention. Your eyes are glued to the knight. She frowns in disapproval.
“That’s Ser Criston Cole. My sworn shield.” She stresses the word my. You grab your teacup and take a sip, to hide your smile. Is the pious Queen in love with her knight? “And a member of the Kingsguard.”
She is reminding you of his vow of celibacy. You almost laugh. If she wasn’t so repressed, she would realize she is the one who wants to jump his bones. The only interest you have in him is the fact that he might become a friend.
“Do your guards always stand inside your rooms?” You ask her, doing your best to sound puzzled. “The King’s guards stand outside his, and so does the sworn shield of the Princess.”
“…” Queen Alicent blushes, and averts her gaze. There are no further invitations to have tea with her.
You spend a lot of time staring at Ser Criston. He never returns your gaze. You seek him at mealtimes, you greet him in the corridors, but he always manages to evade you before you can properly start a conversation.
Daemon notices. He always does. He is finely attuned to you, his perfect wife. His prize after the war, his star. A study in contradictions, brazen and bold one moment, shy the next. He seems to like you even more for it. What he doesn’t seem to like is your sudden fixation on Criston Cole.
“You should stay away from him, star.” Daemon whispers, when he catches you staring at him once more. His voice sounds irritated. Accusing. As if you have done something wrong. It makes you bristle immediately.
“I am doing nothing wrong.”
“No one said you are. But Cole is….” Daemon shakes his head. “It is unwise. That’s all I mean to say.”
“What is unwise?” You scowl. You are glad that the table is long enough that no one else overhears you. Knowing Daemon, things are about to get nasty. He will throw in so many insults, Ser Criston would beat him into a pulp if he heard. No matter how competent your husband is, you still worry. “Trying to talk to him?”
“He is a cunt.” He says, cutting your meat for you as if you were a child. From your place in the dais, you seek him once more. Ser Criston is standing on the entrance of the hall, watching carefully as his Queen dines with the King and the two of you.
As if sensing your gaze, he looks towards you. Then, he quickly averts his eyes.
“I merely wish to speak with him.” You say. “He is like me. Dornish.”
“Ser Crispin will only disappoint you. Both in personality and in prowess.” Daemon warns. He pushes his goblet closer to you. “Here, try this. Arbor gold. How does it compare to the swill you like to drink?”
You take a sip of his goblet. You scrunch up your nose, The wine is cloyingly sweet, lacking the strong notes Dornish Reds always have.
“Ugh.” Your lips pucker up in disgust. Daemon laughs, and steals a kiss from you, licking into your mouth for good measure. But before you can begin to properly enjoy it, Queen Alicent coughs. You push Daemon away, even though you are doing nothing scandalous. “You taste like it too.”
“And you taste of that swill you dornish call wine. Yet, I am not complaining.” He takes a sip of his goblet.
“Are you jealous of him?” You ask, suddenly. You have heard about the rivalry between the two of them. Everyone knew of how Cole had obtained his position. He had been a simple knight, until Daemon had lost to him during a tourney. The act had caught Princess Rhaenyra’s attention, and secured him a white cloak. “Ser Criston?”
The thought of Daemon thinking you want to invite Cole to your bed is enough to amuse you. While in Dorne, paramours are more common than here, you are finding monogamy pleasant. You had never been much for sex without love, after all. Only one taste had been enough to satiate your curiosity.
“You shouldn’t toy with fire.” He growls, perhaps confusing your amusement with a deliberate attempt to tease him. It only makes your smile widen.
“Did you know…?” You begin, with an airy tone. Daemon sets down his cutlery. He turns to look at you, licking his lips. “My ancestor, Ser Joffrey Dayne, crossed paths with Queen Visenya. She burned Starfall, after he attacked Oldtown.”
“House Targaryen has always defended the Highcunts, it seems.” Daemon’s brows furrow together. It is no surprise he knows about it. One of the things that have bonded the two of you together is the fact that both of you are obsessed with family history. What he doesn’t know is why you are referencing it now.
You smile. One of your hands goes to toy with the necklace he has given you and that has become your constant accessory, bringing attention to your neck. It is a deliberate move. You intend to be ravished tonight
“I do not fear fire. We Daynes got Dawn from the heart of a falling star. “
Daemon kisses your temple.
“Oh? And I cannot wait to see you burn.” And he is pulling you to your feet, and you are slipping outside with a hurried curtsy.
Despite Daemon’s warnings, you still decide to approach Criston Cole. It takes you almost a week to build up the courage to do it, and another more to mention it to Daemon.
You do not want him to feel blindsided, so you include him in your planning. It is only when he shows up at the Sept that you realize Daemon intends to go with you.
Even the Septon pauses when he sees the two of you enter the Sept. Considering the court thinks you a temptress, and him a rogue, you are not surprised.
You are not particularly pious. While you had been educated on the Faith of the Seven, Dorne practiced a much diluted version. You had not attended a service in quite some time, but you try to focus on it to keep your nervousness at bay.
The plan is to intercept Ser Criston when the service ends. Daemon is under strict instruction to remain sitting, as to not unnerve the other man. But of course, things do not go according to plan.
As soon as the Septon gives his last blessing, you sprung up and step closer to the knight.
“Ser Criston, a word?” You ask him, your voice soft and nonthreatening. It is not as if you want to impose your presence on him, but you are unsure of why he flees rooms when he sees you. Perhaps he is shy, or perhaps you have offended him, but you will never know if he doesn’t speak to you.
“Do not talk to me!” He snarls, getting up from the bench. You try to reach for his arm, but Cole is quicker than you, grabbing your wrist tightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Daemon getting up from the bench where he was waiting for you.
“Ser… I only wished you to invite you to have tea with me.”
“I will not get into your bed, Lady Targaryen.” The man snarls at you. “Perhaps it is allowed in Dorne, but I assure you, here we do things differently than your people. Propositioning a man is…”
“I am not propositioning you!” You say, hotly. The words he is spewing at you leave you bewildered. You have never heard another dornishman speak so. “What do you even mean by that? Your people! You are dornish too.”
“I am not.” But before he can give you an explanation, Daemon is stepping in, and unsheathing his sword. He places his body between Ser Criston and you.
“I would suggest you unhand my wife.” His voice is cold. “Or you will lose the hand.”
“And you! You support her… Her… She should be sent back to Dorne, but she doesn’t even belong there, does she?” And Ser Criston stomps off, clearly unwilling to engage Daemon in what would probably end up as a fight to death.
Daemon looks willing to go after him, but you make a pitiful noise that is a cross between a sob and a whine. The rejection hurt more than usual, having grown unused to cruelness during your stay on King’s Landing. And the remark about you not belonging in Dorne?
It stung. You had not heard that insult in ages. It made you think of the serving girl, and your grandmother muttering you had bad hair, of your odd little features and strange coloring. Not quite Andal, not quite Rhoynar, not quite Lyseni.
Ser Criston looked like you. Of everyone, you would have expected him to understand. To see you.
You had only wanted a reminder of home. Careful with what you wish for, indeed. Your eyes feel suspiciously wet.
“Oh, that cunt. I’ll cut off his dick and feed him to Caraxes…” Daemon mutters, a thunderous look in his purple eyes. He then presses his forehead to yours, giving you an impish grin. “Not that it would be much food, would it? Like a worm, I bet.”
It makes you laugh, despite yourself.
“There you are.” Daemon smiles, brushing your tears away. “Come. I need you to see something.”
He takes your hand and leads you towards your shared rooms. You frown, slightly. Does he have some sort of present to give you? It’s unusual to be going there so early in the morning.
When Daemon opens the door, a maid is still sweeping the room. He barely spares her a glance, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. The girl looks disgruntled. You offer her a silver dragon for her troubles as she leaves, noticeably cheering her up.
The bed is freshly made, and the room smells of lavender. Outside the windows, the birds chirp. You see nothing unusual.
“What was I supposed to see? You interrupting the maid? Poor girl.” You mutter, kicking off your shoes. “Do try to make her life easier.”
But he doesn’t answer, choosing instead to pull out the chair in your vanity. It is a rarity, the whole set a gift from Qoren to furnish your new rooms. It has a beautiful mirror attached that reflects you from the waist up when you sit in front of it.
“Come.” Daemon says, simply. So you do. You know better by now than to disagree with him when he is in one of his moods.
You sit in the chair, dutifully. Your reflection looks a fright, so you try to avoid looking at yourself too much. He stands behind you, hands caressing your shoulders lighty, prompting you to look up.
“I have noticed.” Daemon starts, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “That you are always self-conscious when I look at you for too long. Or when I take your clothes off.”
You avert your eyes. It is true. You feel strange when Daemon looks at your body. The awe he holds in his gaze is both exciting and humbling. You never feel worthy of such worship.
“I would say we are past the maiden’s modesty.” He chuckles. “We made sure of that, didn’t we?”
“I…”
Daemon begins to unlace your gown. The presence of the mirror is making you self-conscious, so you reach for your bodice, and hold it up with one hand.
He pauses. He studies your expression, before dropping a kiss to your curls.
“Don’t cover yourself, wife. I love looking at you.”
You take a deep breath. You want to tell him the truth, for once. Daemon has started to suspect that despite how much you enjoy intercourse with him, something is wrong with your self-esteem. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have staged this intervention.
“I just don’t like how I look much.” You keep your voice low. Shame begins to freeze you up, making you tense and unable to speak. Your heart beats loudly in your ears.
“Madness.” Daemon laughs. He kisses you, slow and sweet. His lips move tenderly against yours, coaxing you out of your shell. You wonder how such an impatient man can have such infinite patience when it comes to you.
The thought makes you melt. Daemon smiles against your mouth and pulls back. He comes back to standing behind you.
“Look.” He orders. And you, helpless under his spell, cannot disobey.
You look at your reflection. Your hair is in even more disarray than before. Your lips are red and kiss swollen. And your eyes… You look dazed.
“We are just getting started.” Daemon promises, his hand coming to caress your collarbones. This time, when he pulls down the bodice, you do not fight it.
He kisses your head.
“You asked me once, if I was jealous.” You turn towards him, confused at the sudden change of topic. Daemon shushes you, squeezing the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving pup. You look at yourself again, knowing there is no point in disobeying. Daemon always gets his way.
“I am jealous.” His voice is firm. He leans in, and kisses the top of your hair. His talented, skilled hands, take the pins off from it, so it frames your face once more. You fight the urge to fix it, to give more volume to your roots. You don’t like how limp it falls sometimes. Daemon presses a kiss to your earlobe, and whispers. “Of the very breeze against your hair.
Your eyes widen. You do not dare take them away from the mirror. On it, you watch as he presses a kiss behind your ear, as he mouths at your neck, just barely reaching the necklace that sits there.
“Of the pearls you wear, for holding on to your neck. “ You feel his words against your skin, making you shiver. He wraps it around one of his fingers, the pearls tensing just so to feel more restrictive against your neck.
Your lips part in a sigh. The tension of the pearls makes you think of a collar, and his deft handling of them a leash. Ownership.
“Sometimes, when I see you around court, I imagine this.” He tugs the pearls upwards, placing them between your lips. You watch, in a daze, as your reflection parts her lips more, welcoming him in.
He places the biggest pearl between your teeth. You find yourself mesmerized by this stranger you are watching, being turned into an artwork in front of your very eyes.
“You are exquisite.” Daemon gives the pearls a tug, pulling them slightly up. They catch on your hair, contrasting beautifully with the dark curls. There is something haunting about the image, something that tugs at you and makes you see yourself from his eyes.
Like this, with him calling you exquisite, pearls adorning your face and hair, you can almost believe it.
“Do you know what I think of more, when I see these pearls?” Daemon chuckles. It’s a dark, masculine sound. You are unable to form a word. “Hm. Perhaps I should show you.”
He finishes pulling the necklace from you. Over your head and out they go. Suddenly able to speak, you find yourself at a loss for words.
Daemon kneels behind you. He meets your eyes in the mirror, again.
“I am jealous of the moon, and the sky, and this damn mirror even.” It sounds like nonsense. It should sound like nonsense, but somehow, it is disarming, this newfound honesty of his. The one where he stumbles over words in his eagerness, in his need to call you beautiful, to call you his. “Because you want to gaze at them. Your eyes should be only for me.”
He cradles your face in his palm, forcing you to keep eye contact with your reflection. His thumb brushes over your lips. You just stare.
“And even of the wine you drink, when you wet your lips.”
You kiss his thumb. Your eyes sting. This is quickly turning unbearable.
“Daemon… Please…”
“Oh, but your eyes.” He praises, sounding almost drunk. He begins to kiss a path down your collarbones and towards your breasts. “I love your eyes. They are maddening to me.”
He continues to kiss your skin, inhaling deeply. The closer he gets to your breasts, the hungrier he becomes. Daemon is gorging himself on you, biting and nipping at your bosom, sucking at your nipples until you cannot help the moans coming out from your mouth.
Liquid, molten pleasure, begins accumulating at the base of your spine. Warming up your body, making you sweat with the exertion of keeping still.
“You are so beautiful, I fear anyone will want to steal you away.” Daemon whispers, grabbing your hips in an almost bruising grip. “And I fear if I don’t hold tight, it will be my fault.”
You look at yourself. At the half lidded eyes, the softness of your chest. At the attitude of surrender, as your thighs part, and you feel him bury his nose on the roses of your mound. As he inhales, trying to memorize your touch, your smell, your sounds. As he decides to drink from you, making your face go slack, brows pinched together, eyes glassy and absent.
Beautiful, you think, as you reach your peak with a scream so loud you fear the rest of the Red Keep might have heard.
Daemon laughs, doing his best attempt to suck a bruise on your thigh.
“And you haven’t even seen what I plan on doing with the pearls.”
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The Horror and The Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader] Medieval Fantasy AU
You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one. CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2| you're here! Word count: 5317 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig This fic on AO3
— You’re really quiet, little princess.
König isn’t ashamed of staring at you the whole horse ride. He isn’t ashamed of touching you, his precious treasure – cupping your breasts through that pathetic excuse of a corset, trying to feel of your legs through the billions of skirts, his touches sprawling across your skin like bruises. He is a soldier in all regards – his touches are far from gentle, far from how he should behave with his bride. You feel like a piece of meat being presented for him to devour. Like an unwilling sacrifice for a benevolent god.
— Should I scream then?
Snarkiness isn't something that the princess should have – but it's the only weapon you have, although you are not sure if you can even use it. Emperor is laughing, and it is supposed to be a good thing – you were trained to receive such reactions, like a little dog standing and doing tricks on command; you were taught to strive for smiles on the faces of others. But König doesn’t allow you to see his smile, but König laughs all the time while describing to his soldiers the things he wants to do to you. It is almost surely, that he doesn’t think you know his language – you wish you didn’t know.
— I can give you a reason to scream. — You shall not threaten a… — I’m not threatening you, kleine Katzen. With a good time, maybe. — What are you referring to? — That I would love nothing more but to rip your skirt off and show your cunt a royal treatment, princess.
Emperor has a foul mouth, wandering eyes, and grabby hands – he behaves like a drunk man in a tavern, even though you have never once been in a tavern, and the only drunk men you barely saw were the castle guards on various celebrations. He doesn’t act like a glorious king from the romance novels – and you don’t think that you ever read a novel about a king or an emperor, not about princes and glorious knights. People with this much power don’t deserve love, they already have everything they have – so why would he kidnap you?
You turn away from him, the obscenity of his mouth makes your whole face burn. You are trying to hide yourself in your hands, you want to grasp something like a little fan or a handkerchief – everything to sustain your dignity. You are wearing the princess’s name and you have to behave like her – even if you don’t think that she would care about how you are behaving yourself. The dread of being exposed lingers in your chest, the only thing that doesn’t allow you to scream and launch on him like a wild cat. Rules and modesty tie you down stronger than any corset could.
Like a rabbit caught in the hunter’s trap – you steal looks at the nature around you, excited and terrified to see it for the first time – not the perfect greenery of the castle garden, but an untamed nature. You saw the city for the first time – your capital, not burned and agonized under the empire’s boot, but eerie quiet. The city doesn’t know your face, the princess was hidden, kept in the tower as a means to escape the burden of marriage proposals and possible wars for the sake of securing her beauty. Nobody here knows you for your face, and for them, it’s just the empire’s knights, a power from a country too foreign to be worried about, and a random kidnapped girl in a dissarranged dress and tears streaming down her face.
A hand on your waist secured you in place. No matter how much you squirm and cry, try to forget all the filthy nonsense he is whispering in your ear, you are forced to listen – and you want to cry every time his face hovers over yours. His hands are touching you, too much for comfort, your are still wrapped in his cape, but it’s a very small mercy for your torn dress and fragile body.
The road is long and short at the same time. Your kingdom was bordering one of Northern Empire territories, but it’s days away – you never once thought that having the Empire right on your border would be such a nuisance, that it would allow them to simply take whatever they want from your tiny country – the rules of politics are never applying to those in power and, unfortunately, you found out the worst way possible. The road is treacherous, with people surrounding you, with soldiers going through the beheaded country like it’s nothing. You were biting your lips the entire first day of the ride, trying not to cry – you do not want to give him the pleasure of seeing your distress, but you can’t help but sob every time he exits the cabin to yell at his soldiers or laugh at something.
You are not tied up, they trust you too much – they all know you would not be able to run, seeing just a helpless princess, a little war trophy of their emperor. The war trophy without the war, just a doll for him to enjoy. You steal a few glances at him – his spread legs that make you wonder how the poor horse even can handle him riding it, his mighty body, and his muscular arms. He could wrestle a dragon, you think – he could lift up the whole carriage and bring you back to the capital like this. He is a cocky bastard, not even having his sword in his hand whenever you move too much – too confident that this weak princess would not be able to resist him. You don’t want to fall from the horse and so you freeze in your tracks, even when they hit a small pause on the journey.
You can’t, of course – your hands are trained to hold clothes, to braid hair and, sometimes, fetch the water buckets – but you are mostly proficient in holding books, turning pages and embroidering. You can make tea, you can support the conversation, you can faint dramatically whenever the right opportunity occurs, but the ride has been happening for a few hours already, and you fainted three times – for specific reasons, of course, but fainting now would surely be a bit too much.
— Is little princess too tired to hold herself straight?
König chuckles in your ear, hands pushing you against his body. You don’t want to say anything, you’d rather continue your ride until you’re completely exhausted – books were never talking about how hard it is to ride a horse, that your rear would feel numb after the first hour, and your head would be bouncing on every little bump on the road. You never thought that the roads of your kingdom were so terribly maintained – and never thought it would be such a problem.
You grit your teeth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of confirming just how weak you are – but he stops his horse once you are not responding, a hand slides under your hips to help you get out from the damned animal. You swear to god that you will never ride this foul creature again – but the god, as always, stays silent.
— What is it?
— Princess isn’t used to long detours. We’d have to stop before dawn if we want to keep this a secret for now. — Could travel for a few more hours before it’s too bright.
His second-in-command is a weird man, no doubt. Tall, broad, wearing armor with tiger prints all over the metal – although you never saw a tiger in real life, only on various illustrations of the books you were reading for the Princess. He is painfully informal in a way that makes you wonder how he can keep his head on his shoulders – surely, if he’d talk this way to a king, he wouldn’t be such a profound member of the army. König only shakes his head, pointing at you as the reason to stop – as you begged him to get off this bloody thing. — I need my princess with all innards intact. Especially the soft ones.
Emperor laughs, cupping your ass through the skirts. He somehow managed to grope your softness without breaking the corsage, and you’d feel thankful for him, but the dress was ruined anyway – all the hard work of redoing it over and over, every time you had to manage to squish the princess inside of the harsh corset and billion skirts, every little detail you were thinking through together…it feels somehow suitable, to wear a destroyed dress. Fake princess deserves fake luxury, but even the modesty he allows you to have with his coat wrapped around you feels forced.
Stopping right now, when you feel numb and your legs are getting weak and squishy like that weird transparent foreign delicacy, is very considerate of him. So much so you don’t even want to acknowledge it, hoping he’d just continue to go forward until all the traces of your past are gone. You’re too tired to consider anything from escaping to even opening your eyes. Suddenly, being on a horse of this size doesn't sound like something out of a fairytale. Suddenly, you realize that the horses are tall.
— What’s wrong, princess?
— I’m not going down.
You are sitting, frozen on top of his horse. One of your hands is keeping his coat wrapped securely around your body while the other squeezes the reins, hoping not to fall miserably to the ground. You hear soldiers laugh – the embarrassment spreads around your cheeks when you understand that a true princess would have horse riding lessons. You two never did – it would give you too much freedom, and your castle would never accommodate to large grounds of free roaming to keep a princess and her loyal maiden entertained. You can only hope they won’t think that the absence of your riding lessons would be too suspicious – and you also hope that he would just allow you to never jump down to the ground that feels horrifyingly far from you.
— Do you wish to run with my horse?
— Yes, your Highness. — Run, then. I’ll be waiting, little princess.
There is a laugh in his voice – you squeeze the reins and try to holster them, maybe kick the foul creature to the side so it would take the hint and start running in the direction of the nearest forest. Maybe you would get lucky, and the horse would drop you in front of the house of a kind forest witch that would take you as her student – you can cook, and you can read, so, naturally, any witch would be happy to have you as a disciple. Maybe you will get even more lucky, and the horse will kick you in the head after dropping you, finishing your misery in a tragic road accident. Not a honorable death, but a quick and interesting one. The horse remains frozen in place – just like you. König gently caresses its face, giving it something to eat – an apple, perhaps, a nice and tasty fruit, or sugar cubes, the delicacy that the princess would often indulge in but never gave you, or something of a…ah, this is it – you are starting to get jealous of his horse. Mayhaps, death is the only choice for you now.
— I will run.
— Of course you will.
— Sir, should we prepare the archers?
— Don’t know it yet. Maybe the princess escape would be too swift for them.
You feel your whole face burn – they laugh, they all laugh, looking at you like a piece of meat, a funny joke between them. You don’t want to fall from the horse, and you don’t want to stand here either – but every time you look down at the ground that is so, so far away, you can only shake in your seat. You feel like crying once again – and this is what brings you to the edge. With a deep sigh and shaking hands, you jump down swiftly, your eyes closed and your legs getting tangled in the various skirts, dragging you down. ***
The emperor had an understanding of what he was getting into when he kidnapped a princess. Princesses, pretty and young ones especially, are mysterious creatures that should be carefully studied by the imperial scientist in order to determine how in hell they can even exist without killing themselves on something stupid three times per day. This one, however, was a crowned ruler of weird girls – sometimes throughout the journey, he was thinking about returning her to the king and choosing another one. Then he remembered that he beheaded the king – and so, the bloody dot was sealed in the history of relationships between Northern Empire and this tiny shithole in the middle of nowhere.
Besides, the princess was too adorable to really throw her out. She is smart – for someone like her, anyway; her snarkiness combined with the primal fear of him and his men made him feel strong, more significant than before. It’s funny, in a way – König had defeated countless great warriors and spent his life turning the tiny Empire into the most powerful nation on the blonde, and yet, he never once felt this achieved as when he held the princess in his arms. The emperor never thought of marriage as a necessity, his whole magic endeavors securing that he would never have to worry about leaving an heir or having someone else to rule – but the loneliness can hit you like a royal stallion bred for the purpose of battery ramming into castle doors, and you can find yourself yearning for something that you never thought you’d want. Speaking of royal horses…
The princess is cute, the princess is dumb, and the princess is the most weird and perfect creature in the whole wide world. Makes him wonder just what was you doing in your little castle with your little servants, running around like ants under your dainty heel. You are snarky to him when you know that he is too busy to strike you and too tired to care about his opinion – he likes that about you, little yawns and feeble attempts to appear strong in front of him. He doesn’t, however, like the way you are frozen on top of his horse. He needs his wife helpless, yes, dependant on him in everything – and he also needs her to ask for help when needed, not…well, not jumping from the height of a royal horse in that stupid dress of yours.
God, hive him strength.
König, the ruler of the Northern Empire, biggest royal regime on the globe, thought that he overcame his anxiety when he was young, so long ago, he forgot how fast his heart can beat when the situation is going out of his control. He remembers this dreadful feeling now when that stupid brain of yours has decided that jumping from a horse is a good idea. He is fast, swift enough to catch you before you fall to the ground, and he squeezes your hips enough to hear the crack of that stupid dress construction.
He has to stop himself from yelling. From putting you in your place and slapping you across that perfect face of yours – never the one to beat women, König feels like spanking the shit out of you now. His eyes are flashing with anxiety, and he grabs your shoulders, putting you in front of him – you can’t see his face, covered by his mask, and it’s a small grace for someone like you. He is scary when angry, nostrils flashing with rage when he thinks that you’d rather break your neck than ask him for help.
— Made others set the camp for tonight.
Horangi is as perfect as a knight can be – his friend, his partner in crime, one of the only ones who still can survive his temper and not be intimidated by it. He can see the worry in his eyes when König is pushing the little princess down to his hold, draping the various skirts across his hands to rip them away – and he quickly yells at the other soldiers who produced the operation, making them run in various directions to collect wood, stones and set up the tents for tonight. They have to move away from the popular roads, even though nobody in this kingdom would be strong enough to hurt them anyways – but this operation should be a secret, at least relatively, until the princess is secured as his empress, and her body is sprawled across his sheets, withering from pleasure and…
Ah, Scheisse. König cannot stay mad at her when the mere thought of her smile makes his dick twitch in his pants. He survived through horribly throbbing erection against the metal plates of his armor for the whole ride, the small mercy of not having her soft body press against him directly. It didn’t stop him from wanting more, from whispering filthy things, completely undeserving of your virtue. You are bringing him down to his knees – even an emperor is just a man when a pretty girl looks at him, and even at is age, he could feel like a young lover searching for his bride’s hand.
Oh, but König would love something more than just your hand.
He should be thankful to his knights for how quickly they made a tent for him to secure the dignity of the first moment between a man and his sweetheart. He usually does everything himself, not wanting to make a lady in waiting out of his knights, but he enjoys their help now – he surely won’t be able to prepare for sleep with his wild cat of a bride in his hands. You are unusually active for a princess, trying to get out of his hands, kicking him with your adorable legs, still wrapped in a ruined skirt. Perhaps you were so mad at him for destroying your dress – he gets it, knowing how sensitive ladies are about this. He’d buy you a new one right away, but, for your stupidity, you deserve to wear only his coat until they are inside the borders of the Empire.
— Did you hit your head before I got you, princess? What were you thinking? — You told me to run. I did, Your Royal Highness.
He pinches his nose through the mask, not believing just how arrogant you sound – he wants to push you down, to open that dumb skirt of yours and give your precious ass a few spanks before setting you down, making you sit on the ruined muscle until you’d learn your lesson. The king was definitely not punishing you enough if you still think that you can talk to your betters (and elders) like this.
— I dared you to run. Thinking you’d accept the consequences with the dignity of a royal lady.
— Why don’t you kill me then? For belittling your dignity.
You look too snarky for his liking – he can see how terrified you are, little shakes of your hands and tears in your eyes. You are provoking him, picking the dragon with a stick so he’d burn you to a crisp. König knows that the customs of your kingdom value a good death over everything and just how much you’d love to fall into the grasp of a common tragedy. He also knows that he will not bury his bride before they are even married.
It’s only natural that the emperor grasps the front of your dress, the edges of the corset you tried to tie down to save some of your dignity. The fabric rips with ridiculous ease, all the gold spent on making it runs with the speed of a thread being torn. Suddenly, your front is exposed, even the underwear is not enough to conceal your privacy. König indulges in the view of your open skin, glossy from sweat and so, so delicious in dim magical light erupting from an artificial candle. He knows that he is playing a dangerous game, that not touching you now would be his greatest accomplishment and greatest torture at the same time – your body meant to be touched, you look like a doll and like a statue, like the greatest treasure and the most desirable slut he ever laid his eyes on.
The emperor is a man in the end – a war dog, closer to death than to the start of his life, a perfect incarnation of a horrible match to a young princess like you. Too wrathful, too arrogant, with more chips on his shoulders than the hair on your head, and yet, he holds you closely, putting you out of the torture device you are calling a dress.
You breathe for the first time in forever, and your mouth is shaking from unspoken tears and spoken pleas. He holds himself back from cupping your face in his hands and crushing your lips in a kiss, not because he doesn’t think he deserves it, but because you deserve better than to be fucked on the ground of his tent without proper preparation and some relaxing oils for your body. One kiss would never be enough for him, and he hadn’t touched a woman in far too long to handle himself properly now.
You look like you need to be ravaged – the greatest temptation König ever experienced.
— I can do so much to you, little princess. More than you could ever imagine.
— i’m not…n…not little. Your Highness.
— You are, compared to me. Should be scared, not snarky.
— I’m not snarky.
Just for this, he loses control – your voice, shaking with tears but never losing that arrogant edge, that delicious drawl that cannot be described as something that belongs to a princess, makes him lose all of the composure he had. König had prepared himself for a lady who would fall in his arms and cry the whole night long, he prepared himself for a fierce fighter that would try to kill him immediately – but you are soft and vengeful at the same time, too weak to resist him, but not too helpless to not run his mouth. You speak before you think, and it’s an adorable quality for a princess and horrible – for an empress. good thing you would be his regent, a pretty thing like you should never be annoyed with politics and mingling. König pushes you across his lap, his free hand is tearing through various skirts, and what is left from that awful strick construction you tried to pass as a skirt support. He never understood why anyone would live through this torture – you’d look way nicer in his shirt and nothing more. Or, even better, nothing at all, chained to a bed in his bedroom until he’d think that you are tamed enough to be shown in public.
You yelp in surprise, precious dumb thing. Just like a princess, you are not accustomed to the consequences of your own actions – you think that you can just run your mouth or do dumb things without his wrath falling upon you…and, little princess, you’re in for quite a shock. Your emperor doesn’t have enough patience for this, even though he did want you as his wife and knew what chaos it could bring. He just never thought that he’d have so much pleasure in looking at your adorable bottoms, all modest and long. Your underpants are adorably white, not stained from multiple washings, crisp and new – he feels the fabric with his fingers and almost thinks to not rip them away, just to appreciate the fine silks that went into constructing it.
His mercy is cut short by that sweet whimper of yours. You plead with him not to touch you – like you have a saying on this. König defiled the death itself, so why would he even consider such silly things as chastity before marriage? He certainly had enough women in his bed to forbid him from ever going to heaven, and robbing you of your innocence would be a small crime against all the countless sins he already committed.
But, he doesn’t want you to hate him – and you would, certainly, not in the fiery and passionate way he might enjoy, but a quiet, broken anger. He doesn’t want to turn this fragile thing into the broken shell of the betrothed princess, even if you need to be taught a harsh lesson – and you deserve much better than having your cunt destroyed on the harsh floor of his tent.
— You’re lucky, little princess.
He laughs, taking down your underpants – a harsh hand on your bottom, rough fingers that almost burn you without a glove to conceal his touches. You whimper when he lashes on the sensitive skin, stroking sensitive skin. If you knew how hard you make him, you’d run away with his horse already.
— How am I lucky? You…you killed the king, you destroyed my country, you…
— I killed your father, yes, but I left you alive.
— To make a show for your soldiers, I assume..
— If I wanted to leave you to waste, I would allow them to bounce you on their dicks a while ago.
— How d…
— You’re lucky because you’re mine, little princess. Not going to share you with anyone. But…
— But?
Your voice has finally gone down. he can almost taste the dread in your tone. König was burning down villages, destroyed his enemies with nothing more but a rusty sword and hatred in his heart – but he truly feels like a monster when he slaps your ass for the first time and sees your tear-filled eyes staring at him. God, he never was faithful, but hurting you feels like defiling an angel.
And he loves every second of it.
— You need to learn a lesson of respect, little princess.
It’s a small grace that he doesn’t make you count his slaps – he simply pushes you down, makes sure that your face is lying on his cloak, just for something soft to rely on, and gives you enough slapping to make the rest of horseriding as painful as possible. Maybe, it would teach you a lesson that if you need help, you’d have to ask him, to beg him for this – and not try to hurt yourself by doing it on your own. You’re awfully independent and resilient for the princess.
It took him at least five strong, harsh lashes of his hand on your rear to make you cry as loud as he wanted you to. He cups your face in his palm, forcing you up his lap – and smothered your lips with a kiss. König knows he is overstepping; he wouldn’t be able to let go of you after devouring your lips like that, but he doesn’t care, at least for now. He wants to be your everything, to push every thought out of your head and fill it with himself.
He adores the thought of being your first kiss, your first everything – you’re so inexperienced, so fragile in his hold. Never once thinking of himself as an appreciator of all the thighs dainty and artsy, he wants to worship that pout, your closed eyes, and little prayers of mercy you whisper between each kiss. Your body feels too enticing in his hands, a treasure he needs to keep all to himself. It’s a miracle he didn’t push your underwear down and took you all the way – as much as he wanted to touch you.
König smiled when you cried into the kiss, trembling in his hold like a caged animal. Never once he thought he’d have this much fun without taking some plumpy woman on his dick, but you are full of surprises. Another five smacks on your ass left you with a bruised bottom and tear-strained, wet face. The look of misery in your eyes made him cackle – god, you were adorable. Continue like this, and he’d spend the rest of his life with you on his lap.
— We will sleep now. The Empire borders are still days away, and you don’t look like you could handle the road right now.
You pout, pushing yourself off his lap. Even the hard floor of the tent was better, the cold fabric made your butt sting a bit less. You still couldn’t sit straight, still miserable, with a burning feeling in the depths of your tummy – hate, perhaps, that made your hands shake and your thighs feel a bit too wet and warm for your liking. There is a knot in your lower stomach that makes you feel weird, anxious, that makes you squeeze your legs shut as you push through the pain and get your underpants on again. The soft silks of the princess’s undergarments made you feel a bit better.
— I’d love nothing more but to run away while we’re still at my home, Butcher.
He smiles under his hood, pushing his hand on your backside. You freeze as he rolls you over, making you fit perfectly against his broad chest. He is a horrible, disgusting human being, clingy and warm around you – his bear-like hold is too strong on your limbs, making you freeze completely.
— I’m sure you are, Liebling. And I would love to catch you and spank your rear again.
— I will…you won’t catch me.
— Someone will. I’ll pay handsomely to any knight or wandering hunter to bring my wife back to me.
— I’m not y…your wife.
— Yet.
You turn away from him – try to, at least. He squeezes you against his chest makes you calm down in his hold like a wild cat he picked up on the side of the road. You don’t want to admit it, but he is warm, cozy, and even the harsh fabric he threw on the ground to make you a bed feels nice compared to the castle floors where you spend so much time. You still squirm, trying to find a good position to lay next to him without feeling like a toy in the hands of a grabby kid. König feels your wounded, perfect ass grinding against him – out of most of his armor, he can’t contain his erection now. Oh, how the strong emperor wished he’d have
— Stop moving, princess. Unless you want to consummate our marriage early.
— I’m not…I’m not moving.
— You are squirming. Is the ground not to your liking?
— I must prefer sleeping in a grave with my papa. — Can’t promise you this…but isn’t sleeping with the Death himself would be enough? — You’re not death, your highness. A blight, maybe. Or a plague. — You’re making me blush, little princess. There is a smile in his voice. You feel your cheeks heat up again, but you can’t say anything. Too many nights sleeping by the princess’s bedspot, always being the first one to greet her at sunrise and the last one to tell her stories before going to sleep. Like a loyal dog on the wooden floor, with a pillow under your cheek for comfort – all of her other handmaidens, precious ladies from good families, had their own quarters and rooms.
You had a cot by her bed and her endless affection.
Compared to this, sleeping on the floor of a rich tent with an emperor by your side isn’t as bad. You have to remind yourself that you are sleeping with a murdered, pillager, kidnapper and colonialist – you shouldn’t feel warm by his side. But, he hugs you like a lover. But, he buries his masked face in your hair and inhales your scent – sweet fragrances mixed with the blood and sweat of a long journey.
You fall asleep in his arms before you can think of something smart to say.
König doesn’t fall asleep until hour later – too busy looking at your precious form, wrapped so perfectly in his arms.
#cod#konig x reader#yandere konig#konig#cod x reader#call of duty#cod x you#konig mw2#reader insert#yandere cod#male yandere#konig x you#konig x y/n#cod x y/n
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01. A nonsense christmas
❅ pairing — president! Ryomen Sukuna x singer! reader
❅ summary — You're my wish list Lookin' at you got me thinking Christmas Snowflakes in my stomach when we're kissin' And when you're comin' down the chimney, ooh, it feels so good I need that Charles Dickens You'll be Santa Claus and I'll be Mrs.
❅ w/c — 10,85k
❅ warning — age gap (sukuna early 30's reader in her early 20's), based during 1930's, angst, fluff, smut, touching, MDNI, oral sex (giving), mentions of neglect.
❅ a/n — this fic was inspired by Marilyn Monroe and JFK back in the day. I truly don't know what happened between those two but I did watch the documentary series of Marilyn Monroe and honesty my heart truly goes out to her and I love her so much! And I hope you love this story as much as I wrote it. I wasn't excited writing this but as I wrote it it became much more comforting to me :') ❤️🍰
It begins with the snow—soft, relentless, blanketing the city like a promise of peace. You’ve always found winter in the capital to be impossibly beautiful, even as it presses its cold fingers against your skin. Tonight, though, the beauty of it all feels distant, eclipsed by the grandeur of the Presidential Residence looming before you.
You step out of the car, your heels clicking against the polished stone driveway, your breath curling like smoke in the icy air. The mansion rises like a beacon against the winter night, its windows spilling warm light into the darkness. The Christmas Gala. The most coveted event of the year. And you—the season’s brightest star—are here not as a guest, but as its entertainment.The crowd itself could not withstand your siren beauty as camera flashes surround you. With your white lace dress and faux scarf wrapped all around you—how could you have said no to a camera.
Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of evergreen and champagne. The towering Christmas tree, dripping with crystal ornaments and golden ribbons, commands the room’s attention, but not as much as the man standing beneath it. President Ryomen Sukuna. His name carries the weight of a nation, his presence magnetic even among the sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits. He’s watching you, though you pretend not to notice, your practiced grace carrying you toward the stage.
The moment you step into the spotlight, the world falls silent. You don’t just sing; you command. Your voice weaves through the room, low and sultry, wrapping around the crowd like velvet. The President doesn’t look away—not once. You feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, burning through the layers of glamour you’ve wrapped around yourself.
“Sata baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight
Think of all the fun I've missed
Think of all the fella's that I haven't kissed
Next year I could be just as good
If you check off my Christmas list”
When the final note fades, applause erupts, but your eyes find his. He’s clapping slowly, deliberately, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. And in that instant, you know—this night is only the beginning.
After leaving the stage you navigate your way, through the buzzing crowd offering polite smiles and nods but keeping your distance.
You were used to this—all the praises, all the eyes but yet tonight it felt heavier than usual,as if all eyes were watching to see your next move.
Politicians, socialists and business tycoons—all these powerful leaders, greeting you with so much respect but yet, you could feel the lingering eyes of their partners. It was never easy to be a female with so much prominence but yet it hurt —it hurts to be hated by your own kind. We were supposed to support one another, to uplift one another but the cruelty of being a woman in this society was truly a burden.
You had to leave,the whispers among these people were too much to bear.
You slip into a quieter part of the residence—for some reason you found yourself in a cozy study filled with books and beautiful paintings . The soft hum of the party fades away and you take a moment to catch your breath, savoring the stillness in this moment.
You rarely had moments to yourself —your life was a whirlwind of rehearsals, performances, and endless scrutiny. Being an artist in a world where men dictated the rules was a challenge on its own, but being a woman in this world came with invisible chains. They didn't take you seriously, not really. To them you were a pretty face, perfect body, pleasant voice, a fleeting novelty. And yet your talent commanded rooms filled with the most powerful people in the country.
But it was just the men. Women didn't seem to like you either, much worse actually. You'd catch their sharp glances, their whispering behind raised champagne flutes. They saw you as a threat— a reminder of the rules they could never break, the freedom they did dare to take. It stung deeply, more than you can admit. You didn't want to compete,it was never what your nature —instead you wanted to be seen for more than glittering persona you wore on stage
The loneliness that came with that, was something that could not be turned away.It all settled into your chest like a cold ache. No matter how much applause you earned, how many invitations you received, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were performing for a world that would never truly embrace you.
The library is dimly lit, the polished wood floors creaking softly under your heels. You find yourself in a study, its walls lined with books that smell of leather and time. A fire crackles in the hearth, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cold edges of the gala.
You cross to the window, tracing a finger against the frosted glass. Outside, the snow continues to fall, silent and unyielding. For a moment, you feel like you can breathe again.
“Running away from your admirers?” The voice startles you, low and rich, with a hint of amusement. You turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, as if he owns not just the room but the very air you are breathing.
The President.
For a second, neither of you exchange words. Silence filled the room and the only sound that could be heard was the warmth of the fire crackles. His gaze, it feels so much heavier than the opulent chandelier in this room.
“You flatter me Mr President,” you finally managed, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.
“But I'm not running. Just… catching my breath”.
“From the crowd or the applause?” he asked, stepping into the room, his polished shoes loud against the wooden floor.
“Both” you admit, leaning light against the wooden ledge. “It's a bit overwhelming, even for someone used to the spotlight”
A faint smile crosses his sharp features,his eyes never leaving yours. “ I imagine it would be. Though you make it seem effortless. You captivated them”.
“I'm sure that feeling you know well,” you counter, tilting your head slightly. “Captivating a room comes naturally to someone in your position”
His laugh is soft, almost modest, “Captivating and control are not the same thing. They listen to me because they have to. They listen to you because they want to.”
You hesitate, unsure if his words were a compliment or yet a challenge. “And which one are you Mr President?” you ask, your voice soft but laced with curiosity. “Do you want to listen, or do you have to?”
A smirk deepens as he moves around the study, looking at a few paintings. “That” he says is a very good question” his eyes caught yours, a glimmer of something unreadable expression.
You hold his gaze, feeling the weight of that moment—for the first time that evening you felt like you weren't performing —but unraveling.
His steps draw closer and closer —just close enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne —rich, warm and just utterly disarming. His gaze is unwavering, as though searching for something beneath your carefully composed exterior.
“I want to” he says, his voice low and deliberate, each word rolling off his tongue with quiet intensity.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a subtle l, almost wicked smiles,and for a moment the world outside the room feels very far.
“And not just your singing”
Irritation kicked in. You were so used to all of this. Men lusting over you, women glaring at you, finding ways to just get you in their bed. It was no surprise he was doing the same thing.
“Why do you sing?”, he asked softly.
The question caught you off guard. Never has any man nor woman asked you such a vulnerable question. For a moment you could not fathom his words, clearly you have never been seen or heard by anyone—can you be honest with yourself?. Your fingers graze the edge of the window ledge, seeking something solid to anchor yourself.
“I sing because it’s the only time I feel free,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m up there, it doesn’t matter what they think of me, what they expect. For a few minutes, it’s just me and the music. No judgments. No rules.”
You glance at him, half-expecting ridicule or a dismissive smile, but his expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on you like he’s hearing something rare and precious.
“And because,” you continue, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips, “if I don’t, I feel like I’ll disappear.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, but his gaze softens, losing its sharp, commanding edge. Slowly, he steps closer, his voice quiet and deliberate.
“You don’t have to disappear,” he says, as if it’s a promise meant only for you. “Not when the world is watching—and certainly not when I’m listening.”
His words catch you off guard, not because of their tenderness but because they feel... genuine. As if, for the first time, someone truly sees the weight you carry beneath the glamour.
“You’re not just a voice on a stage,” he continues, his tone firm yet gentle. “You’re so much more than they’ll ever understand.”
The way he says it, the way he looks at you, makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s right.
“Mr President,” your tone exposing the faint glimmer of gratitude. For the first time, it felt like someone understood you, not Y/N for the star you are but for the Y/N who you are. “Thank you, I appreciate your kind words” you smile in his direction.
Your smile is contagious enough to draw a simple one from him. For a moment silence surrounds the both of you, the party that was long lost seems to fade away slowly.
“So, do you always have time to chase after the singer at your parties, Mr. President?” you ask, your voice dripping with charm as you rise gracefully from your seat. Slowly, you move through the library, feigning nonchalance, though his piercing gaze follows your every step.
“You know, Little Songbird, you never fail to surprise me,” he murmurs, his baritone voice rich with amusement. The nickname lingers in the air like a melody, and your steps falter for just a second. Songbird? Did he really just call you that?
You don’t dare look back, but his footsteps trail closely behind, deliberate and unhurried. The tension in the room sharpens as you realize the path you’ve chosen leads you to a dead end—a bookshelf towering before you with no opening in sight.
With a steadying breath, you turn at last, only to find him standing right in front of you, much closer than you’d anticipated. His presence feels overwhelming, his gaze holding yours like a quiet command. For a moment, the world seems to shrink to just the two of you, the warmth of his proximity sending a shiver down your spine.
“Mr President…” you whisper softly,your voice barely audible over the sounds of your own racing heartbeat. His gaze never wavers, dark and intense, ranking over your slightly trembling figure as if committing ever detail to memory.
He leans in, so close— the faint scent of bourbon—his breath brushes against your ear, the rich timbre of his voice low and deliberate.
“Some things, little songbird” he murmurs, each word dripping with meaning “are chasing —even for a president”
The air between you two feels impossibly charged, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist. That is until the sharp clatter of heels against the wooden floor slices through the tension like a cold gust of wind.
“Ryomen” a clipped, feminine voice calls out,breaking the spell. Your turn instinctively to see her standing in the doorway—The First Lady, groomed in diamond and scandal. The papers have been relentless about her affairs, her icy aura, her calculated public appearance. Now she doesn't even spare you a glance, her eyes solely on him as if you don't exist. Of course what did you expect,in such a state.
“They need you for the announcement”, she says briskly, her tone more business than affection.
The president straightens, his expression slipped back into its stoic mask, though his gaze lingers on you for a fraction longer than it should. You take a step back suddenly feeling the weight of that moment, it's as if you didn't belong there. The tightening in your chest only made it worse.
Without another, you turn to slip past him, the faint brush of his fingers against yours—intentional or accidental—you knew neither, sending a shiver through you. You leave the room without saying goodbye, your exit as quiet as the storm building in your chest.
That night —on that cold invaded night, your thoughts were filled with the man that led this country. A man adored by his power, status—and wealth.He seemed to have the world in his grasp, yet for some reason, it felt as though he was also beginning to hold your heart in his hands.
It has been more than a week ever since that cold evening. For some reason, it hasn't crossed your mind—the way the president swept you off your feet—it was just a flush encounter to you, nothing more.
It was that time of year, where you could see the snow fall, hear children's laughter, see the smile upon elders and mostly give out to those in need.
The room hummed with warmth and laughter, a stark contrast to the cold world outside. The children’s charity event was one of your favorite occasions—a rare moment where the glitz of your public persona faded into something far more meaningful. You loved working with children, their innocence and joy reminding you of a world untouched by judgment or pretense.
Dressed in a soft elegant gown, draped with a faux fur coat to cover your body from this weather. You knelt beside a small girl painting ornaments at one of the long tables. For some reason it brings back the memories of when you sat at this very table, painting but mostly single—you were truly the star back then, even now. Her giggles bring you back to reality, as she proudly displays her masterpiece, and you couldn't help but smile, feeling a rare lightness in your chest. For once you were known for “the voice” or “the star”. You were just…. you.
But the lightness didn't last long. You felt it before you saw him—that familiar commanding presence that seemed to shift the air in the room. Straightening, you glanced towards the entrance, and there he was. President Ryomen Sukuna, flanked by his wife, whose practiced smile seemed like the polished diamonds that hung around her throat.
Their arrival stole the attention of the room,applause ripping through the crowd as they made their way towards the stage. You tried focusing on the children but the warmth you felt moments ago slipped through your fingers like sand. And finally your eyes meet from across the room, everything else seems to fade slowly.
The moment your eyes locked, time seemed to slow, the loud chatter in the room fading into a distant murmur. He held your gaze for a beat longer than he should have, something unspoken passing between you. Then, just as quickly, he turned his attention back to the crowd, his expression neutral and composed as he greeted donors and officials.
You let out a shaky breath, turning back to the little girl, who was now adding glitter to her ornament. “You’ll need to let it dry,” you said softly, forcing a smile and focusing on her instead of the fluttering in your chest.
But you weren’t oblivious to him. Every move he made seemed to draw your attention, no matter how hard you tried to stay grounded. His wife, ever the picture of poise, clung to his arm as they mingled, though her wandering eyes and absent smiles told another story. The tabloids had been relentless about her rumored affairs, and seeing her up close, you wondered how much truth there really was to them.
A volunteer approached you, asking if you’d mind helping distribute gifts to the children. You agreed eagerly, relieved to have something to distract you. Carrying a box of wrapped toys, you moved to the front of the room, where several kids were eagerly waiting.
As you handed out the gifts, you felt his gaze on you again. This time, when you glanced over, he was watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. It wasn’t the gaze of a president assessing a performer. It was something else entirely—something deeper, more personal.
But before you could dwell on it, his wife stepped forward, taking his arm and guiding him toward the podium. The crowd hushed as he began his speech, his rich, commanding voice filling the room.
You tried to focus on his words, but your mind drifted. Was he thinking about the last time you saw each other? About the way you left without saying goodbye? And why, despite everything, did you feel drawn to him still?
After the speech, the president and his wife descended from the stage, moving toward the children’s area where you stood. You busied yourself with the toys, hoping to avoid any interaction, but fate, as always, had other plans.
As the President approached, you felt a strange mix of anticipation and nerves settle in your chest. He moved with an air of quiet authority, his presence commanding attention even in the lively atmosphere of the children’s charity event
When he finally reached you, his eyes softened, the faintest smile lingers upon his sharp features. “Miss Y/L/N”, he greeted, his voice formal, though there was something in his tone —something just for you.
You offer a polite smile with your hands clasped together in front of you. “Mr President”, your voice steady but you weren't sure if the tightness in your chest gave away any form of tension between the two of you.
But before the moment could stretch into anything more, his wife stepped forward, her perfectly painted smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Oh it's you” she said, her tone light but laced with thinly veiled condescension.
Your eyes widened, and a plastering smile forms across your now—nervous state.
The awkward silence between the two of you, so loud, you could hear a pin drop. You finally protest to speak but her remark caught you off guard “Performers always seem so undressed these days and at a charitable event how amusing, don't you think Sukuna dear?”.
Your plastered smile was quickly faltered for the briefest moment, though you quickly masked it with a polite laugh, pretending her words hadn't stung. Your gaze flicked to the President, searching for any hint of reaction. But Sukuna, ever composed, simply raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a thin line as he regarded his wife with an unreadable expression.
“I suppose it depends on one’s perspective,” he finally said, his tone neutral but carrying an edge that made her smile tighten ever so slightly.
You tried to find your footing, clearing your throat as you turned back to the children. “The little ones seem to enjoy the event,” you said lightly, kneeling to hand a gift to a boy beaming up at you. “That’s what truly matters, doesn’t it?”
The First Lady hummed in response, a sound that wasn’t quite agreement but wasn’t outright dismissal either. Her cold, appraising gaze swept over you once more before she turned her attention back to her husband. “You’re needed for the press conference soon, darling,” she said, slipping her arm through his with a practiced ease that was as much for the cameras as it was for control.
Sukuna hesitated, his eyes lingering on you for just a fraction too long. “I’ll be there shortly,” he replied, his voice firm yet calm.
She frowned, clearly displeased but unwilling to argue in public. With a sharp nod, she turned and began walking toward the stage, her heels clicking against the polished floor
The tension between you and Sukuna hung in the air as you stood, brushing invisible dust from your gown. “She's… lovely” you said your tone clear but yet a hint of sarcasm slipped through.
But reality crept back in, and with it, the reminder of who he was—and who you weren’t. “Well, Mr. President,” you said, offering a polite nod. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”
You turned and walked away, your heart heavier with every step, knowing you’d left more unsaid than you’d ever dare admit.
“Let’s take it from the top. We need your vocals in check,” Yuji said, gesturing toward the sheet music spread out on the stand.
You nodded, stepping up to the microphone. The melody began to fill the room, soft and slow, but your mind wandered. Two days. It had been two days since the charity event, and the weight of the First Lady’s scornful words still lingered. Doubt crept into your thoughts, whispering cruel questions: Were you too much? Did you belong in spaces like these, surrounded by powerful people who seemed to thrive on tearing others down?
“Miss Y/L/N?” Yuji’s voice broke through your reverie.
You blinked, realizing the music had stopped. “I’m sorry, Yuji. My mind is elsewhere.”
He gave you a small, understanding smile. “Let’s call it a night. You’ve done enough for today.”
Glancing at the clock on the wall, you noticed it was nearing midnight. “You’re right. Thank you, Yuji.”
He waved you off as you gathered your coat. “I’ll lock up. Go get some rest.”
The chill of the winter night greeted you as you stepped outside. A short car ride later, you arrived at your hotel, its warm, dimly lit lobby offering a momentary reprieve from the biting cold.
Once in your room, you slipped out of your coat and shoes, collapsing onto the chaise by the window. The city lights twinkled faintly below, but your thoughts were elsewhere—on him. You didn’t want to admit it, but his gaze from across the room during the charity event still lingered in your mind.
The shrill ring of the telephone startled you from your thoughts. You hesitated, staring at the black rotary phone on the side table. Who could be calling at this hour? Slowly, you picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
There was a pause, and then that unmistakable voice came through, rich and smooth, sending a jolt through you. “Little Songbird.”
Your breath caught,you knew that nickname. “Mr. President?”
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said, his tone softer than you’d ever heard it.
You glanced at the clock—it was well past midnight. “It’s late,” you murmured, unable to mask the mixture of surprise and curiosity in your voice.
“I know,” he admitted, his voice lowering. “But I couldn’t wait any longer.”
The silence that follows through, was suppressed by the faint falling of snow,people wandering outside the hotel at this very late hour.
“How did you know where I was?”, your voice barely above a whisper,as you lay in bed.
“I'm the president, you know?” he murmured but you could hear the smirk underneath his baritone voice.
For some reason, you could not respond. You merely sat there in silence, trying to understand the situation.
“Since you are the President, I'll let you do your work. I'm sure you have loads of work to attend to” with sarcasm dripping from your tone
But before you could put down the receiver, you heard him whisper.
“May I hear your new record…will you sing it for me?”
The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the faint sound of snowflakes brushing against the window. You clutched the receiver tighter, your pulse quickening at his bold request.
“You want me to sing for you?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief.
“Yes,” he replied simply, his tone low and steady. “But not now. I want to hear it properly, away from prying eyes and ears.”
You hesitated, unsure where this was going, and yet unable to resist the pull in his voice. “And where exactly would that be?”
He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “There’s a lodge I keep outside the city—quiet, secluded. It’s where I go when I need to… escape.”
Your heart thudded in your chest as the weight of his words settled. “You’re asking me to meet you there?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Tomorrow evening. No staff, no cameras, no interruptions. Just you and me.”
You bit your lip, torn between intrigue and the dangerous implications of what he was suggesting. “Mr. President… do you realize what you’re asking?”
“I do,” he said firmly. “But I can’t seem to stop myself.”
The line went quiet for a moment, save for the sound of your breathing. “I’ll send a car for you,” he added softly, his voice carrying an unmistakable warmth. “If you decide to come.”
And with that, the line went dead, leaving you alone in the stillness of your room, grappling with a decision that could change everything.
❅❅❅
Standing like a king awaiting his queen’s arrival, the soft glow of the lantern behind him casting shadows that danced across his sharp features. In his black, loose-fitted pants and a weathered brown trench coat, he seemed worlds apart from the image of power he carried in the city. Here, he wasn’t the President; he was just… Ryomen Sukuna.
“You came,” he whispered, his voice low, almost disbelieving.
“Well it was the President's request, how could I possibly say no? ” Your voice matched his tone, soft and intimate, laced with a teasing edge. But your eyes—your eyes never left his.
He stepped closer, the crunch of snow beneath his boots the only sound breaking the stillness. The biting cold nipped at your skin, but his presence seemed to radiate warmth, pulling you in like the embers of a dying fire.
“I didn’t think you would,” he admitted, his hand brushing lightly against yours, testing the waters.
“Neither did I,” you replied honestly, your breath forming small clouds in the frosty air.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you seemed to pause, the snow falling in gentle whispers as you stood there, suspended in time. His hand finally closed over yours, his touch firm yet hesitant, as if afraid you might pull away.
“Come”, he said softly, leading you to the lodge.
The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the wintry night outside. A fire crackled in the stone heart, filling the room with a golden glow. It was simple l, rustic even, a world away from the luxurious Ness you associated with him. At that moment it felt so… perfect.
He gestured for you to sit near the fire,and you did, feeling the heat seep into your chilled skin. He poured two glasses of red wine, the essence of the luxurious wine reached your nose as he handed you one before settling into the chair opposite from yours.
“You're different here,” you said after a moment of studying him.
“How so?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips as he swirled the wine in his glass.
“You're not the man I saw standing beside his wife two days ago,” you admitted. “Here you seem… freer”.
He chuckled, his tone rich and vibrant enough to fill the silence in this room. “Perhaps, it's because for once, I can be myself”
For a moment you could only bear his vulnerability, your ache slightly at his confession.
His eyes burned into yours, the space between you charged with an intensity that made your heart race. But then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, he pulled back slightly, his expression softening.
“There’s something I want to show you,” he said, his voice low, but the edges of a faint smile tugged at his lips.
You blinked, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “What is it?”
He stood, offering you his hand. Hesitant but intrigued, you placed your hand in his, letting him guide you toward the far end of the room. Your footsteps were soft against the wooden floor, the warmth of the fire fading as you moved closer to the shadows.
Then you saw it—a beautiful grand piano, polished to perfection, sitting in the corner of the lodge. Its elegance felt out of place in the rustic room, but it was breathtaking all the same.
You stopped, staring at it in disbelief. “Where did this…?”
“I had it brought here earlier today,” Sukuna admitted, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I thought… if you came, maybe you’d play. Maybe you’d sing.”
Your hand flew to your mouth, overwhelmed by the gesture. No one had ever done something like this for you—not with this much thought, this much care. “Sukuna…” you whispered, your voice trembling.
“I wanted you to feel… seen,” he said softly, his usual confidence tempered by vulnerability. “You said you’d sing for me, remember?”
You nodded, your throat tightening as you stepped toward the piano. Running your fingers over the keys, you pressed one lightly, the note echoing through the quiet room. Taking a deep breath, you sat down, your hands trembling slightly as they settled on the keys.
The first note you played was soft, uncertain, but as you continued, the music poured out of you, filling the space with something raw and beautiful. And then you sang—softly at first, but soon your voice swelled, carrying the emotions you couldn’t put into words.
When the last note faded into the stillness, you turned to find Sukuna standing right behind you, his gaze locked on yours.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he leaned down, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the piano, caging you in. His face was so close now, his breath warm against your skin.
“Sukuna… Mr President…” your eyes reverting away from his, trying to find a way to remove yourself from this situation.
“Say it”, he murmured his voice low, almost a growl. “Tell me, Little Songbird… tell me you don't feel it too. That this isn't tearing you apart the way it's tearing me apart”.
Your eyes met his burning ones for a moment. You could see the yearning, you could see the flames that were about to combust as if he was restraining himself from whatever chains were weighing them down.
You opened your mouth to speak but unfortunately no words were formed. You didn't need them. The way your hand reached out on its own was enough to speak, brushing against his jawline, said more than words ever could.
His head dipped for a moment, eyes closed as the softness of your hands stroked against the rough patches against his skin. He slowly leaned forward, and for a moment you thought he would kiss you but instead he stopped, his lips hovering just a breath away above yours, his eyes searching yours as if asking for permission.
Your heart pounding —he was so close you could feel the rhythm of his heart in sync with yours.
“This is reckless, Mr President…” you whisper softly barely audible over the sounds of beating hearts. He titled his head, giving just enough time to pull away if you wanted to.
“Do you believe that, Little Songbird? ”, his words cast a veil of questions against your chest. Did you? The truth was you didn't know. Or maybe want to admit you cared about the consequences anymore.
“I believe”, you whisper, lips so close you could feel the slightest touch, “you've already done something to me”
That is all it took,for Sukuna to close the distance between the two of you. His lips brushed against yours so softly at first, hesitant.
But his hand slid to cup your face, the kiss deepened, all tension, longing, and unspoken words between you spilling in that single, undeniable moment.
“Mr President” the soft mewl of your voice—saying his name like that sent him to heaven itself.
It seemed your bodies gravitated towards one another, so naturally—so perfect. His lips pressed against yours with a fervent need, and you melted into, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself in this moment. The kiss began slowly, searing burn, but soon it ignited into something wilder, something neither could suppress.
Sukuna's hands, strong and sure, slid to your waist, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing at all. A soft gasp escaped your lips, quickly swallowed but the intensity of his kiss as he guided you back. Your body met the surface of the piano behind you, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between the two of you.
The instrument groaned under the sudden shift, a discordant, jarring filling the room. You both froze for a moment, startled by the sound. Then his baritone voice filled the room with a chuckle,low and rich like velvet.
“Careful” he murmured against your lips, forehead resting against your for a brief moment. The corner of his mouth quivered into a smile, and you could help but laugh softly yourself,a flush creeping up your skin.
“Your piano might not survive, us, “ You whisper breathlessly, the teasing lilt in your voice only adding to the intimacy of the moment.
“Your piano Little Songbird” he responded with a smirk, the nickname causing you to blush tremendously. “Let it” before both his hands cupped your face, kissing you harder and much more desperate this time.
The piano hummed faintly beneath you as he deepened the kiss. His fingers explore every inch of your body.
The warm tense of the fire surrounding both of you, was only enough to fuel the intense passion you both had been burdening for the past few weeks. You could taste the red wine linger against his tongue, for no longer than a second his lips brushed against your ear. Fainting whispering “You smell wonderful you know that?” the words clearly left you speechless, he licked a long stripe beneath your year.
The mewl that escaped your lips, only made it worse—kissing you next feverishly enough for you to roam your hand all over his chest,trying to find something to grip upon.
Without hesitation, he removed his shirt exposing his exquisite upper body. You couldn’t hide your flush cheeks, you barely had the strength to move at this point.
His hand gripped your waist, firm but reverent, as though he couldn't decide whether to claim you entirely or simply admire you. The kiss deepened a dance of unspoken emotions, and as his fingers roam over the soft expensive fabric of your dress, a sharp sound tore through the air—a rip.
You gasped, pulling back to look at him, your chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. “Sukuna!”, you exclaimed, bewildered, glancing down at your now-ruined fabric hanging loosely around your waist.
He smirked, entirely unrepentant, his eyes darkened with desire. “I'll buy you another”, his voice low and filled with a teasing edge, "something even better." His gaze swept over you, taking in every curve, every detail of your now-exposed form, and he inhaled sharply.
For a moment, he said nothing, his fingers trailing delicately along your skin, reverent and slow, as if committing every inch of you to memory. "You're ... " His voice faltered, and for the first time, you saw him speechless, utterly captivated. "Exquisite," he finally breathed, his tone rich with admiration, his eyes never leaving you.
You flushed under the weight of his gaze, a mixture of embarrassment and undeniable thrill coursing through you. "You tore my dress," you muttered, attempting to sound stern but failing as his lips brushed against your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.
"And I'd do it again," he murmured, his hands tracing the curve of your back, pulling you closer. "You're a masterpiece, Little Songbird. How could I not be impressed?”
The words melted you, and before you could protest further, his lips claimed yours again, silencing any remaining resistance. The ruined dress was forgotten, the only thing that mattered now was the way his touch made you feel like you were the only woman in the world.
The kisses were dark, lustful, exotic —his lips continued their journey down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The ruined fabric slipped further, forgotten and discarded as his hands traced every curve with a touch that was both firm and reverent, as though he were exploring sacred ground.
"You're breathtaking," Sukuna whispered against your skin, his voice thick with awe and hunger. The smirk that usually adorned his face was gone, replaced by something deeper, more vulnerable. He looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.
The room went quiet for a bit, nothing but the faint breathing running of your lips.
“Sukuna…”, his lips traveled back to yours only to pick you and place you safely on his lap. Resting against the piano, a proud smirk plastered on his lips.
Slowly his hands made their way to your lacy underwear , kissing your neck soft enough.
“Do you know how maddening you are?”, his tone a mix of frustration and adoration. “You drive me insane Y/N”, and before you could utter a word his two fingers that were lined up against your entrance, finally found its home in your wet womanhood.
Your form lumped on top of his as you whispered his name, softly. Slowly his fingers started forming a rhythm, a groan escaped his lips, forehead resting against your shoulder—sucking it softly.
“You so wet, I can feel your waters dripping, Little Songbird” he murmurs mumbled against your skin. The stretch simply scratches pass his broad shoulders.
“Fuck, you like that don't you?” The question hung in the air, not knowing if it should be answered or not.
“Sukuna…I-” you whine, while his fingers go faster.
“You're making a mess, Little Songbird”, your skin damp, with sweat as you moved along with his pace. You couldn’t stop moving, your hips grinding against his fingers—a low chuckle escaped his lips.
“Mr President ” you gasp, your voice trembling as the pleasure builds to an unexpected peak—something you haven't felt in a while.
Your grip tightened, as his lips started sucking your boobs, the stimulation causing a slight blush against your cheeks
“Say it again”, as his fingers hit a certain part, driving you into ecstasy. You moaned his name again—satisfying his taste.
“Look at me, you hear me” you shook your head, only for him to grab your face—control was the only thing that mattered now.
Your eyes never left his as he kept fingers you, hard enough, you throw your head back at the pleasure.
“I'm close Mr President”you moan, your mouth hung open before you could even cum he pulled out his finger. You whine at the emptiness,enough to pull a smirk on those lips.
“A mess, you really made a mess” he said, looking at his fingers—but directly making you watch as he licked them off,like a starving lion.
“On your knees, now” he commanded gently, his voice smooth and inviting as she gracefully lowered herself before him. He smirked at her—he was enjoying this completely too much. He lower his head, enough to whisper in her ear “Now be a good girl a put that mouth to use”
His eyes never leave yours,offering him a soft smile. Your now trembling hand started to unbutton his pants —fingers hooked his pants and you slowly moved them down to his feet. You could see, his large member fully erect—you could see precum spewing from the top and to admit it he was big,bigger than you could ever imagine
Biting your lip, looking into his eyes as you gather enough silva in your mouth—slowly you part your lips enough to slide his thick member into your mouth. A low groan escaped his lips, his head flung back at the feeling. You slowly began to use your tongue, against his head,flicking your tongue just enough for his hand to grip your hair.
“Fuck, Little Songbird —yeah, you keep doing that”, with he a slight encouragement,you began to bob your head, slowly enough for him to tighten the hold on your hair. You kept your pace slow and steady enough, for him to savor every moment—the sudden urge to press you down further soon compelled and you could feel his leaking tip against the back of your throat.
“You look fucking beautiful like this—faster, fuck” you catch a glimpse of his euphoric state, the hair now clung to his sweaty forehead, slips slightly parted —heavy eyelids as they looked into yours.
You moved at the pace of this hand, sliding his big member against your throat, your free hand travelling to his balls as his hips bucked at the reaction. You sped up the pace, you could feel him throbbing against your throat, his thighs were shaking, and before you knew it he came—his hand gripped you hair tightly while gliding you down his staff and you could hear him say “Swallow it”, and you did every drop of cum, not leaving one a side.
All actions came to a stop, and in an instant Sukuna gripped your figure, almost throwing you on the piano.
“Mr President” you said against his lips—the roughness against your now sensitive skin only made it worse.
“You did well” a praise coming from his lips, leaning in he kissed you neck feverishly—his fingers gripped into your flesh, as if they were touching you for the first time in such a long time.
“I hope you're ready because I can't control myself anymore,” he said softly as he suddenly sucked your breast, squeezing the other soft flesh.
“I need you to bend over”, he panted against your breast. His hands reached out for yours to guide you in a position where you were bending slightly.
As you got on your knees, the continuation of his kisses didn't stop until he reached your core. Kissing it softly, as he slapped your cheek—enough to earn a moan from you. His hand moved to your hair, twisting it between his fingers gripping hard, you let out a soft whimper.
Slowly you could feel his thick member in your wet folds—pushing through you. Tossing his head back in pleasure as he filled you up,you could hear him curse beneath his breath.
The stretch was so much you could handle the way he was slightly pushing in and out of you. His eyes revert to your heels, seeing how stalking was still visible, as he hasn't seen them yet.
“You wore these damn stockings for me didn't you” he said as he kept pounding into you. You couldn’t answer, because the pleasure was truly too much for you to handle.
“Answer me Little Songbird,” a loud slap was heard and you moaned loudly enough,for him to smirk at your actions.
“Yes… yes Mr President”, you whisper but it only came out as a loud moan.
“How sweet of you… fuck your squeezing me so tight” he murmured, throwing his head back.
“Mr President I-” you whine, his one hand grabbing a handful of your ass, kneading the skin softly,as his member continued to push in you softly.
His hands released, hair ever so softly —both coming into contact with your hips gripping them tightly enough, controlling the rhythm of your hips as he continues his ministrations.
“Fuck you feel good, so fucking good”, his hand came into contact with you ass cheek once more,and you could breathe in the star you were in.
“Again,”you whine softly.
“Oh you like that, huh?”, a smirk invaded his lips and you felt the burning sensation of on cheek take over.
“I'm so close” you whimper, eyes closed , you could feel the knot in your stomach begin to form again. Looking back at Sukuna you could see a crease on his forehead, hair hung low, half lidded eyes and once again the stinging sensation against your cheek made everything so pleasurable.
“Me too, fuck” he grunted softly and his fingers made their way to your clit. You could fall apart now if you had to “Sukuna!” you exclaimed. You were gasping for air at this point, his thrusts became sloppy and you could feel him twitch inside you.
“I'm about to-” unable to finish your sentence you came, gripping against the frail dress that now laid on the piano. Your thighs shaking, not a minute longer you gasped at the feeling of his warm seed filling your womanhood. Your eyes revert to his hung open mouth. Sliding out of you, you felt his cum leak down your thigh.
His finger grazed up your thigh, scooping the remaining substance, without being told what to do he laced his fingers across your lips “Open up”, your parted, pressing the remaining substance in your mouth, and you sucked on them softly.
For a moment he could only smile, and he slowly embraced you and gave you a kiss.
❅
Later that evening you both lay on the carpet covered in blankets and the glow of the dying fire bathed the room in a soft, flickering light, casting shadows that seemed to dance around the two of you. The world outside felt distant and unreal, as if it had no claim on this moment. You lay against his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin, your breaths still uneven from the intensity of your time together. His arm draped over you protectively, holding you close as though letting you go was not an option.
“Are you warm enough?” Sukuna asked softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that sent a fresh wave of emotion through you.
You nodded, but instead of answering, you traced small patterns along the toned expanse of his chest, your fingers brushing over the faint scars etched into his skin. You couldn’t help but wonder about the stories they told, about the battles and burdens he carried—not just as the President, but as a man.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmured, his lips pressing against your temple.
You tilted your head to meet his gaze, the depth of his crimson eyes nearly undoing you. “That I’ve never seen you like this,” you admitted quietly. “Just… you.”
A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “And do you like what you see?”
Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you rested your hand over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath your palm. “I think I love what I see,” you whispered.
His expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something deeper. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheek with a gentleness that made your heart ache. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Maybe you should tell me.”
Sukuna’s smirk returned, but it was softer this time, filled with a warmth that felt entirely unlike the powerful, commanding man the world knew. “I would, but I’d need a lifetime to explain,” he murmured, his voice like velvet as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss so sweet, it made the air between you feel electric.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face. “Promise me,” he said, his voice low and serious. “No matter what happens, no matter what the world throws at us, you’ll never doubt how much I want you, Y/N. Not just here, not just now—but always.”
Your breath hitched, and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I’ll try,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.
For a long time, the two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the fire casting its golden glow over your entwined figures. And for a moment, it felt as though nothing else mattered—just you and Sukuna, and the fragile, beautiful connection you had built in the quiet of the night.
❅❅❅
The early morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the lodge, casting a soft golden glow over the room. The air was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the wind outside and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.
You stirred awake, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you, and for a moment, the events of the night before felt like a dream. But then, the warmth of Sukuna’s arm draped over your waist brought it all back—the stolen moments, the shared confessions, the way he had looked at you as though you were his entire world.
Carefully, you turned your head to look at him. He lay beside you, his features softened in sleep. Gone was the commanding President, the man whose decisions could sway nations. Before you was simply Sukuna, vulnerable and at peace, a side of him few had ever seen.
Your eyes lingered on him, a mixture of wonder and guilt tightening in your chest. The memory of his words echoed in your mind—“I always want you, and you only.” It had felt like a promise, a declaration that should have brought you comfort, but now it left you with a heaviness you couldn’t shake.
Slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, you gathered the discarded pieces of your clothing and wrapped his trench coat around yourself. The room was cold, but it was nothing compared to the whirlwind of emotions brewing inside you.
As you stood by the window, staring out at the snow-covered landscape, the enormity of your situation began to sink in. He was the President, a man with responsibilities, a wife, and a public image to uphold. And you? You were the woman who sang for a living, who had somehow captured the attention of a man who could have anything—or anyone—he wanted.
You heard him stir behind you, the sound of the bed shifting as he sat up. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Sukuna’s voice, still heavy with sleep, broke the silence.
You turned to face him, your heart aching at the sight of his disheveled hair and the vulnerability in his eyes. “I have to,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
He stood, crossing the room in a few strides to stand before you. “Stay,” he said, his hand cupping your cheek. “Just stay.”
Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced a small, sad smile. “You know I can’t.”
The weight of your words hung heavily between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if trying to anchor you to him.
“Just promise me one thing,” he murmured into your hair. “Promise me you’ll come back.”
You didn’t answer, not because you didn’t want to, but because you weren’t sure if you could. Instead, you pressed a kiss to his chest, letting the warmth of his embrace be your answer—for now.
A few months have passed and the two have been seeing each other regularly, it was as if you both were meant for one another. Each day played, like a movie—your smile was obvious and the papers could sense it too.
This morning was no different as you drank your coffee reading through the telegram that arrived on a quiet morning, the crisp paper trembling slightly in your hands as you read the words again and again. It was an offer—an invitation to join a renowned music conservatory in Italy, to live in a place where your voice could rise above judgment and scandal, to finally pursue your dreams on your own terms. A life of possibility stretched out before you, the kind of opportunity that felt almost too good to be true.
But the weight of it sank in just as quickly. Sukuna.
Later that evening, you found yourself standing in the lodge, the familiar scent of cedar and smoke heavy in the air. Sukuna had been waiting for you, as he always did during these stolen moments. His warm smile greeted you when you walked in, but it faltered as soon as he saw the serious expression on your face.
“You look troubled, Little Songbird,” he said softly, concern etched into his features. “What’s on your mind?”
You took a deep breath, clutching the telegram tightly in your hand. “I received an offer today,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “From Italy. A conservatory there wants me to join them. It’s… everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”
His face hardened in an instant, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something colder, sharper. “You’re leaving?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” you said quickly, though the words felt like a lie. “But I wanted to talk to you about it.”
Sukuna rose from his seat, his towering figure suddenly feeling more imposing than comforting. “There’s nothing to discuss. You’re not leaving,” he said firmly.
Your heart sank. “Sukuna, this is my chance—my chance to finally be something more. To be free.”
“Free?” His voice rose, and for the first time, you saw the storm brewing beneath his usually composed exterior. “You think you’ll find freedom away from here? Away from me?”
And there it was—the shift, the anger, the selfishness. You felt your emotions bubble to the surface as you stood your ground.
“Don’t you see? This isn’t about you!” you snapped, your voice rising to match his. “This is about me, my life, my dreams. For once, I’m choosing myself.”
“That’s not how this works,” he shot back, his voice a low growl. “You don’t just get to walk away from what we have.”
And then the fight spiraled—his refusal to let you go, your desperation to make him understand. The words were sharp, cutting deeper than either of you intended, until finally, the dam broke.
“You only want me when it’s convenient for you! Only for you!” you shouted, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.
The glass shattered against the wooden floor, and with it, so did the fragile balance you’d both been holding onto.Fury and pain poured out of you, a torrent you couldn’t stop as you turned away, pacing like a storm trapped within four walls. The wine glass in your hand slipped from your trembling grip, shattering against the wooden floor as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.
“You can’t just keep me here like one of your laws,” you said, your voice breaking. “This isn’t love. It’s control”. Your eyes burned into his, searching for some sign of guilt, some flicker of remorse in his stoic expression. But he just stood there, watching you with that same maddening calm. “You’re so selfish, Mr. President. Just once, let me go. Let me… be happy.”
Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper now, as you clutched your coat like it was the only thing anchoring you to yourself.
“Would leaving really make you happy?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost fragile. It wasn’t the commanding tone of the President. No, this was something else—something raw and vulnerable. It was Sukuna.
The weight of his words hit you harder than you expected. For a moment, the fight drained out of you, leaving only the exhaustion, the ache in your chest from holding it all in for so long. The silence between you was heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint sound of his boots against the floor.
He crossed the space between you slowly, cautiously, as though afraid you might shatter if he moved too quickly. When he reached you, his arms encircled your trembling form, pulling you close against his chest. And in that moment, something in you broke. The tears came harder, years of hurt and betrayal spilling out in heaving sobs.
He held you through it all, his strong arms steady as your body shook. It wasn’t the embrace of a man in power or a leader commanding control. It was Sukuna—just Sukuna—holding you as if his own heart was breaking with every tear you shed.
“You think I want you only when it’s convenient?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He gently cupped your tear-streaked face, tilting it up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were softer now, filled with something you hadn’t expected—pain, longing, love. “I always want you. Always. And only you. Don’t you see that?”
Your breath caught, his words sinking into the cracks of your fragile heart. You wanted to respond, to say something, but no words came. Instead, you leaned into him, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that spoke everything you couldn’t put into words.
It was soft at first, hesitant, as though testing the boundaries of this fragile truce. But as his arms tightened around you, the kiss deepened, filled with all the emotions neither of you dared to voice before. It was a moment of surrender, of giving in to the truth you’d both been too afraid to face.
The kiss deepened, unspoken promises lingering between you as his arms tightened around you like he was afraid you’d slip away. The world outside the walls of the lodge ceased to exist. It was just the two of you—two souls fighting against the tides of power, duty, and love.
That night, the fire in the hearth wasn’t the only thing that burned. His touch was tender yet desperate, his lips tracing paths along your skin as though memorizing every inch of you. It was a moment neither of you could deny or regret—a moment where love triumphed over logic, if only for a fleeting night.
❅❅❅
As dawn broke, you lay tangled together in the sheets, his steady breathing against your neck a reminder of the man you’d seen beneath the title. He wasn’t just the President; he was Sukuna, flawed, vulnerable, and so undeniably yours. But as the sunlight crept into the room, so did reality.
You slipped out of his embrace, careful not to wake him as you dressed. The telegram lay folded in your coat pocket, a constant weight on your heart. With one last glance at him, his peaceful face etched into your memory, you left the lodge.
❅❅❅
The streets of the city were abuzz with life, the morning sun casting its golden light over the bustling crowds. Your suitcase felt heavier with every step you took toward the station. It wasn’t just the weight of your belongings—it was the weight of leaving him behind, of choosing yourself over a love you knew could never be fully yours.
But just as the station came into view, the sound of a commotion drew your attention. A crowd had gathered, their voices rising in excitement. And then you saw him.
Sukuna.
Standing on the steps of the grand hall, his gaze scanned the crowd until it landed on you. Time seemed to stop as he began descending the steps, his presence commanding the attention of everyone around him. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as people recognized their President, their leader stepping down into the throng like an ordinary man chasing what he loved.
He reached you, his chest heaving as though he had run through the entire city to find you. Without hesitation, he took your hand, his grip firm but not forceful.
“Everyone, listen,” he began, his voice steady but filled with unmistakable emotion. “This woman—she’s more than a singer, more than a performer. She’s the reason I wake up every morning. She’s the reason I want to be better, to be more. And I won’t let her go.”
The crowd gasped, whispers spreading like wildfire as his words echoed through the square. His public declaration was more than a profession of love—it was a challenge to the constraints that had kept you apart.
Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him, his gaze unwavering as he smiled softly at you. “You said I’m selfish,” he whispered, his voice just for you now. “And maybe I am. But I won’t let you leave without a fight.”
The world watched as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead—a simple gesture, yet it felt like a vow. You knew then that your life would never be the same, not with him willing to tear down everything to keep you by his side.
The weeks following Sukuna’s public declaration were nothing short of chaos. The scandal surrounding the President’s bold proclamation had shaken the nation. His advisors urged caution, political rivals pounced on the opportunity to criticize him, and the First Lady made no secret of her disdain.
But Sukuna was steadfast. For the first time in his presidency, he put himself—and his heart—first. The divorce was finalized in record time, quiet and swift, with the First Lady retreating from the public eye, taking her scandals with her.
Despite the chaos surrounding him, Sukuna remained unshaken, his resolve as strong as ever. The scandal didn’t matter. The criticism didn’t matter. What mattered was the woman he loved, and for the first time in his life, he had chosen something not for duty, not for the nation, but for himself.
The media frenzy eventually quieted, the public slowly coming to terms with the change. Some admired his bravery, calling his declaration an act of true love; others criticized his recklessness. But through it all, Sukuna stayed grounded because he had you.
One evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the city, he led you to the garden behind the presidential residence. The air was crisp, and the faint scent of blooming flowers filled the space. Fireflies danced in the twilight, their soft light reflecting in your eyes.
“I have something for you,” Sukuna said, his voice warm as his fingers laced with yours.
“What is it this time?” you teased, smiling up at him. He had taken to spoiling you recently, as if making up for lost time.
He led you to a secluded spot in the garden where a small table was set with candles and a single bouquet of your favorite flowers. Resting beside them was a box—small and unassuming, but enough to steal your breath away.
“Sukuna…” you whispered, your heart pounding.
He picked up the box, holding it delicately in his large hands as he dropped to one knee. The world seemed to stop, the moment stretching infinitely as his sharp, commanding eyes softened into something you’d only ever seen in private—a love so deep it overwhelmed you.
“I’ve spent my life fighting battles for power, for politics, for this nation. But the only battle I’ve truly wanted to win is the one for your heart,” he said, his voice steady yet brimming with emotion. “You’ve given me courage I never thought I had. And now, I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’ll always come first.”
He opened the box to reveal a ring—elegant, timeless, and perfect, just like him.
“Y/N, will you marry me?”
Tears streamed down your cheeks as you nodded, your voice breaking as you finally said, “Yes. A thousand times yes.”
He slipped the ring onto your finger, then rose to his feet, pulling you into his arms. The kiss that followed wasn’t like the others—it was softer, filled with hope, promise, and a future you both finally dared to believe in.
The wedding was a quiet affair, intimate and away from the public eye. Sukuna had insisted on it, saying that the world had already taken too much from you both, and this day was yours alone.
Months later, as you stood by his side on the balcony of the presidential residence, overlooking a sea of people cheering for their President and his new First Lady, you felt the weight of everything that had led to this moment.
“I told you I’d fight for you,” Sukuna whispered, his arm wrapping around your waist as he looked out at the crowd.
“And you won,” you said, smiling up at him.
“No,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We won.”
And as the cheers echoed through the city, you knew this wasn’t just the start of a new chapter. It was the beginning of a love story for the ages, one that no amount of politics, scandals, or critics could ever tarnish. You were his, and he was yours—forever.
©suguru's-thoughts 2024, do not copy or translate my work. Deviders are from the lovely @adornedwithlight!! 🤍
❅ a/n —please just a reminder I was tired when I wrote then, which made me ramble a bit off and I pushed due to time as well :) I really hope you enjoy this. Deep down I feel like I put more effort into this, than the rest. I have never written anything for Sukuna and I just feel like this one took a lot effort and ideas but I had so much more idea—the time just caught up!!. But enjoy and if you seen any spelling mistakes just know I did not proofread this :') 🐈⬛
❅ taglist — @getobitchs, @coffee-and-geto, @emochosoluvr and @tsukuhoe 🍰🤍
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk angst#sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#jjk smut#sukuna smut#sukuna x y/n#jjk ryomen#jjk#sukuna fluff#sukuna#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#suguru's thoughts#gojo satoru#suguru geto#nanami kento#jujutsukaisen Sukuna#sukuna ryomen smut#jjk imagines#ryomen sukuna imagines#gojo x reader#jjk gojo#gojo smut#gojo saturo x reader#gojo saturo
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The Ballad of Blunt Pencil & Pizza Wheel
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU
Summary: Comedy texting fic. Childhood frenemies moving in together is a great idea. Isn't it?
Warnings: None really. Swearing, references to sex, masturbation, dirty talk and spanking. Frenemies to lovers. Comedy. A fuckton of sass. Bridgerton family shenanigans.
Word Count: 3.9k tricky with text fics ngl
Author's Note: Request fill for Anon (who wanted Ben and reader to have been secretly in love with each other and get together after she has a breakup). It might be slightly unusual, but it’s what the muse insisted on as a response. Thanks to the ever-patient @colettebronte, who willingly reads my silliness, including a partial version of this nonsense. Enjoy! <3
BB: *Fraggle Rock theme tune*
Y/N: Why don't you just say hello like a normal person? Y/N: *Insert sighing emoji here* (I can't be arsed to find it)
BB: Excuse me, this is actually a very supportive message BB: I heard from El you got dumped
Y/N: And how does an 80s kids' show theme song help me with that??
BB: Have you paid attention to the opening line??
Y/N: No…? Y/N: Too busy enjoying the rocking guitar tbh
BB: Fair BB: 🎶Dance your cares away, worries for another day🎶 BB: See?? supportive
Y/N: You are so weird Y/N: And also oddly accurate. He was a total muppet
BB: It’s taken you 30 years to figure that out?? BB: Sorry to hear it
Y/N: No, just… appreciating it. Well, you Y/N: Thank you, by the way
BB: 🫶😀
—
3 weeks later
Y/N: What is the capital of Burundi? Pub quiz is getting fractious
BB: Why don't you cheat like every other team and just use Google? BB: Why bother old friends?
Y/N: Oh, I'm sorry, Mr Charisma, I didn't realise your Tuesday night was so busy
BB: Friends don't leave friends who love pub quizzes out of their pub quiz teams 😛
Y/N: You're cute when you sulk Y/N: So… the answer?
BB: I’m not Jeeves BB: Look it up yourself
Y/N: Wow, you really are such a blunt pencil
BB: ??
Y/N: Pointless
BB: Alright, pizza wheel
Y/N: ??
BB: All edge, no point
Y/N: *has left the conversation*
BB: Typing it doesn't make it happen
Y/N: *HAS LEFT THE CONVERSATION*
BB: Neither does yelling it pizza wheel
Y/N: Don't make me call you pencil boy…
—
5 weeks later
Y/N: Pencil boy, it happened again
BB: Yeah… definitely don't like that BB: What did?
Y/N: Send TV theme…
BB: *Fraggle rock theme intensifies*
Y/N: Thank you
BB: No problems BB: Sorry to hear it
Y/N: Me too. Really thought this one would stick Y/N: He even liked my Cabbage Patch kids
BB: You still have that shit?! BB: They are low-key terrifying
Y/N: He did turn them all around when we had sex though 🤔
BB: Got his number?
Y/N: Why??
BB: Sort of agree with him on that. Might want to be his friend, not yours
Y/N: Shut up, Pencil Boy
BB: Pizza Wheel BB: We have to stop flirting like this 👀
Y/N: Pffft Y/N: This isn’t flirting
BB: Isn’t it?
Y/N: Are your clothes still on?
BB: Well, yeah…
Y/N: Then it’s not my style of flirting
BB: Bit slutty (supportive)
Y/N: The brackets saved you there, Pencil Boy
BB: Well aware BB: You’ll be okay. There’s someone better out there for you BB: Someone who appreciates Cabbage Patch kids
Y/N: THANK YOU. Was that so hard?
—
4 days later
Y/N: Can I call you?
BB: Yes of course BB: What’s wrong?
Y/N: Best explained over the phone
BB: Okay. I’m here BB: Whatever you need
2 hours later
Y/N: Thank you friend Y/N: Just… thank you
BB: Anytime 🧡 BB: I meant what I said BB: If you need it, it’s yours
Y/N: You are a great and wonderful friend Y/N: I may well do so 🧡
BB: You are always welcome here. For as long as you need
Y/N: 🫂😘
—
1 day later
CB: You invited Y/N to move in with you?!?!
AB: 😳 Surely not?!?! AB: He can only have one colossally bad idea a week and that hoodie was a choice
BB: Good evening to you too brothers BB: Hope you’re well BB: I'm fine, thanks. You?
CB: Yeah yeah whatever CB: I don't see a denial here
BB: 🤷
AB: You fucking idiot
BB: Why? I’m trying to help a friend here BB: I thought it was a nice thing to do?
CB: It is
AB: Usually
CB: There’s just one problem
AB: You are completely in love with her and have been since you were 5
BB: Pffft BB: Please…
CB: That’s your denial?? CB: Even I could do a more convincing job than that
BB: Pen would suggest otherwise…
AB: Don’t fling mud to distract AB: We are talking about your stupidity atm, not his
CB: Oi
AB: Don’t even
BB: Listen… she just got dumped for the 100th time BB: Her flatmate is moving out cos they lost their job BB: She can’t afford the rent on her own or a place by herself at the moment cos she’s still burdened with debt resettlement from her criminal asshat ex from 2 years ago BB: She needs to be in London for her job and her parents have moved to Wales BB: What would you have done?
CB: Tell her to move in with El? CB: Or literally any of her other friends?!
BB: Well I have a spare room…
AB: So does El
BB:
AB: Memes? Really?
CB: You’re just jealous cos you can’t figure out text attachments
AB: Shut up
CB: Kate thinks it’s hilarious
AB: Leave my wife out of this
*BB has left the group*
*AB added BB back into the group*
AB: You don’t get to quit being our brother
BB: Shame
3 minutes later
CB: Wait… What did you mean about Pen?
AB: How can you be this stupid? I paid for you to go to Eton…
*BB has left the group*
AB: Can’t fault him this time tbh
*AB has left the group*
CB: Rude…
—
1 week later
EB: I have a spare room y'know
Y/N: I’m aware
EB: So why subject yourself to Ben?
Y/N: You are all so horrible about each other
EB: And you love to watch it
Y/N: 🤷♀️🍿 Y/N: Anyway, I’m here now Y/N: He bought new bedding for me 🥹 Y/N: I didn’t have the heart to tell him I already have 4 sets
EB: I know he’s my brother and thus deserving of shit. But don’t torture him too much
Y/N: What the fuck are you talking about?
EB: I suspect he has a leeedle crush on you tbh
Y/N: Pffft Y/N: No he doesn’t Y/N: All we do is call each other names and snark Y/N: It’s been that way since 1994. I don’t see it changing anytime soon
EB: It’s like she’s never read Shakespeare
Y/N: That’s BenedicK, not BenedicT
EB: Funny how you knew exactly what play I was referring to, Beatrice
5 seconds later
Y/N: Gen… Is Ben into me?!
GD: What’s brought this on?
Y/N: Answer the question!
GD: Why are you asking me if my ex likes you?
Y/N: Please… You fucked like twice 3 years ago and are still friends Y/N: Don’t pretend there is any trauma here Y/N: I’d really like to know, seeing as I’ve just moved in with him
GD: You fucking did WHAT?! GD: Why?!
Y/N: I needed a new place Y/N: He was the first to offer
GD: What kind of rash reason is that?! GD: I have a spare room GD: El has a spare room GD: Dave and the gambling debts in your name weren’t bad enough…? GD: It’s like you’re actively trying to live in a Greek tragedy, I swear
Y/N: Don’t invoke that shit’s name
GD: Sorry GD: But really…
Y/N: So you’re saying he’s into me
GD: For an intelligent woman, you know fuck all GD: Even about yourself
Y/N: Why are all my friends so rude to me?!
GD: Bitch please. You are so in love with him
Y/N: I’m not
GD: Yes you are GD: He’s always the first person you text when you have a breakup
Y/N: Yeah… cos he’s the only one of my friends who ISN'T RUDE TO ME
GD: OR you always want him to be the first to know you’re single again
Y/N: Not sure I want to be your friend anymore
GD: Fine. Give me back my Canada Goose coat
Y/N: Let's not be too hasty now…
—
2 days later
BB: Do we have milk?
Y/N: How should I know? I don’t drink the stuff
BB: Aren’t you working from home today?
Y/N: Yeah? And?
BB: You have these amazing things called legs…
Y/N: I have a block button too y’know
BB: You wouldn't block the hero who single-handedly removed 2 spiders from your room last night
Y/N: … … Fiiiiine
20 seconds later
Y/N: We, or rather YOU, could do with some more
BB: Okay. Thank you
Y/N: If you’re in the mood, I wouldn't say no to some cheesecake
BB: I’m not in the mood BB: Mostly because you are lactose intolerant and won't stop bitching about the regret afterwards BB: I’ll get you some non-dairy brownies
Y/N: What kind of flatmate are you?
BB: The awful kind who looks out for your best interests
Y/N: Urghhh, the very worst
—
3 days later
Y/N: Bennnnnnn!! BEN!! SOS!!! Y/N: ANOTHER 🕷️
BB: It’s fucking 3am
Y/N: That's why I texted Y/N: So much politer than screaming and banging on your wall Y/N: It’s not my fault you live on some kind of spider superhighway Y/N: I never would have moved in here if I knew
BB: It’s harmless. Go back to sleep
Y/N: What about if this time it’s some poisonous one that crawled from a Shein package? And you wake up to a dead flatmate?
BB: Arguably, that’s appropriate payback for your endorsement of such a horrendous company
Y/N: I don't judge you for your odd shelf of little rocks Y/N: So don’t judge me for my sparkly shoe addiction
BB: How about I lend you a rock to throw at the spiders?
Y/N: How could you?!? I don't wish death upon them Y/N: Just for them to live their lives nowhere within my vicinity Y/N: You know you would have been back to sleep by now if you had just come in here?
BB: I’m aware BB: I have no idea why I’m still arguing with you on text BB: Slightly worried what that says about me tbh
Y/N: IT’S MOVING TOWARDS ME
BB: omw
—
9 days later
KB: You guys need to stop
Y/N: What? Y/N: Why are you texting from my kitchen?
KB: Look at yourself KB: It’s not your kitchen. It’s my brother-in-law’s
Y/N: I live here too, Kate
KB: And you need to stop
Y/N: STOP WHAT?
KB: Do you see where your feet are?
Y/N: ??On the sofa??
KB: They are in Ben’s lap
Y/N: And??
KB: He has his hands wrapped around your ankles
Y/N: And?? Y/N: I get cold. He helps me sometimes
KB: When are you guys going to admit to what is happening here
Y/N: NOTHING IS HAPPENING
KB: Sure Jan
Y/N: Get back over here with the Monster Munch. I need Netflix snacks, not judgement
KB: I’m just saying… I pulled this shit with Ant and you rightly called me on it
Y/N: MONSTER MUNCH KATE
KB: Don’t glare over at me like that. Way to make it fucking obvious…
2 seconds later
*BB added KB and Y/N to a new group*
BB: What are you two arguing about?!
Y/N: Mind ya business, Pencil Boy
KB: Your lack of decent snacks
BB: Not my area. She is responsible for all junk food purchases in this household. I will not be held liable.
3 seconds later
KB: Pencil boy??
Y/N: It's a long story
4 seconds later
*AB added KB, BB & Y/N to a new group*
AB: ARE WE WATCHING THIS FUCKING FILM OR NOT?!
—
1 month later
Y/N: Gen… I fucked up
GD: What did you do??
Y/N: I should never have moved in here
GD: Yeah, I told you that weeks ago GD: Why the sudden revelation?
Y/N: He has a girl here
GD: And?
Y/N: I can hear them… thru the wall
GD: Yikes GD: Go for a walk or something
Y/N: No Gen. It's worse Y/N: So much worse Y/N: I can hear what he is saying
GD: GO FOR A WALK
Y/N: Gen help Y/N: Help Y/N: H.E.L.P. Y/N: It's turning me on…
GD: I DIDN'T NEED TO KNOW ANY OF THIS!
Y/N: I had no idea he was a dirty talker
GD: I could have told you that…
Y/N: Why didn't you?!
GD: Why would that ever be relevant to our friendship?!
Y/N: You know that’s my weakness Y/N: You should have WARNED ME
GD: HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO PREDICT YOU WOULD EAVESDROP ON HIM HAVING SEX?!
Y/N: This is so awful Y/N: I don't know what to do Y/N: I’m in a quandary Y/N: A damp quandary
GD: Eww T-M-FUCKING-I
Y/N: I might as well just masturbate at this point
GD: I am hanging up on this text thread GD: I’m also off to put this phone in Dettol. Don't text me again for another few days
—
2 days later
BB: Why are you avoiding me?
Y/N: I’m not
BB: Yes you are BB: You haven't been home the last two nights BB: El said you’ve been hanging around her place
Y/N: Ok fine. I am Y/N: This is so awkward Y/N: I… I heard you Y/N: Having sex Y/N: I’m weirded out, okay?
BB: Shit… BB: I’m so sorry BB: I thought you were out on a date
Y/N: It got rescheduled
BB: I'm so sorry BB: Next time I have company, I will double-check if you are home first
Y/N: Thank you Y/N: I will do the same
BB: Much appreciated BB: So, will you come home? BB: There’s a new series of The Cleaner tonight
Y/N: It's not real blood, you know?
BB: I know, but it looks like it
Y/N: You can't keep hiding behind me. You miss key plot points. It's a comedy show, you know
BB: Just get back here, Pizza Wheel
Y/N: Calm down, Pencil Boy I’m on my way
—
9 days later
BB: Send him home
Y/N: ??
BB: You heard me
Y/N: Why are you eavesdropping on my Tinder hookup?
BB: Don’t make me come in there and be a caveman about this. Just… BB: SEND HIM HOME
Y/N: I need sex
BB: Not from a twat like that you don’t BB: When he is out of the bathroom, I want you to send him away
Y/N: … Fine
3 minutes later
BB: Thank you
Y/N: You owe me a bloody orgasm
BB: He was likely incapable of giving you one BB: When you are sober, you will thank me BB: And probably regret that last comment
Y/N: I regret nothing Y/N: I DARE you Benedict fucking Bridgerton Y/N: I fucking DARE you to give me an orgasm
4 hours later
Y/N: Gen Gen Gen GENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN Y/N: I know it's 2am, you are probably asleep, but I have to tell you smthg right the fuck nowwww Y/N: So, Ben went all protector shit on a loser I picked up on Tinder Y/N: Made me throw him out Y/N: I bitched that he owed me an orgasm Y/N: Might have been a bit too sassy, too many drinks Y/N: Anyway GENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN Y/N: GENNNNNNNNNNNNNNN Y/N: He stomps into my room, and god, he just…. Y/N: ARGHHHHHHHH Gen, he just took me, like respectfully, but also not at all respectfully Y/N: HE GAVE ME TWO Y/N: I am floating on a cloud. I can't feel my fucking knees Y/N: My flatmate is the best fuck I have EVER had Y/N: THIS IS TERRIBLE AND WONDERUL Y/N: I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE Y/N: HELP Y/N: PS Pls don't tell anyone
20 seconds later
BB: Stop freaking out about what just happened and come back to bed
Y/N: Ben we just…
BB: I know. Active, enthusiastic participant here BB: Don’t spiral about it. Just come back to bed BB: We can talk in the morning
Y/N: Did we just ruin everything?
BB: How is that not spiralling? BB: Get your lovely arse out of the bathroom and back in this bed, y/n, or istg I will spank it
Y/N: 😲🥵
BB: Oh I see. Hmm BB: Good to know 😜
—
5 hours later
GD: WHAT THE SERIOUS FUCK?!?!?!?! GD: THIS IS WHAT I WAKE UP TO?! GD: WHY DO YOU LIVE LIKE THIS?!? GD: CALL ME!!!!
2 hours later
EB: Why aren’t you at work today? Are you sick? EB: Did the Shein spider get you?
1 hour later
EB: I guess it did EB: Serves you right 😛
1 hour later
GD: WHY THE FUCK HAVEN’T YOU CALLED ME BACK YET? GD: I must have left like 10 missed calls by now
2 hours later
AB: Not to sound like a total dick, I know we’re family etc., but you are supposed to tell me if you’re taking a day off work Ben AB: Even nepo babies have some responsibilities
30 minutes later
KB: Why are Gen and El wondering where you are? KB: Text them, and also me now, too KB: I’m vaguely concerned but mostly nosey tbh
2 hours later
EB: ?????????
1 hour later
GD: Call me bitch.
2 hours later
CB: Where the fuck are you Ben? CB: You never miss boys' night down The Ship normally?
30 mins later
Y/N: Uh hi 👋 Y/N: Sorry… Y/N: I uhh have been busy today
EB: Gen and I were ABOUT TO SEND OUT A SEARCH PARTY
Y/N: Please tell her I’m okay Y/N: I will call. Just not now
EB: Where are you?
Y/N: At home
EB: I am coming over!
Y/N: Please don’t
EB: Why not?
Y/N: Another time Y/N: I know I’m being all mysterious and shit Y/N: I will explain everything I promise
EB: Is Ben there?
Y/N: Yes
EB: Then tell him to look after you EB: I’m weirded out, you weirdo
Y/N: Oh he will Y/N: I promise you he will Y/N: I errr won't be at work tomorrow either. Can you tell the boss?
EB: Are you sick?!
Y/N: Umm… yeah, let's go with that
EB: STOP BEING SO WEIRD
5 seconds later
BB: El, y/n is fine
EB: How is this any of your business?
BB: You literally asked for me to look after her 5 seconds ago
EB: How do you know that?! EB: Are you reading her texts?!
BB: She is showing them to me
EB: WHY!?! EB: What is this cloak and dagger shit?! EB: Did you fuck or something? Lol
1 minute later
EB: DID YOU?!?
1 minute later
EB: Y/N DID YOU FUCK MY BROTHER?!?
1 minute later
*EB added BB & Y/N to a new group*
EB: Answer me, you sneaky bitches
BB: We would appreciate some privacy at this time
10 seconds later
*EB added KB, AB, CB, PF, DB and SB to a new group*
EB: BEN AND Y/N ARE FUCKING
SB: Hello sister-in-law. Long time no chat. So lovely for us to catch up this way
EB: Don’t sass me Bassett
PF: Err okay. Why… why am I on this Bridgerton family chat?
EB: Bitch please, you are family. Well, you will be soon
PF: ??
*CB removed PF from the group*
AB: Subtle
DB: Super smooth
*EB added PF to the group*
EB: IS NO ONE GOING TO RESPOND TO THIS LIFE-ALTERING NEWS?
KB: I mean… we all knew it was going to happen
CB: Surprised he held out this long tbh
DB: He’s been in love with her since we were kids
EB: I thought he just fancied her a bit?!?!
AB: And they call ME the unobservant one?!
*PF left the group*
CB: Look what you did
*EB added PF to the group*
KB: Why did I marry into this family?
SB: I’ll take you for a drink sometime. You too Pen.
PF: ??
EB: You’re all useless.
—
2 days later
GD: *sings Where Do You Go by No Mercy tunelessly in your general direction* GD: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yt-KMPvgKPo
Y/N: Awful but also bangin cheese choon for a Sunday evening ngl
GD: SHE LIVES!! GD: El seemed to think you have been having nonstop sex since Thursday. GD: She’s also not handling that idea very well—lots of tequila.
Y/N: Not enough songs only have about 7 lyrics anymore. I miss the 90s.
GD: Avoiding that statement, huh?
Y/N: I will not dignify it with a response
GD: So that’s a yes
Y/N: 👀
8 days later
BB: I hate having a job 😘
Y/N: Me too… 😘 Y/N: I’ll be naked when you get home if that's any consolation
BB: I’m leaving now
Y/N: It’s only 11am lol Y/N: Stay there. I will see you later. It will be worth the wait. 😉
BB: You have been. BB: And I don't just mean today 😘
Y/N: 🥹 😘
56 days later
AB: Is this email for real?
BB: Yes. Yes, it is
AB: Wow. OK then AB: Congratulations
BB: Thank you. I'm very happy
AB: We can tell, brother, we can tell
1 hour later
*KB added Y/N, SB & PF to a new group*
KB: Y/N, we meet every Wednesday for drinks.
SB: Welcome to the fam, soon-to-be Mrs Bridgerton. It sucks; you are going to love it.
PF: Still not sure why I'm invited, but god, you guys are so much bloody fun I don't even care, lol.
10 seconds later
Y/N: Are you going to tell Pen, or should I?
KB: Naaahhh. It's more fun this way KB: Another very smart woman with a complete Bridgerton brother blindspot
Y/N: That sounds pointed
KB: You and me both, sister. You and me both.
Benedict taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @hanji-emo-blog @sya-skies @urfavnoirette
#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton fluff#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton#bridgerton fluff#bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x female reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x female reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n
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copy that - na jaemin
wc: 1.3k
notes: this turned from a kun fic based on a song to this thing from my little brain hole. not being able to focus can do wonders sometimes. hope u enjoy ᡣ𐭩
you wake up to the sound of the shower running.
that already ticks you off, knowing jaemin left you to freeze your ass off in bed before you were even conscious. you pull the sheets up past your face, trying to human-hot-pocket yourself back to a warmer temperature.
you've been with jaemin for over a year now, and you still aren't used to the fact that he's an early riser. it's just weird to you, and kind of annoying. you will finally be getting to the good part of your dream, and that is exactly when jaemin's body decides it's time to start the day. you love waking up to him, don't misunderstand, but it'd be nice to wake up to him a little later.
you hear the blow dryer start, signaling he'll be back to bed soon. painstakingly you reach your arm out from the blanket cave you've created and feel around your bedside table for a good two minutes until you find your phone. maybe you should've waited to open it. the first thing your screen greets you with is a text from your boss letting you know you have to come in later today. it was supposed to be your day off.
now you're plain irritated.
this was the first day in weeks you and jaemin both had off at the same time. facetime calls and messages that didn't get answered until 3 hours after they were sent were starting to get old. today was meant to be a day spent in the house, together, no interruptions, just you and jaem. you managed to get it interrupted sooner than it could actually start.
before you can fully spiral, you hear the bathroom door open. you peak your head out from under the covers,
"you gorgeous, gorgeous man and your stupid, stupid sleep schedule."
he smiles that gorgeous smile at you, "good morning, beautiful," he approaches the bed, getting ready to flop himself on top of you, "how'd you sleep?'
"good until i woke up without you, and now my boss wants me to go in." you sigh as jaemin wraps himself around you, "i don't understand it, the company is huge! i cannot be the only one available."
"i'm sorry, beautiful." is the only thing he says, knowing he can't solve the problem, but wishing he could. sometimes you hate that he's the best. you hate that he's more worried about you than upset that your plans together are ruined.
"today was supposed to be about us, jaem." you feel your tears begin to well up, "i just wanted to be with you today."
"i know, baby." he lets out a sigh of his own, "is there any way you can get out of going?"
"i don't think so," jaemin reaches to wipe the stray tears that had fallen from your eyes, "saying she 'wants' me to come in was the wrong choice, she's telling me i'm coming in today."
your boss is a great woman, you would even consider her a friend, but damn does she exploit the hell out of your friendship. if someone calls in sick, you're her go-to. if someone has a family emergency and needs to leave, you're the one she calls to replace them. hell, if she can't come into the office you basically end up doing her job for her.
"i think i have a good hour before i need to leave." you hate capitalism.
you get no response from jaemin, only the consistent feeling of his hand smoothing out your hair, that is until he pipes up.
"want me to shower with you?" he winks, it would've been super corny if he wasn't super hot.
"you just showered?"
"offer still stands~"
"okay, then get off me already."
he takes that as his cue to roll you both over until you are the one on top of him, then lifting you off the bed. he carries you to the bathroom with a newfound determination. as he sets you down on the bathroom counter you ask,
"whats got you so excited?" you can't hide the teasing smirk that makes it's way onto your face.
"always excited to see my beautiful girl's body." he says it so proudly you can't help but hit him out of embarrassment.
"shut up! don't get me horny before i have to leave for work, asshole." there is no bite behind your words.
"sorry! sorry!" he blurts, full of amusement. he definitely isn't sorry.
soft laughter filled the bathroom. for every morning jaemin wakes you up way too early, he makes up for it with a lifetime of memories filled with shining sunrises and dazzling smiles. as you go through the motions of preparing for a day that could've been so much better, jaemin stays with you for each second of it. from washing your hair for you, to drying it as you brush your teeth, to just being there as you get dressed. the day might be time lost, but the morning is alive and well and filled with you and him.
"wait, pretty, before you leave," jaemin trails off, going to get something from under the bed, "i got us something."
you watch him move in the mirror as you put on your necklace, the one jaemin got you for your 9 month anniversary. he pulls a box out, not small enough to be jewelry, but not big enough to be shoes. it's got your interest piqued.
"come see," he beckons you over softly.
you come up behind him to stare into the mysterious box and see— walkie talkies?
"huh?" confusion covers your features.
"i saw little dog toy ones when i was getting food for the babies, and i just figured it'd be so much nicer to talk to each other at work this way. i know it's still not the same as being together, but i thought it'd be nice to hear your voice whenever i want." he plays with the buttons on the walkie talkie as he talks.
your expression melts into one of pure warmth as you wrap yourself around the man of your dreams. you make sure to squeeze him as tight as you can; it blows your mind everyday that a man this considerate really made his way to you.
"t'ank yu" it comes out muffled into his chest.
he huffs out a laugh, the air comes and floats itself down over the top of your head, furthering jaemin's mark on you. it's not a mark in a possessive way, it's simply a mark that has been left over time. when a love is as deep as the one he has for you, it can't be helped that he unconsciously finds any and every way to connect himself to you further.
after that, you both decide its unfortunately time for you to start your day. jaemin drives you to work, leaving you at the office with a sorry but loving smile. his walkie talkie is pink and in the center console. yours in red and in your bag. he made sure to buy a charger for yours and his separately, 'so you can never get rid of me,' he says.
as you go throughout your day, constant updates from your boyfriend fill the usual silence of your office space. he lets you know when he gets back to the apartment, he lets you know what's happening in the book he's reading, and he lets you know when lucy sits on top of the book as he's reading it so that he'll pet her. you always make sure to give a response back.
his voice is a welcome sound to your day and one that you hope you hear for all of your days. that feels like something too heavy to say over a walkie talkie so instead you say,
"hey, jaem, i love you."
your hear the line crackle to life,
"copy that."
#jaemin#jaemin fluff#nct fluff#nct dream fluff#jaemin imagines#nct imagines#nct dream imagines#jaemin x reader#nct x reader#nct dream x reader#nct fanfic#jaemin fanfic#injvns writings
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Hello! I noticed that some of your fics on Ao3 are tagged "Screen Reader Friendly," and I wondered what makes a fic screen reader friendly. Is it just about formatting, or does content matter too?
Hi, thank you so much for asking this question!!! Disclaimer I am not visually impaired so all of this information I have learned by seeing blind or visually impaired people talk about this issue.
It’s primarily formatting! I’ll list everything I do to try to make my fics accessible here.
Line breaks!!! Use the ao3 line break code instead of adding a bunch of symbols. This is the biggest thing I had to change once I realized my fics were not screen reader friendly.
HOWEVER some screen readers won’t pick up on the horizontal line, either. Another good option is to use a short series of symbols, for example: “~~” or “- - -“
Basically, just don’t use more than three symbols in a row. I used to use “~~~/\~~~” with a delta symbol in the middle to look like the triforce, but a screen reader would see that and say “asterisk asterisk asterisk delta asterisk asterisk asterisk” which is pretty annoying lol
Most screen readers don’t differentiate between regular text and bold/italics. It’s fine to have those in your story, but if the bold/italics significantly changes the plot or the implications of a sentence then it is not screen reader friendly
Screen readers can’t describe a line break that is just an empty space. For example, in one of my fics I have a character reading a note, and I have an extra ‘return button’ space before and after the note to make the note distinct from the rest of the text. To make that fic more screen reader friendly, instead of just an empty space, I wrote “[Line Break]”. That way, a screen reader can say “line break”, and readers still recognize it as a line break
If you have any sort of chat fic (AND this goes for hashtags on tumblr too!) with screen names, be sure to distinguish the separate words in the screen name. You can do this with by capitalizing the first letter of each word like this “ScreenNameHere” or with dashes in between each word “screen-name-here”. That helps screen readers and also people with things like dyslexia who have trouble distinguishing words if they aren’t capitalized or separated in some way.
Screen readers can read image emojis like this smiley face 😁 because they have embedded alt text, but they can’t read text emojis as an emoji, like this one “:D”. If you use any of those in your fic, add a description like this: “ :D [Image description: text emoji of a smiley face with a big, open mouthed smile. End description].”
Also, this one doesn’t have to do with a screen reader, but if you have an image embedded in your story, keep these things in mind:
Be sure to describe the image so anyone who is blind or visually impaired can still experience the image. I don’t think it’s possible to add alt text to the actual image, so I usually put this below the image: “[Image ID: description of the image. Note the important details, but be as concise as you can. /End ID]”. Including the image description instead of some sort of alt text is good for DeafBlind people who can’t see the image well enough but don’t use a screen reader.
Some blind or visually impaired people don’t use a screen reader and instead zoom in on the text. If an image is embedded in the story, be sure it is sized correctly. If it isn’t, it can make scrolling sideways to read zoomed in text more difficult because it makes the webpage much wider than the text itself.
Not all my fics have the screen reader friendly tag because 1. There might be a few I haven’t updated yet, and 2. I didn’t include the tag on fics that have weird formatting or are accent heavy. For example, in Kinship I wrote Twilight’s dialogue to represent his strong accent, and those kinds of things with apostrophes and half-words don’t come through well with a screen reader.
I personally don’t think it’s good practice to include a ton of apostrophes or shortened words to distinguish an accent. Even for people not using screen readers, it’s hard to read. For me, if I see a fic with things like that, I won’t read it. Maybe try having a few words that the character’s accent comes through on, or write something about their heavy accent outside of the dialogue.
The “Screen Reader Friendly” tag isn’t an officially recognized AO3 tag yet, but the more people who use it, the sooner it will be!
Those are all the things I can think of right now. If anyone has any other tips to add, please do so!!
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crossing the line | one | kmg
pairing: mingyu x fem!reader genre: smut, fluff (ish) word count: 1.6k warnings: smut (18+), minors do not interact, kissing, a little bit of dirty talking, swearing. a/n: this is something new i'm trying so i'm still a little insecure about it. a huge thanks to @ressonancee for putting up with my shit while i wrote this. if you filled the form to get tagged in my fics but was not tagged for this one, it means that you are either a minor or i didn't find your age anywhere in your blog.
part two
this is part of my new series, seventeen as songs from lover (ts)
Mingyu ➝ Paper RingsI hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this↳ Mingyu had always been your best friend and that line had never been crossed before, then, one day, you woke up naked ion his bed with a vivid memory of the previous night.
Even before opening your eyes, you already knew you weren't in your bed. The mattress was a little too soft, the sheets not all the velvet feeling you were used to, and the smell didn't remind you of lavender like your room did. Above all that, the hand possessively holding onto your thigh was definitely not yours.
Without looking, you knew it was Mingyu by your side.
Peeking under the covers wasn't necessary but you wanted to make sure. Yep, naked.
You weren't drunk the night before and hadn't gotten even close to it. Although it was true that you couldn’t drink a lot, half a beer wasn’t enough to get you drunk. If anything, you had never been sober. It was a completely conscious choice to have sex with Mingyu.
"Why were you flirting so much with Soonyoung?" Mingyu had asked, while you were looking for your phone.
"We always kind of flirt when he gets drunk" the answer had left your lips mindlessly because it was the truth.
Drunk Soonyoung was cute, sometimes bubbly, sometimes a crying mess. But all times flirty. You never flirted when he was sober, though.
"Today was a little too much, don't you think?"
Mingyu followed you around his apartment, to his bedroom, arms crossed over his chest, his brows forming a frown. You turned around and walked to him, pulling his arms down to his sides.
"What is it with you today?" you asked softly, running your thumb over his eyebrows until the frown was gone "You've been really grumpy"
Mingyu sighed, his hands on your hips. You became too aware of the height difference between the two of you, of the way his body leaned down on yours. Mingyu had always been touchy, always. But the way his hands were sitting on your hips, his fingers lightly pressing your skin over the fabric of your dress was different.
Mingyu dropped his forehead to your shoulder, and your hand naturally went to his neck, caressing his hair.
"I think I'm going crazy" he whined.
Laughing you poked at his ribs with your free hand.
"You are a little crazy"
You felt as if your heart was going to combust at any second. Mingyu's touch on your waist became a little tighter, the tips of his fingers digging into your skin. It felt good, way too good.
Like a feather, Mingyu pressed his lips to the skin of your shoulder, where it connected with your neck.
"What are you doing?" you whispered.
He simply hummed and continued to kiss your shoulder, now lightly sucking on your skin. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but just enough to drive you insane.
It would be a lie to say that you never thought of Mingyu as more than just your handsome friend. The guy was attractive and he knew that, and capitalized well on the fact. So once, or twice, you allowed your mind to drift to that place, of him kissing you like you had seen him do with other girls. But the reality of it was incomparable to any dream or thought you might have had. Each little kiss from Mingyu gave you sent little tingles through your body.
"Mingyu, we drank today" you finally managed to push out.
Mingyu immediately pulled away from you, his eyes searching yours, both hands now on your face. He wanted to cross many lines with you but not if you were drunk.
"Fuck, I'm sorry" he pressed his forehead to yours for a second, before giving you a quick kiss "Let me drive you back"
The only reason why Mingyu even thought of initiating something with you was because he didn't see you drink at all. It was sort of an understanding between you two that if Soonyoung and Chan were around neither of you would drink because they could get out of control.
When Mingyu started to pull away, when you no longer felt his hands on you, a weird sense of emptiness started to spread over you. You held his hand, your eyes never leaving his. You could hardly blame your actions on the half beer you drank five hours before.
"If we do this," you said carefully, low voice "It's a one-time kind of thing. Tomorrow morning we go back to what we are"
"You just said you're drunk"
"Listen to me" you pulled his face close to yours, the deep red of your nails contrasting with his tanned skin "I drank half a beer before Soonyoung and Chan even got here. This is your only chance, either take it or drive me home"
Mingyu didn't need to be told twice. In a second you pressed against the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he delved back into your neck. Long gone were the soft kisses. The man was pure hunger.
He nibbled your jaw as his hand caressed the side of your breast.
"I always knew you wanted me" he smirked against your skin.
Finally, his lips found yours. All patient Mingyu was a distant memory as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, demanding control.
You were all too pleased to give it to him.
Mingyu walked back, hands on your ass, never breaking this kiss. He had waited years for a chance with you, there was no way he'd waste a single second of your touch.
"I'm going to take my sweet time with you," he said, dropping you in his bed.
You smirked, pulling your hair away from your face.
"I don't think you can" you eyed the bulge in his sweats "I mean, you're hard just from kissing"
Mingyu had always been big but his new obsession with the gym was paying off. His arms had gotten huge and his shoulders larger than before. You didn't look away as he pulled his shirt over his head and his pants down.
Without a word Mingyu kneeled on the bed, slowly, teasingly, running his fingers over your legs. You whimpered when he finally touched your thighs, making him smile again.
"You talk a big game but I'm sure of what I’ll find”
Mingyu kissed your inner thighs, goosebumps erupting in your skin. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a second. He knew where he was going without needing to look at you. Like he had somehow memorized your body.
Ever so slowly, he pulled the hem of your dress up. You almost wanted to groan at the fact that you didn’t put on your nice, sexy, lingerie. Instead, you had body shorts on. Mingyu didn’t seem to mind one bit though, as he kissed every bit of skin that was exposed while he pulled your panties down.
“God, why are you so slow?” you complained, pulling your dress over your head “If you’re going to eat me out, just eat me out”
You couldn’t help but squirm under Mingyu, desperate for him to touch where you needed him the most. It was embarrassing to admit that you were already worked up from the little he had given you. The small gasp that left your lips, followed by a moan, once he finally pressed his fingers against your clit, was the last tug at any self-restraint Mingyu still had.
“Dripping for me,” he said
Then he reached for the drawer, pulled it open, and took a condom out.
“All of this teasing and you’re really not gonna suck me?” you complained, sliding down on the bed, rubbing yourself on his thigh desperate for any sort of friction.
“I will, baby” he kissed you, while kicking his boxers off and rolling the condom on “but I think both of us will die if I don’t fuck you already”
Without a warning, Mingyu pushed into you. A mix of a moan and a gasp left your lips as he filled you completely. He nested his head on the crock of your neck, sucking harshly on the skin, at the same time you dug your snail into his back.
He moved at a steady pace at first, long slow strokes that hit you in all the right places. You pulled his face to yours. There was something in his eyes, completely different but not something you could afford to read into at the moment.
“Mingyu, fuck” you moaned “Harder”
With his lips on yours, one hand on your hip to keep in place, and the other above your head, Mingyu increased his pace. His kisses were frantic, matching the way the rest of his body moved.
“Please, tell me you’re close” he begged against your lips “I need you to cum, baby”
You nodded, eyes shut, as you felt your insides grow tight with the build-up of your orgasm. Mingyu chased his high too, his thrusts getting sloppy.
He held your body to his, painting over your chest as your body shook with pleasure. He never stopped kissing you, you noticed. Even after it was over, both of your bodies covered in sweat, he was still dropping kisses all over you.
“Give me two minutes,” he said once he managed to recover his breath, the most charming smile on his face “and I’ll eat you out.”
You laughed and pushed his face away.
“You don’t have it in you”
Running a hand through your hair you looked at Mingyu, still deep in his sleep by your side. He kept his promise, more than once actually.
It was a bad idea, to sleep with Mingyu. You knew that. He was your friend. Had been for years. Mingyu was the one you turned to when things got hard, when you needed comforting, or sometimes just someone to knock some sense into you.
You didn’t want anything to change between you any further than it had already had.
With that in mind, you pulled his hand from your thigh and got up. You collected your clothes from the floor and left his room, and apartment altogether.
taglist: @wonwooz1, @mirtaspace, @feat-sun, @wonvsmile, @mhlsymlysn, @immabecreepin, @miriamxsworld
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a/n: i will probably write a part two for this
#k-labels#seventeen imagine#seventeen x reader#seventeen x you#svt x reader#svt imagine#svt x you#mingyu x reader#kim mingyu x reader#mingyu x you#kim mingyu x you#mingyu#seventeen fluff#mingyu imagines#kim mingyu imagines#kim mingyu#mingyu fluff#seventeen smut#mingyu smut#svt smut
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Barbados
Notes: I just had to make a Rudy fic of this pic, he’s soooo handsome and just tanned and Sun kissed here he’s just so cute, also i might start writing more for rudy now cause hes my baby
Summary: Rudy loved barbados after filming season 3, and so did you. so after he finished outer banks he brought you back for a little one to two week vacation. while out at a local restaurant, you both cant keep your hands off each other which causes you both to have a sexy time in public
Warnings: slight age gap but both adults! (I have a thing for age gaps since he’s older than me) fluff, cursing, drinking, public unprotected sexy time, exhibition kink, size kink, heavysack!rudy, daddy kink, dirty talk, fingering, use of pet names, rudy being a flirt, Reader has nipple piercings, titty sucking, height dif (cause im short) i think this might be one of my dirtiest ones i dunno ill let ya'll be the judge, not proof read!, too lazy to capitalize, hope yall enjoy!
Rudy had brought you back to barbados, after he was done with outer banks. you both fell in love with it when you both first went there and you guys just had to go back again. so for a little getaway you guys got a plane flight there, and rented a hotel to spend a week or two there.
Present~
Rudy brought to a local restaurant, close to the beach. you sat next to him giggling when he took a sip from his beer then burped "excuse me" he chuckled watching you smile as you laughed, he wrapped his arm around you kissing your neck and lightly sucking on it. you turned to look at him smiling seeing what he was trying to do, he was trying to get you worked up in public "what are you doing?" you laughed poking his stomach as he kept biting, kissing, and sucking on your neck.
he chuckled nipping your ear "nothin' just giving my girl kisses" you giggle trying to push his head away as he kisses your neck again. you try pushing his head away "rudy noooo were in public right now"
"i dont care i want you right here, right now" he whispers, you turn to look at him surprised by his choice of words and you smack his chest lightly "Rudeth Pankow!" you scold, he chuckles again grabbing your thigh squeezing it a little "Get up" he says his voice more serious than before. you stand up and he gets up after you grabbing your hand pulling you down someone more hidden from public view and discreet.
rudy, pushed you up against a wall his lips attacking yours as he pushed his tongue in your mouth. he started unbuttoning your jean shorts, shoving his hand inside cupping your heat feeling the wetness soak your bikini bottoms. "guess im not the only one who got excited" he chuckles, pulling your shorts down to your knees, and tugging your bikini bottom to the side running his fingers through your soaked cunt.
you let out a moan tilting your head against the wall "fuck rudy" you moan "fuuuck your so wet baby, this all for me?" you nod your head moaning "yes all for you, and you only" he chuckles his thumb starting to rub circles around your clit softly as he had you against the wall. your back arches letting out more moans and whimpers as you feel the knock in your stomach slowly starting to form, rudy starts planting kisses all over your neck along with love bites as he pushed in a finger into your tight cunt.
"o-oh fu-fuck rudy" you moan as he starts thrusting his finger in out of you "fuck mama your squeezing my fingers so tight babydoll" he says adding another finger into your wet pulsing cunt, you let out a gasp as he curls his fingers in you hitting that sweet spot inside of you. you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climax as you squeeze his fingers tightly. "Ru-rudy im-im so close" you whimper as his thumb rubs fast circles around your clit putting pressure on it "yeah? gonna cum all over daddys fingers, like a good girl?"
you nod you feeling yourself get closer to the edge as he moves his fingers faster "go on mama cream all over daddys fingers, give it to me baby" his words push you over the edge, you squeeze his fingers tightly creaming on his fingers, you moan loudly as your legs shake and your back arches off the wall. rudy keeps thrusting his fingers in your cunt at a slow pace helping you ride out your high.
rudy pulls his fingers out of your cunt licking your juices off his fingers "fuck baby, took my fingers like a good girl. Ready for my cock?" he says starting to unbuckle his belt, you nod as he spins you around pressing your front to the wall as he pulls his shorts and boxers down exposing his hard angry cock, tip red and leaking of precum.
you turn your head to get a good look and you moan at the sight of his size, he takes his cock in his hands running it through your folds. he groans feeling your juices leak onto his cock "fuck baby, so wet so sticky baby" he groans nudging it to your entrance and it causes you to let out a whimper.
he pushes in all the way stretching you out so good, you both let out a loud moan and rudy pulls out thrusting back in roughly hitting your cervix causing you to cry out. he grabs your hair pulling your head back as he slaps your ass thrusting fast, into your cunt "god mama squeezing me so good, taking my cock so well baby" he grunts moving faster against you, feeling his cock throb inside of you as he keeps hitting your sweet spot over and over again.
you feel his heavy balls slap against you clit, making your legs shake beneath him. he thrusts harder his abusing your velvety walls as he hits deeper into your cunt "o-oh rudy fu-fuck fuck fuck!" you moan loudly and rudy puts his hand over your mouth continuing to plow into you "Keep your mouth shut, dont wanna get caught now do you?" he says groaning as he speeds up his cock swelling inside of you which causes you to whimper as you feel yourself get closer again.
you cry against his hand, your moans and whimpers muffled as your legs shake threatening to give out. rudy noticed this and pulled out quickly spinning your around facing him, he hoisted you up again pinning you against the wall shoving his cock back into fucking you against the wall keeping his pace the same as before. he tugged your bikini top down exposing your pierced nipples, he thrusted into rougher watching them bounce in his face and he let out a groan leaning his head down to suck on them. he sucked and used his teeth to give them a little tug which cause you to let out a cry
"Shhhh baby daddys close not much longer, can feel ya gettin' there too squeezing me sooo tight baby." he picks up the pace and you feel your at the edge, rudys thrusts get sloppier and he feels himself at the breaking point. he reaches his hand down pinching your clit which causes you to cry out cumming on his cock, squeezing him tightly which triggers his climax. he groans giving a couple more thrusts burying his face in his neck stilling inside of you "f-fuck mama" he groans giving your neck sloppy kisses "oh my god" you say out of breath, he pulls out pulling his shorts back up buckling his belt, and then goes back to you fixing your bikini bottoms and helping you put your shorts back on along with you top.
"well" he chuckles "that was fun" you sigh looking at him giggling "yeah it was" he comes back over grabbing your hips towering over you showering you in kisses and he starts to walk you back over to your table were you both were eating "i love you so much sweet girl" he says holding you against him kissing your cheek "i love you too Ru" you say blushing as you guys sit back down
Notes: this is prob the longest and dirtiest ive written, also this took like a good day and a half to write. i hope you guys like it this is probably the best ive written too in my opinion
tags: @kraekat29 @nemesyaaa @chimindity @redhead1180 @princessmaybank
@jjxkiaraxpopexcleoxjohnbxsarah
@rafeyscurtainbangs @alliisinwonderland05
@maybanksprincess @pankowkisses @pankowperfection
@torturedlexdepartment @smolbean1998
#my posts🚌#jj maybank#rudy pankow#outer banks#jj maybank smut#jj maybank x reader#my surfer daddy🏄🏼♂️🚬#jj maybank prompt#jj outer banks#Heavysack!Rudy#rudy pankow x reader#rudy pankow smut#rudy boy#rudy prompt#rudy pankow fluff
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Synopsis: Tabito Karasu has been in love with you for almost as long as he can remember. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like you have any intentions of reciprocating, considering you’ve only ever seen him as a child — and, more importantly, as your best friend’s little brother.
BLLK Masterlist | Part One | Otoya Version
Pairing: Karasu x Reader
Total Word Count: 41.6k
Content Warnings: reader is older than karasu (by like two years so it’s nbd but it exists), no blue lock au, bratty baby karasu, jealous karasu, slow burn, childhood friends, i have no idea how to write kids just deal w it, karasu’s older sister is given a name (look at that word count LMAO i’m not calling her ‘karasu’s older sister’ the entire time), reader gets drunk at one point, karasu the goat of pining, yukimiya and otoya mentions ⁉️
A/N: yes this is inspired by the song “best friend’s brother” from victorious but has barely anything to do with it. yes this is probably the longest karasu fic you will ever read as of its publishing date (word count is not a typo it fr is that long). yes reader and karasu are fuck ass little kids for half of the fic. i have nothing to say for myself except that i love karasu so much and i cannot be stopped…also tumblr is an opp so i had to split this into two parts EEK i’m sorry!!
Tokyo was exactly as you remembered it. Both of your parents had been raised there, and so you had visited frequently when you were younger. You had fond memories of staying there with both sets of your grandparents before they had all, in turn, decided to move to calmer parts of the country, places which were not as frenetic and vibrant as the capital. After they had left, your family had had little reason to go back, so it had been some years since you had last made the trip, but in a way this move was just another kind of homecoming, for the chaos of the massive city was as familiar to you as the peace of your neighborhood.
“Everyone here talks like your parents,” Yayoi told you, the first day you both were able to meet up after you had moved. Your classes had not yet begun, but you were both finally unpacked and oriented in your new lives, so you had taken advantage of the last bits of free time you might have for a while to see one another. “It’s kind of funny.”
“Right?” you said. You had never fully adopted the accent of your home region, for you had been raised by a family which still spoke as if they were in Tokyo, but regardless it was strange to hear people other than your parents speaking in that way without affectation.
“Sometimes I end up saying the wrong thing and confusing people, but they figure out pretty quickly that it’s just the dialect I speak with, and then they ask for clarification if needed,” she said. “So I haven’t run into any major miscommunication problems yet, thankfully.”
“That’s good,” you said. “Are you excited to start classes?”
“Well, excited isn't exactly the word I’d use for it,” she said wryly. “Even if I’m the one who chose the subject, it’s still going to be a lot of work.”
“A ton of it,” you said, making a face. “You’re lucky, though. Your term doesn’t start for another week.”
“Well, it also ends a week later, so that doesn’t mean anything,” she said, sipping on the last few drops of her coffee — which she always ordered black, not because she liked it that way but because she was trying to keep up appearances and whatnot. “What about you?”
“I think classes and all will be a good distraction. It’ll be nice to have something to keep myself busy,” you said.
“What do you need to be distracted from?” she said.
“Just homesickness and stuff. The typical things you’d expect,” you said. She hummed sympathetically.
“I get it,” she said. “I miss my parents like crazy sometimes, especially when I need help with random stuff. The other day, I had to video call my mother so she could explain how to clean a cast iron pan.”
“You could’ve looked that up,” you said.
“Yeah, but it was nicer to hear it from her,” she said.
“Yeah,” you echoed, because it was the same for you. You often found yourself calling your parents for no reason at all, asking them stupid questions just to listen to them talk. “I’m glad to be on my own, but I do miss my mother and father a lot.”
“Anyone else?” she said.
“What do you mean?” you said.
“Just wondering,” she said. “You know, come to think of it, you were kind of late coming to your seat. Freaked your parents out beyond belief. Any reason in particular?”
“I was just talking to Tabito,” you said. “Saying bye and all.”
“Are you going to miss him?” she prodded.
“Obviously. At this point, he’s like my brother, too. Isn’t it natural to miss your siblings?” you said.
“I don’t,” she said, though she immediately burst into laughter, which somewhat contradicted the statement.
“You’re horrible,” you said. “I know you do.”
“I do,” she affirmed. ��But I think it’s in a different way than you do. It’s odd, because I’m the one who’s actually related to him, but the truth is that you two have always been closer than he and I ever were.”
“Probably because I’m not a jerk like you are,” you said.
“How can you consider yourself his additional older sister when you’re so nice to him? You need to bully him a bit more to earn that distinction,” she said.
“He hears enough of it out of you,” you said.
“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” she said, holding up her paper cup and raising it to her lips, though you knew it was empty by now. You clinked your own against hers and finished the last remnants of your drink in one gulp. “You know, Y/N, I think you’re irreplaceable at this point.”
“You, too,” you said. “I’ll never be friends with anyone the way I am with you.”
“Fuck whoever we meet in college,” she said, nodding in approval. “I’m sure they’ll be cool and all, but the two of us, we hardly even count as friends anymore. It’s like we’re something more.”
“Exactly,” you said. “I can have a million more best friends, and likely I will, but never again will I have another Yayoi Karasu.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she said.
“I wouldn’t dare,” you said. “Not for a moment.”
Your first year of college flew past in the blink of an eye. On the whole, you preferred it to high school, even though there were aspects of the past you still held dear, seeped with nostalgia as they were. You made new friends, as did Yayoi, but just like you both had predicted, none of them measured up to each other. Still, it was fun to meet people from all different regions in the country and to hear about their lives. Some of your classmates weren’t even from Japan at all, and there was another layer of fascination there, learning about the ways of other nations, the cultures and foods they were accustomed to, and teaching them about your own in exchange.
Your mid term breaks were a bit shorter than Yayoi’s, which meant you weren’t ever able to justify visiting home, but in return, you had much longer in between years, so while Yayoi was still stressing over her finals, you were already taking the train back to the station by your house, texting your parents all the while.
In your absence, your childhood room had remained untouched, the stuffed animals arranged on your bed in the exact order you preferred, the books still stacked on the shelves, your artwork and photos of you with your friends hanging on the walls where you had put them. Time felt frozen, and it was as if you had never left, as if your entire year in Tokyo had been a dream and this had always been the reality.
After eating dinner with your parents, you showered and changed into one of your father’s old shirts and a pair of sweatpants, flopping face-first onto your bed and taking a deep breath, already feeling yourself nodding off despite the fact that it wasn’t that late. Traveling always exhausted you, however, and it was all you could do to turn your lights off and crawl under the covers, plugging your phone in to charge as you drifted off.
Right when you were about to fall asleep for good, your phone’s screen blazed to life, startling you awake as it vibrated urgently. Groaning and cursing whoever was calling you, you glared at the device until you realized exactly who it was, and then your unhappiness was promptly replaced with glee as you clicked on the green answer button.
“Tabito!” you said. Although you had texted with him every now and then, you were ashamed to admit that you hadn’t spoken to him as much as you should’ve. You reasoned that he had had equal opportunity to reach out first and hadn’t, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it was a feeble excuse that was only meant to deflect the blame from yourself and nothing more.
“Y/N,” he said. His voice was deeper than you remembered, and more resonant, too, lilting with a husky, full-bodied musicality that hadn’t been there when you had left. “Hope I’m not bothering you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured him. “What’s up?”
“Do you remember — sorry, this is really stupid, so don’t feel bad for saying no,” he said.
“It’s okay. I’ve definitely seen you do way stupider things,” you said. He chuckled.
“You’re probably right. Here goes, then. Um, do you remember when you went to my first soccer game in middle school, and afterwards, we agreed you wouldn’t come to another until I was the captain of a really good high school team?” he said.
“I think so, why?” you said. A second later, it hit you, and you gasped, beaming so widely that your face ached. “No way! For Bambi Osaka? Since when?”
“Yup, for Bambi Osaka. The old captain just graduated, and he named me as his replacement today, so, uh, since today, I guess,” he said.
“I wish you would’ve told me in person so you could see how much I’m smiling right now,” you said. “Congratulations, Tabito! You can’t begin to know how proud I am of you.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Anyways, our first game is this Thursday, so…”
“Huh? Did you want me to come?” you said. “Yayoi won’t be back from Tokyo by then, though. Shouldn’t I wait for her?”
“If you’d prefer that,” he said. “Or, I mean, you don’t have to go at all. I was just offering in case you were interested, but no hard feelings if not.”
Since when had he been so awkward with you? Since when had he stumbled over his words and been so unsure? You frowned at the mere chance that there was more than a physical distance between the two of you, even if it probably was the case, despite how much you had never wanted such an event to occur.
“As long as you want me, I’ll be there. I don’t have much else to do anyways, right? And how could I miss your first game as captain? Let me know where and when, and I’ll definitely come,” you said. He exhaled softly.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I want you there. I’ll let you know the details, but like I said, no pressure. Don’t force yourself. Come if you can.”
It was springtime, and the world was still remembering how to come alive, peeking out its head from the den of winter and blinking its sleepy eyes against the sun. There were not any flowers in bloom quite yet, but as far as the eye could see were buds on the precipice of rupturing, the pale undersides of their petals mere imitations of the hues they’d soon display proudly. The birds still warmed eggs in nests made of twigs and twine, but already there were cracks in a few of the creamy shells; here and there, even, little yellow beaks could be seen reaching towards the sky and chittering incessant demands at their parents.
You were lazy as you pedaled your bike down the side streets leading towards the field where the match was being held. It was an away game, technically, but this worked out better for you, as the high school they were playing at was closer to your house than the Bambi Osaka stadium, which was far enough that you would’ve needed to take a taxi.
According to Tabito, the game was actually more of a scrimmage, as they were playing a local school’s soccer club instead of another organization’s youth team, as they did in serious matches. Apparently, this was by design, as it gave their coach the opportunity to test Tabito's skills at being a captain in a low-stakes, low-pressure environment. If he proved himself incapable, the coach would override the previous captain’s pick and name another member of the team to the position, but if he played as well as he always did, and managed to coordinate the rest of the players in a satisfactory manner, then he’d be given the position permanently.
You had reminded him that this meant he technically wasn’t the captain yet, but to this he had said that he had the title and the armband, and if anything, since that was the situation, he needed you there more than ever. After all, he had explained, you had been in the audience when he had scored the winning goal in his first game for his middle school’s team. You were good luck for him. If you were in the crowd, then there was no way he could lose.
Parking your bike in the lot alongside the others, you locked it and then made your way towards the entrance to the stadium, the ticket Tabito had sent you in between your index and middle fingers. Even though there wouldn’t be very many people attending this game, it was Bambi Osaka’s policy to require tickets for entry to any of their matches, and the price if you weren’t associated with a player was, you heard, quite hefty.
You sat by yourself in the stands, your purse beside you and your legs crossed at the ankles. You couldn’t explain why, but there was a doubt in the back of your mind about whether you even belonged in the audience at all. Without Yayoi at your side, it felt like there was a neon sign in the air pointing at you and declaring you inept and unwelcome. Everyone else was buzzing with theories and predictions for the upcoming game, tossing out the names of the players and their opinions on them, but you were by yourself, without even a drink to warm your hands.
The gray of that isolation evaporated the moment that the Bambi Osaka boys took to the field, led by none other than Tabito. You were suddenly reminded that you weren’t just allowed to be there — you were wanted, genuinely wanted, and so you had as much if not more of a claim to your seat than anyone else could. Tabito had invited you. He could’ve invited anyone else in the entire city, but still he had invited you, and you would not tarnish that by thinking you were alone when he was there, as he always was.
As was to be expected, there was a complete difference to the way Tabito played when compared to that very first game of his which you had watched. For one, he was at the front of the field instead of in the middle, and there was an impertinence to the way he shook the hand of the opposing captain, an audacious smirk on his face which was visible even from the distance. This was a side of Tabito you weren’t so acquainted with, a side which was brazen and self-assured and stood as if he had already won before the referee even blew the whistle to begin.
The game moved faster than you could keep up with, and without Yayoi there to give you a play-by-play, you found yourself utterly lost about the finer details of the match. Still, even you could tell that Bambi Osaka was in the lead, and by no small margin — largely in part thanks to the combined skills of Tabito and a slender, pale-haired boy whose jersey read Hiori.
When Tabito was younger, there had been a desperate, vicious quality to his soccer, as if he really might die should he lose. It was in direct contrast to now, where he toyed with the opposite team in much the same way a cat would toy with a ball of yarn — with a distinct sense of superiority, like he was looking down on them even as he forced his way past, not giving them any other choice but to watch as he drove his way down the field.
“Is number 10 the new captain?” a boy behind you said. He sounded younger; maybe he had an older brother on one of the teams, or maybe he was just that supportive of Bambi Osaka. You didn’t turn, but you did tune into the conversation, wondering what they’d say about Tabito.
“Karasu? Yes, he is,” a slightly older boy said. “My brother said he’s a real asshole, but he’s a great guy when it counts. They’re all happy he’s the one who was recommended for the spot.”
“He’s so good,” the younger boy said. “And Hiori, as well. They’re both amazing.”
“Hiori’s only a first year, too. I bet he’s going to go far,” the older boy said. “Now shush, quit distracting me. I’m trying to watch the game.”
To no one’s surprise, Bambi Osaka won by a ridiculous amount of goals, and as Tabito shook hands with the school’s captain again, you noticed their coach nodding in approval, annotating something on his clipboard with a satisfied smile on his face. You waited until all of them had vanished into the locker rooms to head to the exit and wait by your bike for Tabito to join you.
About twenty minutes later, he and the rest of the team trickled out, discussing their game and the plans for the next one. At first it seemed like he had not noticed you, absorbed in conversation as he was, but it quickly became evident that he had, for he skillfully guided the others towards where you stood, never faltering in words nor steps until he reached you. Then he paused, schooling his expression into one of shock, his eyebrows raising and his lips parting as if he had happened upon you entirely by accident. It was an amusing bit of theatrics, albeit realistic to anyone who did not know his mannerisms as well as you did.
“Hey, Y/N,” he said, all composed and airy and dispassionate, as if it were mere coincidence that the two of you had met at that moment, as if it hardly mattered to him that you were there. It might’ve fooled another person, but not once in his life had he been able to fool you, and he certainly wouldn’t start today.
He must’ve showered in the locker rooms, for his hair fell loose and silky around his face instead of styled back as it typically was, and when you hugged him — which was met a reflexive return of his arms around your body before he could even manage to yelp in surprise — you could smell the faint, pleasant scent of his soap which still clung to his skin.
“Hi,” you said, holding onto him for as long as you deemed publicly appropriate before wriggling free and smiling at him. “I think you did good. Without Yayoi, I couldn’t be sure, but to me you looked great.”
“Eh,” he said. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been better. But thanks.”
“Woah, Karasu,” one of his teammates said. He was a tall and burly player who reminded you vaguely of Aoyama, and he accompanied the exclamation by wrapping one arm around Tabito in a friendly headlock and using his free hand to ruffle the boy’s damp hair, leaving him to resemble a sea urchin. “You didn’t tell us you had such a beautiful girlfriend! Hello, ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Get off of me,” Tabito wheezed, slapping his teammate away. “You fuckface, I’m going to kill you. Don’t try to shake her hand!”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” you said, accepting his teammate’s proffered hand. “Just best friends with his older sister. You can think of me as a stand-in for her while she’s finishing up her first year in Tokyo. My name’s Y/N, by the way.”
“Ah, you’re that Y/N!” he said.
“I believe I am? What does that mean?” you said.
“Nothing bad,” Tabito cut in. “Yayoi’s come to a few games and mentioned you, so everyone’s been wanting to meet you.”
“It’s true. I mean, a girl who refused to come to a game until and unless Karasu was made captain? We all thought you must be something intense,” his teammate said. “You seem pretty normal, though. And also super hot, if you don’t mind me mentioning.”
“Well, he’s the one who told me not to come, so if anyone’s intense, it’s him,” you said. “And, uh, thanks? I guess?”
“I mind you mentioning, so shut the hell up,” Tabito said, finally breaking free of his teammate’s hold and shoving him away from you. “Sorry about this one, Y/N. He’s incorrigible.”
His teammate laughed raucously. “My fault, my fault. Sorry, Karasu.”
“Say sorry to her,” Tabito said. “She’s the one you were bothering.”
“It’s alright,” you assured him. “Really, I don’t mind the compliment. Even if it could’ve been phrased better.”
“Anything for you, gorgeous lady,” his teammate said with a wink. “But, ah, considering I value my life and limbs, I think I’m going to head out now, as our new captain seems about a few seconds away from murdering me. See you around!”
He ran away to rejoin the rest of the Bambi Osaka boys as they all headed in their separate directions towards their homes, leaving you and Tabito alone once more. As soon as they were all gone, he sighed, that put-upon countenance he had maintained for the entirety of the conversation falling apart in an instant.
“I didn’t think he’d say all of that,” he said. “Sorry again.”
“You worry so much,” you said. “Come on, you just won another match, didn’t you? That’s cause to celebrate, so don’t look so tired and mopey.”
“I don’t look tired and mopey!” he defended. “This is just how my face is!”
“Uh-huh, sure,” you said, unlocking your bike and beginning to walk it beside you so you could keep talking to him. “I seem to remember your face being quite a bit rounder and sunnier. Now you’re all angles and doom and gloom.”
“That’s not something I can help,” he said, taking your bike from you so he could walk it instead. “Y/N, you’re being mean. I haven’t seen you in so long and now you’re acting like Yayoi.”
“You think I’m acting like Yayoi? I’m hurt,” you said. “Okay, then, you sensitive captain. How about we go get ice cream? My treat, since you got the position and all.”
“Okay,” he said. “But it’ll be my treat, not yours, because you came to my game and stayed the whole time. It was your good luck that helped me in the end.”
“Offering to pay for me? I suppose I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll allow it this time. Anyways, I would’ve had to, because I just realized I left my wallet at home,” you said.
“Almost like you did that on purpose,” he mused, bumping your shoulder with his. “Was that your plan all along? Suggesting we get ice cream but forgetting to bring any money, so I had to cover for us both?”
“I see why your team members think you’re an asshole,” you said. “It’s a surprise, to be sure, but then again, maybe I should’ve seen it coming.”
“Who’s calling me an asshole?” he said. “How did you know that? I’m not! Whoever it is, they were making things up, because I’m — I’m super nice! Seriously, where did you hear that? Stop giggling and answer me!”
You extended your arm to run your fingers through his mussed up hair, smoothing it down as best as you could. “A magician never tells her secrets. Don’t worry about it and just tell me which flavor you’re getting.”
“The same as always, why?” he said.
“I want to decide whether I should steal some of it or not,” you said.
“You don’t have to steal it. I’ll share if you want some,” he said.
“It’s better if I’m doing something wrong. I think it adds to the flavor, or enhances it, or something,” you said. He considered this before nodding with the utmost of gravity.
“If that’s how it is, then you’re absolutely not allowed to even look at my ice cream. I’ll be, uh, super mad if you do,” he said, his glare so fearsome and dark that it skipped the realms of intimidation and landed squarely in the land of comedy.
“You’re the best,” you said.
“I do what I can,” he said. “Will you let me have some of yours?”
“Hm,” you said. “Fine, but only because I love you so much.”
He fought back a smile at that, staring directly ahead, the tendons of his hands flexing on the handlebars of your bike as you continued to walk along the empty sidewalk, the glowing sun in the distance a reminder of the many days exactly like this which you still had left to spend.
The break flew by so quickly it was almost more of a punishment than anything. About as soon as you had gotten settled back into a rhythm of spending your days with the Karasus and your evenings with your parents, it was time for you and Yayoi to return to Tokyo for your second year of college, as well as for Tabito to enter his final year of high school.
You took for granted that you would be back as soon as the first term ended, so when you boarded the train to Tokyo, you didn’t take the time to properly appreciate the place where you had grown up. The city where you had whiled away your idyllic childhood…you had considered it a guarantee that you’d return soon, so why would you linger? But a couple of weeks into your first term, you got news from your parents: your father’s job had, almost out of the blue, transferred him, and so they would be moving to nearby Kawasaki by the end of the month.
There was definitely a pro to having your parents at that distance — they were close enough that you could visit them whenever you wanted to, but far enough that you could justify not going if you were so inclined, and removed enough that your life still belonged to you and only you. Still, it was a little like having a rug pulled out from under you when you weren’t even aware you were standing on a rug in the first place; especially because you could not so much as help in the moving process, given that you were stuck at school and could make no excuse to go back home for such a long time.
The house they found in Kawasaki was in a good area, and though it was smaller than your old one, it was still airy and bright, with large windows and wooden floors and enough bedrooms that you could still have your own despite not living there full-time anymore. Your parents were actually glad for the reduced size, for it meant less emptiness, less cleaning to be done in places that never even got used or looked at.
When you went to visit during the first term break, it seemed like they really were happy there. Or perhaps they were just trying to convince you that this was for the best, that you should not be sad, but if that was so, then they shouldn’t have bothered. You were the one who had left first, who had gone to Tokyo to study and work. Of course it was more abrupt and final than you had wanted, but hadn’t this day always been looming on the horizon? Eventually, you would’ve stopped visiting so frequently, if at all. There was no reason to mourn the occurrence of an inevitability.
Besides the drama of your parents’ move, your second year was uneventful. You made even more friends than you had in your first year, and you still saw Yayoi as much as you could, although it was more difficult for the time being. Luckily, at this point you two had the kind of friendship wherein you picked up as if you had never been apart whenever you reunited, so you at least had that one constant in what sometimes felt like an ever-shifting life.
Around the time that your finals began, you received a text from Tabito, written in a formal language that was nothing like the messages full of abbreviations and emoticons that he generally sent you.
‘Hi, Y/N. I hope you’re doing well, and that your second year in university didn’t give you too much difficulty. I’m just reaching out to let you know that my graduation is next Friday. The ceremony starts at 6:30 in the evening, and I managed to reserve you a spot. The address and information is on the ticket — if you’re able to come, then I’d really appreciate it, but if not, then that’s totally okay. I just thought I should let you know.’
You stared at your phone, a sinking feeling in your stomach. No matter how much you wanted to go, you couldn’t. There were too many factors against it, and you felt horrible as you typed out your response. Any way you went about it came across as too harsh, but then again, was there even a gentle way to reject someone when they had come to you with something so important?
‘tabito!! i can’t believe you’re graduating already, wow!! i really would like to come, but i have a final that friday in the afternoon :( plus i don’t know if you heard or not but my family moved to kawasaki, so i wouldn’t really have anywhere to stay. thank you so much for inviting me though!! i’ll get yayoi to bring a cardboard cutout of me to put in my seat or something LOL. it’ll be just like the real thing!!!’
He responded almost immediately, and despite the effort he must’ve made to sound unaffected, he was obviously disappointed by the turn of events, his efforts at cheer only further highlighting that fact.
‘It’s okay, really! And thank you. Haha yes a Y/N cutout will have to be good enough then. Good luck on your final!’
The rest of the week, the unopened file from Tabito, which sat in your email inbox, tantalized you, and you found yourself obsessively checking the schedule of trains leaving Tokyo. There was one back to your hometown that would depart an hour after your exam was scheduled to end, and you refreshed it constantly, waiting to see if tickets would sell out. Once they were gone, it would give you an excuse not to buy them, but to your frustration, they never did.
You would have to run, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee you would make it, to the train or the graduation, but it was the best chance you had, and with every passing moment, it began to sound like more and more of a viable option.
On Thursday evening, when you once again checked the ticket site and noticed there were open seats, you bit your tongue to stop yourself from swearing, and then you entered your credit card information into the prompt. A minute later, you got a confirmation email, letting you know that your seat was booked for the next day. Burying your face in your hands, you inhaled deeply, vowing not to tell Tabito in case he got his hopes up for nothing. Breathing in and out through your nose once more, you straightened your back and opened up your textbook, returning to studying with a renewed vigor borne of the adrenaline rush which resulted from the impulsive decision.
If your professor found it odd that you came to the exam hall in formal clothes, with your hair done and an overnight bag over your shoulder, she did not say anything, only motioning for you to put your bag with the others and then handing you your paper.
Thankfully, you had studied through the year, and this exam was for one of your easier subjects, so it was a relative breeze. You finished with time to spare, leaving the hall with your things and walking to the train station without any worries except for what would happen once you reached your end destination.
The train ride was longer than you remembered, and by the time you were disembarking at the station closest to Tabito’s high school, it was already 6:00. You sprinted through the platform, calling out apologies as you ran into people or elbowed them out of the way, trying to get to the taxi area before anyone else could claim all of the available vehicles.
“Stop!” you shouted when the singular remaining taxi prepared to drive off to a different pick-up location. You must’ve looked a sight, chasing after a taxi by the train station, wearing a dress and heels, stumbling over your feet with your arm outstretched. “Hey, sir! Stop!”
By some miracle, he saw you through the rearview mirror and screeched to a halt. You opened the back door and dove in, scribbling down the address on a slip of paper and handing it to him, as was customary. Then, when he input the address into his GPS and accelerated onto the route, you leaned forward.
“Sir, I’ll tip you generously if you can get me there before 6:30,” you said.
“I will do my best, ma’am. Please hold on,” he said. That was all the warning you got before he stepped on the gas pedal, the car taking off at all but twice the speed of the surrounding traffic, leaving you to hold onto your seat as the scenery outside blurred into nothing but a smear of pinks and greens and browns.
He got you there at 6:27, which was too close for comfort but still earlier than should’ve been humanly possible, so you reached into your wallet and pulled out a wad of cash that was certainly more than you owed. Slapping it on the console, you mumbled out a thank you and ran off without waiting for a response, trying your best to remember the directions to the auditorium from the email Tabito had sent you.
“Do you have a ticket, miss?” the security guard waiting at the door to the auditorium said. You reached into your pocket and tried to unlock your phone; your slick fingers typed in the wrong password twice before it finally opened and you could brandish the file. He squinted at it before nodding and opening the door for you. “The ceremony has already begun, so please try not to make too much of a disturbance when you enter.”
Your shins and the balls of your feet ached from how much ground you had covered in your less-than-supportive footwear and the speed at which you had done so. Your shoulder, too, was sore under the strain of your bag, but you ignored these pains, counting down the rows and the seat numbers until you spotted the empty one that belonged to you. Squeezing past the others who had already taken their places, you collapsed in the cushioned chair, a sigh of relief escaping you when you saw that, though the ceremony was already underway, Tabito was still yet to go.
“Oh, hey, Y/N,” Yayoi said absentmindedly, for your seat was naturally beside hers. Then, like she had realized what she had said, her jaw dropped. “Y/N? I thought you couldn’t come!”
“Shh, he’s about to go,” you said. “I’ll explain later.”
If you had hesitated for even a minute at any point, you would’ve missed it, but by the grace of some universal power, you had made it into your seat right as Tabito stepped up to take his diploma. He scanned the crowd, much in the same way he did when he was playing soccer, but sadly instead of sharply, like he was aware that he was about to be disappointed yet knew he had to experience that disappointment first-hand regardless.
His eyes slid over everyone in the audience dismissively, but when they landed upon you, they paused, and though it was too far for you to see, you fancied they must’ve widened the slightest bit. Not enough for anyone else to make anything of it, but enough for you to know.
For an instant, everyone else disappeared. In that auditorium, there was only Tabito on the stage and you in the audience, his diploma slack in his grasp, your breaths still fast and uneven. And although there was a distance, and no small one at that, between you and him, it was as if you were right by his side, as if you could see every single emotion which flickered across his face. Shock. Disbelief. Wonder. Then, finally, a sheer, childish thing which could only be called joy — unabashed and whole and candid joy. He smiled in the way he only did for you, not for anyone else in the entire world, not smug and haughty but shy and sincere, and you could not help but smile as well, raising your hand and waving at him like he always did at you.
He was taken aback, but obviously delighted, and so, as the principal announced his name and read off his accomplishments while with the school, Tabito ignored the praise and the applause, focusing solely on returning your wave with one of his own.
“What are you doing here?” he said, sweeping you into a hug as soon as you had all left the auditorium and he had reunited with his family. “You said you couldn’t come!”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Yayoi said from where she was waiting at your side. “And Tabito, when you’re done showing your clearfavoritism, give me a high-five or something.”
He held onto you for a moment longer before letting go and high-fiving his sister, who was the only one that hadn’t been there for when Mr. and Mrs. Karasu, as well as Tabito and Yayoi’s grandmother, had taken teary eyed photos with him. She had instead stayed with you, telling you that you owed her an explanation and then jumping to another topic of conversation before you could give her one.
“There was a train from Tokyo which left an hour after my exam window ended,” you said. “I know you don’t like surprises, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make it, so I didn’t want to tell you in advance in case things didn’t work out. As it is, I had to bribe the taxi driver to get me here from the station at highly illegal speeds, and with that, I only made it to the front of the building by 6:27. Honestly, I still can’t believe I got there before you went at all, but I’m so glad I did.”
“Me, too. You’re right that I don’t normally like surprises, but this one, I was really happy about, so it’s an exception,” Tabito said. Now that he was no longer under obligation to hang around with Yayoi, he was back at your side, playing with the zipper of your bag in fascination while you spoke.
“Me, three,” Yayoi said. “He was seriously depressed that you weren’t coming. The house was like a toxic wasteland the entire week. It’s going to be much safer and cleaner now.”
“Toxic wasteland?” you said.
“Yup, and the toxic waste himself is right next to you, so be careful,” she said.
“You’re so dramatic. It wasn’t like that,” Tabito said.
“Sure,” she said. “Yup. Totally wasn’t.”
“Why do you always do this?” he whined.
“Do what?” Yayoi said.
“Try to embarrass me whenever you can!” he said.
“Not like it’s possible for me to embarrass you in front of Y/N out of everyone. You do that all on your own, so there’s no way I can make things worse,” she said.
“Yayoi!” he snapped.
“Onto more pressing subjects,” you interjected before things could worsen. “Um. I do have a slight problem.”
“What is it?” Tabito said.
“I kind of came here on a whim, so I don’t really have anywhere to sleep, exactly,” you said. The siblings exchanged looks before Yayoi rolled her eyes and Tabito grabbed your bag from you.
“You’ll stay with us, of course,” Yayoi said.
“For as long as you want,” Tabito added. “Or as long as you can, actually. That’s better. Don’t leave until you absolutely have to.”
“We can put your bags in the car, and then we have to take pictures,” Yayoi said.
“I didn’t know you cared enough to want to commemorate my graduation,” Tabito said. Yayoi snorted.
“Nah, I just want to commemorate Y/N’s wild journey from Tokyo, and the fact that she magically got here on time. I don’t ever want to forget about that,” she said.
“I’d be offended, but actually, I’m in agreement. I can’t believe you bribed a taxi driver for me,” Tabito said.
“Ah, well, you know,” you said. “I just told him I’d tip him if he could get me there on time, and he did it.”
“You’re crazy,” he said affectionately.
“Totally,” Yayoi agreed.
“And aren’t you grateful for it?” you said, curling your fingers around his wrist and throwing the other arm around Yayoi’s shoulders, causing her to shoot you a mock-dirty look before she made herself comfortable against you.
“Yes,” Tabito said, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks when he lowered them bashfully, that same smile lighting up his face at the sensation of your fingers dancing over his veins. “I really am.”
The world was quite determined not to split you and the Karasus apart for very long. You learned that night that, along with getting into a prestigious college, Tabito had also been selected to join the Japanese U-20 soccer team. In order to balance his academics — he could’ve quit school entirely by this point if he so chose, but he was far too paranoid to not have a second option should his soccer career not take off — with the new demands of the team, he would be living in Tokyo with one of his new teammates, a boy he had never met but was supposedly named something along the lines of Eita Otoya.
His new place was somewhat close to your apartment; close was a subjective word, of course, but to you, when the weather was nice and you were in no rush to be anywhere or do anything, it was a perfectly walkable distance, and you told him you’d definitely show him and Otoya around once they were moved in and had a moment to spare for such a frivolous outing.
Between his practices and the increase in his workload, it seemed like you really might never see Tabito at all, however close you might’ve now been to him physically. Yet somehow, on a warm day at the brink of summer, he texted you asking if the offer was still on the table, and if so, could you please show him and Otoya a place to get good coffee, because the stuff they made with their Keurig machine wasn’t cutting it anymore. You laughed, responding that you’d be delighted to, and that you were free all weekend, with no qualms about dedicating a day solely to them.
Your first impression of Eita Otoya was that, next to Tabito, he had a delicate and pointed appeal to his pretty features. He was smaller than Tabito, and although there wasn’t an ounce of menace in the way he stood, all inviting and open and casual, there was a wolflike canniness to his green irises, which glimmered when he noticed you approaching.
Before Otoya could even say anything, Tabito had covered his mouth with a hand, glaring down at him in a manner which did not seem to entirely be in jest.
“No way,” he said. “Flirt with whoever else you want, but she and Yayoi are off limits.”
Otoya held his hands up in the air, his voice muffled by Tabito’s palm when he spoke. “Got it, dude. Plenty of other fish in the sea, right?”
“For you, yeah,” Tabito said. “Hi, Y/N.”
“Hi, Tabito,” you said. “And you must be Otoya? It’s nice to meet you. Tabito’s mentioned you a few times.”
“Hopefully he’s only said good things,” Otoya said, shaking your hand, careful to keep a cordial distance between you two.
“On the contrary, I’ve been led to believe you’re the devil incarnate,” you said.
“Really?” Otoya said.
“No, of course not. He’s only ever spoken highly of you. I was just joking,” you said.
“That’s a relief,” Otoya said. “It’d be awkward if you had a bad impression of me before we’d even met.”
“Did you really think I’d complain about you to her? I’m kind of hurt,” Tabito said.
“Look, you never know! Maybe that’s how you get your aggression out,” Otoya said.
“It’s not. If I had any aggression, I’d just yell at you yourself. I definitely wouldn’t burden her with any of your hypothetical nonsense, not in a million years,” Tabito said.
“Woah, didn’t realize we had a gentleman here,” Otoya said with a snicker. “Okay, then. Thanks for not talking shit about me behind my back.”
“Anytime,” Tabito said.
“Are you two done yet?” you said. “I don’t want the place to close before we get a spot.”
“Is it nearby?” Otoya said. “As long as it’s close, it doesn’t even matter if it’s expensive. I just need something better than those shitty convenience store Keurig packets Tabito’s been getting for us.”
“That’s the best I’ve been able to bring home at the random times you text me telling me we’re out! Sorry I don’t stop by a damn café after every morning practice,” Tabito said.
“This guy,” Otoya said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Doesn’t understand the value of a good coffee one bit.”
“Not everyone has that touch,” you whispered back with a wink. “It’s alright. I won’t let you suffer any longer; the shop I’m taking you to is only a block away, and it’s relatively inexpensive — for the city, anyways. If you don’t know that it’s there, though, it’s easy to miss, so I don’t blame you for not seeing it.”
“My hero!” Otoya said. “Lead the way.”
You had discovered the small café entirely by accident during your first year in Tokyo. It was tucked away between a laundromat and a veterinary office, far from where one would expect a shop of its nature to be located, and although there was were always a couple of patrons scattered throughout the booths and tables, it was never bustling or crowded enough to take away from the cozy atmosphere.
Tabito held the door open for you, and consequently for Otoya, who followed after and inhaled deeply, clasping his hands together in awe.
“This is amazing,” he said. “L/N, you’re like an angel sent from heaven or something. I could fall to my knees and praise you with a sonnet right now, I’m that happy.”
“If you fall to your knees or do anything similarly stupid in front of her, I’ll show you why I made the U-20 team,” Tabito said, raising his leg in the air like he was threatening to kick Otoya.
“He was just joking around, Tabito, it’s not a big deal,” you said. Then, to Otoya: “You’re pretty funny, you know.”
“Thanks,” he said with a grin. “I try my best. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”
“Mostly it doesn’t,” Tabito muttered under his breath. “Tell me your order, Y/N, and I’ll get it for you.”
“Oh, thanks!” you said, listing off your favorites from the cafe’s menu for him. He wrote it down on his phone, lines of concentration etched into his brow as he painstakingly typed out the entire order before showing it to you to confirm that it was correct.
“Can you get me their seasonal drink?” Otoya said, sliding into the seat across from you and peering up at Tabito, who was entirely unamused by the act. “That floral-type latte. It sounds sick.”
“Get it yourself,” Tabito said.
“Why? You’re going to be up there, so just order and let me get to know dear Miss L/N here,” Otoya said. Tabito seemed conflicted, but you nodded reassuringly at him.
“Fine, but you — you know the deal,” he said, brandishing his pointer finger at Otoya. “Don’t you dare mess with her.”
“You got it,” Otoya said with a double-thumbs-up.
“I’m sorry. He’s always been like that, but he really does mean well,” you said, gazing after Tabito once he had stomped away to the counter.
“Been like what?” Otoya said. “An asshole? Ah, but I’m only saying it affectionately, so please don’t tell him I called him that, or else you’ll cause problems where there aren’t any.”
“He’s sweet at heart,” you said. “I know how he can seem to other people, especially at first, but I met him when he was four years old, so I guess I never really saw that side of him. He’s never been anything but kind to me. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say.”
“You’ve known Karasu for that long?” Otoya said.
“Yup. Like I said, I’m not denying that he’s abrasive most of the time, but he’s only being so protective because he cares about his sister and I so very much. Please don’t take it personally. He’s just that type of younger sibling,” you said.
“Younger sibling?” Otoya repeated. “That’s how you see him, huh? I get it now. If that’s how things are, then I won’t butt in.”
“That’s how they are,” you said. For some reason, this caused him to laugh at you, but it was pitying and mocking and not a sound you preferred to hear from anyone — most certainly not from a person you had only just met.
“It’s always so complicated in life, huh? That’s why I never really try too hard. Problems get worse the more you think about them,” he said. It hardly counted as an explanation, but for some reason, you were sure that that was all you were going to get out of him. “Oh, shit!”
“What happened?” you said as, abruptly and without warning, he shot to his feet,
“I was supposed to work on a group presentation today,” he said, running a hand through his hair with a groan. “They just texted to confirm that we’re meeting in the library in fifteen minutes.”
“Can you make it on time?” you said. He was already typing the address of his school’s library into his GPS, and the instant it loaded, he nodded at you.
“I’ve got it, but I’m afraid I’ll have to head out right about now, or else this crazy girl in my group will kill me. Tell Karasu I’ll send him the money for my drink, and that he can enjoy it on me,” he said. “Poor guy needs it, I’m pretty sure.”
“It’ll be too sweet for him, but I’ll pass along the message, sure,” you said.
“Now, normally, this would be the part where I’d ask you for your number, but no matter how beautiful you are, I’m not willing to risk my living situation for you,” he said. “Karasu’s pretty cool, as far as roommates go. It could definitely be worse, so I’d really not like to lose him and end up with some weirdo who collects toenail clippings, just for flirting with the one girl that he declared off-limits.”
“His actual sister’s off-limits as well,” you reminded Otoya. “So that’s two.”
“He did say that, didn’t he? But you’re off-limits in a different way, and unless I want to end up like my own older sister, whose first-year roommate built a replica of the Taj Mahal from the hair she collected out of their drain, I’m going to respect that,” he said.
“That’s disgusting,” you said, too busy gagging at the mental image artwork he had just described to even question what else he was talking about. “Well, you should be off to your group project, then. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Otoya, but in case it’s not for a while, I’ll wish you luck with soccer and school now.”
“Thanks. The same to you, and I am eternally in your debt for showing me this place, so if you ever need something, let me know,” he said, scrambling hastily out of the café without bothering to push his chair back under the table.
Tabito returned a few seconds later, setting the tray of your drinks down on the table and taking his spot in the booth at your side. Handing you the cup that belonged to you, he sipped on his own and placed Otoya’s across from himself.
“Where’d Otoya go?” he said.
“He said something about working on a group project and left. Apparently, he’ll send you the money for the drink, and you’re free to do with it as you please,” you said. Tabito wrinkled his nose.
“He always gets such sweet shit. There’s no way I’m going to be able to drink that,” he said.
“That’s what I told him, but what other option is there? We can share so it isn’t wasted,” you said, taking a swig from Otoya’s flowery beverage. It wasn’t bad, and you had a little more before giving it to Tabito.
“Ugh,” he said. “Fine.”
He poked out his tongue, lapping up the tiniest droplet of coffee which lingered on the rim of the cup, and then he made a face, handing it back to you and then gulping down two mouthfuls of his own drink to wash out the taste.
“That bad?” you said.
“Tasted like shit,” he said. “I don’t know how the two of you can drink that kind of stuff regularly without gagging.”
“It’s not my favorite, but it’s not as horrible as you’re making it out to be,” you said.
“I can literally feel my arteries clogging as we speak,” he said.
“Since when did you start speaking like an old man?” you said. “What boy your age talks about his arteries clogging?”
“Firstly, I’m trying to become a professional athlete, so I have to pay careful attention to things like my health, and secondly, we’re not that far apart in age. We have to worry about the same things, like jobs and grades and clogged arteries. Concerns of that nature,” he said.
“I’m glad you feel that way, but why’d you think I was referring to people my own age when I said old man, hm?” you said, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. “For your information, I doubt any of my own classmates would care about that shit yet, either. That was a distinctly middle-aged thing of you to say.”
“That makes me older than you,” he said. “If I’m middle-aged and you’re still all youthful and whatnot, that is. How do you feel about that age gap? It’s a little racy, don’t you think?”
You gave him an incredulous look. He couldn’t even maintain his straight face for more than a second, immediately losing composure and snorting at you.
“You’re the worst,” you said.
“And you’re easy to tease,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I had to take the opportunity when it presented itself.”
“I’ll give it to you this once,” you said. “Next time, you’re not getting off so easily.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “You’re all talk. I’m not scared one bit.”
“It’s not my fault you’re so adorable,” you said. “How am I supposed to stay mad when you look like you just watched a puppy die every time Yayoi yells at you?”
He scowled at you. “You’re making that up, aren’t you? Or is that how you actually see me?”
“Hm,” you said. “Let’s finish our drinks. They don’t taste as good if they’ve sat for too long.”
Huffing in exasperation but knowing that you’d not go into more detail once you’d changed the subject, he finished off what was left of his order in one fell swoop, and then he snatched Otoya’s drink from your hands, tossing it into the trashcan before you could so much as blink.
“Aw,” you said. “I feel bad. That’s how we’re responding to Otoya’s act of goodwill?”
“Forget about his goodwill,” Tabito said. “It’s not like he did it because of how magnanimous he is or anything. He’s just a dumbass who forgot that he had prior commitments.”
“Nothing like you, of course,” you said. “You’re always on time, and you only ever order the best of drinks.”
“Exactly,” he said firmly, leaving no room for argument — not that you would’ve argued with him, even if there was any cause to. Your father had always told you that generally, it was better to lose an argument than a loved one, and since the notion of losing Tabito was akin to a spear being driven into your heart, you did your best to avoid the chance of that frightful outcome ever occurring at all.
A few days before the end of the winter term, Yayoi called you in a flurrying panic. When you picked up, you were expecting her to be asking about the plans you had made for the road trip you two were taking, but it was nothing of the sort. Indeed, the first words out of her mouth were ones you had never once heard from her, and you almost dropped your phone the moment she said them.
“Y/N, I need your help. There’s this guy—”
“What?” you said. “Since when? What’s his name? Where did you meet him, and how? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Is he handsome?”
“Oh my god, one question at a time!” she said. “Yes, he’s super handsome — actually, he’s a model, so it’s kind of a prerequisite. I’m telling you as it happens, so don’t think I’m keeping things from you! His name is Kenyu Yukimiya; he plays for the U-20 team with Tabito, and I met him when I went to one of their practices because I was bored. We spoke once, but I don’t think he remembers I exist, and even if he does, he probably considers me as nothing more than his teammate’s older sister.”
“Wait, U-20? Is he younger than us?” you said.
“Yes, he’s in Tabito’s year, though a couple of months older than him,” she said. “Do you think it’s weird? Oh, it’s totally weird, isn’t it? I’m a creep! I’m a stupid, ugly creep! Lock me away or turn me into the police or something!”
You cut her wailing off with a snicker. “Yayoi, relax. It’s not that weird, and I mean that honestly. It’s hardly even a two year difference, right? My own parents have a bigger age gap, and besides, you both are in pretty similar spots in life, so it shouldn’t be a problem, especially if he’s mature.”
“He seemed mature,” she said contemplatively. “He was super polite and kind when I spoke to him. Plus, unlike my stupid brother, he actually enjoys talking about the same things I do.”
“There you go, then,” you said. “You’re worrying for nothing. The only reason why anyone might say anything is because you’re older than him, but who cares about that? It’s a tired concept, the whole notion of the woman needing to be younger or smaller than her male partner or whatever. As long as he’s single and into you, I’d say you’re in the clear.”
“That’s what I actually called you to talk about!” Yayoi said. “You’ve had a boyfriend, so you know a little more than I do about this kind of thing. How am I supposed to get him to ask me out?”
“Just so you know, having had one boyfriend back in high school doesn’t exactly qualify me to give you advice,” you said. “Also, you can’t really get someone to ask you out. Why don’t you just go to another one of their practices and talk to him again once they’re done? If the conversation is flowing well, then you can ask him out yourself.”
“Um, that would be a great idea if I was brave enough to ask someone out,” she said. “Unfortunately, I definitely am not.”
“You don’t have to be all official and serious about it,” you said. “Don’t say you want to date or anything — ask him if he wants to hang out to continue the conversation at a later time, and then give him your number. That’s all. If he’s interested, he’ll call or text you to make plans, and if he’s not, then he won’t.”
“It’s that simple?” she said.
“I think it is,” you said. “I wouldn’t know from personal experience. Aoyama just asked me out. I never had to do anything.”
“Not all of us can be that lucky!” she said.
“Yeah, I get it. But I have confidence that you can pull it off! It’ll go great, and then you’ll actually be dating a model in Tokyo like you always said you would,” you said.
“Okay…” she said hesitantly. “Y/N?”
“Yayoi?” you said.
“Canyoucometothepracticewithme?” she said, all in one unintelligible breath. You furrowed your brow.
“Could you repeat that?” you said.
“Can you come to the practice with me?” she said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do it without you pressuring me a bit.”
“Sure, why not?” you said. “Is it in the morning or evening?”
“They have evening practices on Tuesdays. I was thinking we could go to one of those? That’s what I did last time, so it’s an established thing, and anyways I don’t think I could wake up early enough to go to a morning practice,” she said.
“Okay, good, because I was kind of scared I’d have to be up before the sun. I’d do it for you, and in a heartbeat, but I wouldn’t exactly be happy about it,” you said.
“I wouldn’t, either,” she said. “This Tuesday, then? We can have an early dinner or late snack together before heading over.”
“I won’t miss it,” you promised. “Make sure you wear something nice!”
After your Tuesday classes and errands were completed, you met Yayoi at a restaurant you both liked so that you could quickly eat before leaving for the practice. She was nervous the entire way, twirling the ends of her hair around her finger, straightening her already-perfect clothes, and chewing on her lower lip.
“Hey,” you said as the two of you entered the stadium and sat on the first row of benches. “Don’t stress out. If he’s an asshole, we’ll sic Tabito on him. I bet he could beat your crush in a fight, easily.”
“I don’t know,” Yayoi groaned. “Yukimiya’s super tall, and he looks pretty built, too. I think my baby brother might be outmatched.”
“No way,” you said loyally. “I’d bet on him over anyone.”
She glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. “I wish I could have the same faith in him, but considering what a dumbass he typically is, I can’t say I can muster it up. Look, that’s Yukimiya. Still think Tabito’s got it in the bag?”
Discreetly, she pointed out a boy with wavy chestnut hair and an admittedly powerful build. He stood next to Otoya, which only threw it into further relief just how muscular and tall he was. Yayoi hadn’t been lying about that, and neither had she made up how good-looking he was; you could tell just from that first glance that he was heartbreakingly handsome.
“Well,” you said, realizing that maybe you had been a bit overconfident in Tabito’s abilities. But you were too stubborn to change your answer now, and besides, you believed in him no matter what, so you only shrugged. “Yes. Even if it looked like he’d lose for sure, I’d still pick him. There just isn’t anyone else I’d ever choose.”
“Damn,” Yayoi said. “Fine, then. If Yukimiya ends up being an asshole, we’ll see who wins.”
“Deal,” you said. “Although, hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”
“Hopefully,” she agreed.
The practice was long, dragging on past sunset, the field’s lights turning on to ward away the darkness as the moon crept higher into the sky. Yayoi, who had confessed that she hadn’t slept well the previous night, slumped against you and passed out almost immediately, and you busied yourself with a pattern of checking your phone and watching moths fly fruitlessly into the massive lamps.
Finally, the coach blew the whistle to signify the end of the practice, and as the players exited the field, walking past where you were conveniently seated, right by the joint entrance-exit, you shook Yayoi.
“There’s no way you’re in this deep of a sleep,” you hissed at her unmoving form.
“Y/N?” It was not Yayoi but someone else who said your name; namely, Tabito, who had paused in front of you and Yayoi to gaze at you questioningly. “Why are you at my practice?”
“Not now, Tabito,” you said dismissively. Noticing that Otoya and, more importantly, Yukimiya, flanked him, you doubled down on your efforts to wake Yayoi, who remained unresponsive. “You bitch. I bet you’re just pretending to sleep so you don’t have to go through with the plan.”
“Hey, L/N! It’s been a bit,” Otoya said. “I’ve been visiting the place you showed us almost daily. It’s wicked good. You’re the best for bringing us there.”
“Hi, Otoya,” you said. “Sure, anytime. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Yayoi, if you won’t get up, I’ll just do it myself.”
Without waiting for her to respond, you stood up and bowed slightly at Yukimiya, who seemed entirely bemused by your odd actions. He glanced at both Otoya and Tabito for help, but neither of them had any clue what you were doing, either, so they could offer no assistance to him on that front.
“It’s nice to meet you. I hear your name is Kenyu Yukimiya?” you said.
“Yes, that’s correct,” he said. He had a pretty manner of speech, proper and refined, each word spoken with careful control. “Who might you be?”
“Y/N L/N, but that’s unimportant,” you said. “That’s Yayoi Karasu. She’s Tabito’s barely-older sister. You should talk to her.”
“Y/N!” Yayoi screeched, shooting up to a sitting position. “Why would you phrase it like that?”
“What is going on here?” Tabito said. Otoya shrugged, clearly lost as well.
“So you were faking it the entire time! Never in my life have I met a bigger coward,” you said, clicking your tongue in disappointment.
“Yayoi Karasu?” Yukimiya said. “Oh, I know you! You were here last week, right? We talked about Neon Genesis Evangelion.”
“That’s right! You, uh, remembered that?” Yayoi said. He beamed at her.
“How could I not? The movie is one of my favorites, and none of these guys like it, so it was great to meet someone else who’s seen it so many times,” Yukimiya said.
“Y/N,” Tabito whispered, sidling over to you, the tip of his sharp nose brushing against the shell of your ear. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
“Depends,” you whispered back. “If you think this is your sister having a crush on your soccer teammate, then yeah, it is. Otherwise, no.”
“That’s gross,” Tabito said, horror twisting his features. “Yayoi and Yuki? No way. You have to be joking.”
“Why not? Because he’s younger than her? It’s only two years. That’s nothing,” you said. “You should be more supportive.”
“No,” he said, a peculiar edge to his voice. “No, I don’t — I don’t care about that part. I thought you might, but I don’t at all.”
“Huh? Why would I?” you said. “If they’re both interested in each other, and they make each other happy, that’s all that matters. We’re adults, so a few years here and there is meaningless in the grand scheme of things.”
“What about you? Would you ever do it?” he said, breathless and impatient, clenching the hem of your shirt in one fist.
“Date someone younger than me? I’m not sure. I’ve never really considered it; you’re the only one younger than me that I regularly interact with, and, well, you know. There’s a special consideration there. Why? Got a teammate you want to set me up with or something?” you said.
“Absolutely not,” he said, stepping away from you and scowling. “I’d never ever ever let one of those mediocre fucking idiots anywhere near you.”
“Just a hypothetical question, then? I suppose there’s no harm in that kind of thing every now and again. Was my response alright?” you said.
“How am I supposed to answer that?” he said tiredly. “It’s what you think, so obviously it’s fine. I should go now. I don’t want to keep Otoya waiting; he’ll get pissy and annoying if I do.”
“Oh, okay. Bye, Tabito! Let me know if you’re free sometime. I feel like I never see you, even though we’re all but neighbors. We should do something,” you said. The strange tone of the conversation had left you reeling, and you scrambled for something that would make it better, would chase away the anxiety constricting your lungs like a vice.
“I’ll let you know,” he said. It was a dull attempt at sounding excited, and for a brief, striking instant, you wanted to reach out and beg him to wait one second more. You wanted to apologize, though you knew not what you had even done. You wanted him to stay until he smiled at you again, the way he usually did, and then you wanted to — you wanted to — you weren’t sure. You weren’t sure what you would do after that, but you would do something, hold his hand or embrace him or something.
Yet instead, you did nothing, watching as he rejoined Otoya and entered the locker room without a backwards glance, leaving you standing by yourself in the bleachers, your heart hammering in your chest like a crow with clipped wings, thrashing against the bars of its steel cage in a futile attempt to escape.
“Can you believe it?” Yayoi said later. “He asked me out first! I didn’t even have to do anything!”
“Congratulations,” you said, as genuinely as you could. “I’m really happy for you, Yayoi. Fingers crossed that it all works out well. I’m sure it will; he seems like a really great guy, and you both were talking for a while, so you’re clearly compatible.”
“Thanks, I think so too!” she said before narrowing her eyes at you. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing!” you said. She was so happy that you could not bear the thought of burdening her with your problems, especially when they weren’t even problems in the first place. Yayoi was having none of it, though, frowning at you.
“You can tell me,” she said. You shook your head, so she poked you in the forehead. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”
She punctuated each utterance of the refrain with another poke, until finally you batted her hand away in exasperation “It really is nothing. I just think I did something to upset Tabito — don’t ask me what, because I don’t know — and it’s making me feel a bit out of sorts.”
“He’ll get over it. Why’re you worried? This isn’t unusual. He’s mad at me half of the time. If I felt out of sorts every time he threw a tantrum about something, I’d never feel in sorts,” she said.
“But he hardly ever gets mad at me,” you said.
“Right,” she said, her eyes glimmering. “I forgot the two of you were like that. Hm. I still think you shouldn’t worry too much. If he’s actually mad, which I honestly doubt, then he’ll get over it quickly enough. He’s not capable of staying angry at you for any length of time.”
“If you say so,” you said. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. We need to celebrate you finally saying yes to a guy that asked you out!”
Yayoi blushed but nodded. “Should we go for drinks?”
“It is a Tuesday,” you reminded her.
“Is that a no?” she said.
“It’s a yes,” you said.
“I knew I loved you for a reason,” she said.
“Just for that, you’re covering the tab,” you said. She winked at you.
“Already planning on it!”
The end of your time at university came almost as soon as the beginning had. It was bizarre, walking out of the familiar exam hall for the final time — you knew you had passed, and you already had a job lined up for you in a month’s time, so there wasn’t any cause to worry, and indeed you did not. You only felt odd and light, as if you were floating through the streets of Tokyo, ephemeral like an aluminum wrapper bouncing down the pavement in the wind.
Neither Yayoi nor Tabito could attend your graduation ceremony which was held that Friday; Yayoi had fallen deathly ill, so you had enlisted Yukimiya in keeping her at home, lest she sneak out and kill herself by trying to support you, and as for Tabito, he happened to have a final exam held at exactly the time of the ceremony, which meant he was automatically excluded from attending.
Your parents, as well as both sets of your grandparents, were in the audience, but it wasn’t the same. You couldn’t help yourself from searching for the Karasus, for Tabito in particular, but no matter how hard you searched, it didn’t matter. They weren’t there. He wasn’t there.
When the president of your college, a portly woman with pin-curled hair and red lipstick, handed you your degree, you were hesitant in taking it. Your smile plastered on, you stared towards the door as your fingers inched towards the fancy paper. Any moment now. He’d burst through the door the way you had, and he’d see you, and he’d smile and then wave — it was like a tradition at this point, wasn’t it? It had to happen. He had to come. You knew he wouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop a foolish anticipation from brewing in you as you waited.
Your hands reached the certificate. You held it in front of you as the cameras went off, finally turning away from the door and grinning wider, resolving not to let it ruin your mood. After all, you had worked so hard to achieve this. Why did it matter who was in the audience? It could be an audience of none, and you’d still be happy. You’d still be proud, for no other reason than because you had done it, because all of your hours of studying and classes and homework had finally paid off.
You ate dinner with your family, and then you were invited to go out to a nearby bar by a few of your college friends. Seeing your parents and grandparents to the train station, you rushed back to your apartment to get ready for the night, entirely ready to let loose after what felt like several years’ worth of burdens had just been knocked from your shoulders.
The bar was packed with students from your school, all of whom had had much the same idea as you and your friends. The bartenders were rushing back and forth, sliding drinks out with as much speed as was humanly possible, and before long you were sipping on something fizzy and fruity that one of your friends had handed you.
At some point, one of your classmates, a boy who you had never known particularly well but recognized for his distinctive voice, which could be heard from all corners of the city when he got to bragging about his father’s salary, announced that the rest of the night’s drinks were on him. If you were his father, you’d be furious at the offer, but as you weren’t his father, you took advantage of it with impudence, downing glass after glass of whatever the bartender gave you.
Soon enough, the music and lighting, which you had found so charming and delightful earlier, began to pound at your head. The world spun, not unpleasantly but still in a disorienting manner, and you stumbled towards the door, pulling out your phone and singing to yourself as you decided who you wanted to call.
The cool air of the night was refreshing against your face, and you leaned against the brick wall of the establishment as you squinted at the blinding light of your phone’s screen. You could barely make out the dark characters which stood out on the white background, and eventually you gave up, switching to the keypad and using muscle memory to type in the number your fingers had long ago memorized.
He didn’t pick up until the last ring, and his voice was groggy when he spoke. In the back of your mind, you felt guilty, for you recognized that he must’ve been sleeping, but for the most part you were far too elated to hear him speaking, so you could not bring yourself to be too sorry.
“Hello? Y/N?”
“Tabito,” you said, your words slurring together, dragging out at the ends and trailing into soft breaths. “Tabito, you didn’t come to my graduation.”
He sounded a lot more alert when he spoke next, but he did not change the volume of his voice from that low murmur any. “I told you I couldn’t. I had an exam, remember?”
You sniffed, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, I remember.”
“I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it,” he said. “You know I would’ve been there if I could’ve.”
“Can you come now?” you said, your lower lip trembling.
“Come where?” he said. There was a muffled sound that you assumed was him rolling out of his bed, and then the soft padding noise of his footsteps.
“The bar,” you said. At this point, irrational tears were welling in your eyes. You weren’t even sad, but you couldn’t stop them from rolling down your cheeks, leaving scalding trails in their wake.
“Are you out with your friends? Why do you want me there? Aren’t you celebrating?” he said.
“I don’t know,” you said, and then you were hiccuping as you cried in earnest. “I don’t know, Tabito, I just want you to be here.”
“Okay, okay,” he soothed you. “I just left my apartment. Is it the bar you and Yayoi like to go to? The one by the grocery store?”
“Yes,” you said.
“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes, and then we can decide what to do from there. Does that sound good?” he said.
“Mhm,” you said. “Are you going really fast? Tabito, you play soccer, right?”
“I do play soccer,” he said, sounding equal parts amused and concerned. “You come to watch my games sometimes. I like when you do that.”
“That means you must be fast,” you said. “Mega fast. Mega extra fast.”
“I’m only a little fast. Most of my teammates are faster,” he said.
“Ah,” you said. “But will you still be here super soon?”
“Yes, I’ll be there super soon,” he promised.
“Can you talk on the phone and walk at the same time?” you asked him.
“Well, I’m doing it at the moment, so yes, I’d assume so. Why do you ask?” he said.
“Isn’t that illegal?” you said.
“No, that’s for when you’re driving,” he said.
“Oh,” you said. “You don’t do that, do you?”
“I take the train or walk most places, so I don’t even have the opportunity to,” he said.
“But if you had to drive, you wouldn’t, right? Right, right?” you said.
“Right,” he said. “I’m just around the corner, so I’m going to hang up. Are you outside?”
“Next to the door,” you said.
“Don’t move,” he instructed you, and then he ended the call.
Before you could begin to wail about the abandonment, he was rounding the corner, looking so haphazard that, had you any more presence of mind, you’d have made fun of him for it. His hair stuck up in every which direction, like it had when he was younger and didn’t know how to style it, and he wore nothing but a random t-shirt thrown over a pair of plaid pajama pants, his feet shoved into the black Crocs that Yayoi had bought him as a gag gift last Christmas.
“Y/N! There you are,” he said, his shoulders slumping in relief as he pulled you into his arms. “Look, I’m with you now. Are you happy?”
You giggled. The world still rotated on an unidentifiable axis, but the firmness of Tabito’s grip had a kind of stabilizing effect, holding you in place and together and in one piece.
“Hi, baby,” you said. “Yes. So happy.”
“Baby?” he repeated, and based on the way his skin warmed, he must’ve been blushing.
“Look,” you said, reaching up so that you could play with the ends of his hair. “It’s like when you were a baby. When you were just little baby Tabito. That’s when I met you, you know.”
“I see,” he said, and there was a distinct yet inexplicable despondency to the way that the corners of his eyes crinkled and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Do you want to go home now?”
“I wanna be with you,” you said.
“That’s fine,” he said, so patiently and tenderly that your head grew fuzzier and fuzzier with every word he spoke. “I’ll stay with you either way, but I think we should probably head back. How much have you had to drink?”
“Um…” you tried to recount what you had ingested, but it was all a blur. “I don’t remember.”
He rubbed the back of his hand against your cheek. “Let’s go home, then. You definitely shouldn’t have any more. Will you be alright if I go inside and tell your friends I’m taking you back?”
“Do you have to?” you said, catching his sleeve and holding it in between your hands. “Why can’t we just leave?”
“They’ll worry about you,” he said, prying your fingers off with the utmost of delicacy. “If you leave without letting them know, they might think something bad happened. I’ll explain what’s going on so they aren’t scared, and then we can head out. Does that make sense?”
“Hmm,” you said. “Only because you say so.”
He chuckled slightly. “That’s good. I’ll be back before you know it.”
You counted the seconds that he was gone, and before you reached the seventy-fifth, he was already back, his face flushed from the heat of the bar, his hair even wilder than earlier from the sweat and the humidity, a dusty footprint on his right shoe where someone must’ve accidentally stepped on him.
“I was expecting to have to convince them to let you go with me, but they were all alright with it,” he said, carefully taking your hand and leading you in the direction of the apartment.
“Sure they were,” you said, tripping over a loose stone, only avoiding face-planting because Tabito caught you with the reflexes of an athlete. “It’s because I talk about you so much.”
“Do you?” he said.
“Totally,” you said with a yawn. “All of my friends know about you and your soccer and your studies. I’m just soooo proud of you, so I mention it whenever you do something cool. Isn’t that what a normal elder-sister-figure would do?”
“Yayoi doesn’t,” he said.
“Yayoi is Yayoi,” you said.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “And it doesn’t change what I said.”
“Can you carry me?” you said when you almost stumbled and fell for the second time. “Tabito, it’s hard to walk, so can I please ride on your back the rest of the way?”
He exhaled but crouched, beckoning you forward. “If you really want.”
“Yay!” you said, leaping onto his broad back and clinging to his neck, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he supported you while continuing to walk. “You’re so big now. When did that happen? Have you always been like this? It’s almost as if you’re nearer to being a man than a child, but that’s impossible. You’re still young, aren’t you?”
“It’s not impossible; in fact, it’s the truth,” he said. “If only you ever looked at me and saw me for who I am, you’d have realized I’ve been like this for quite a while now.”
“What do you mean?” you said, resting your chin on his shoulder, closing your eyes, allowing the rhythm of his walk to lull you into a trance.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Forget about it. We’re almost there. Are your keys in your purse?”
“Yup,” you said. “D’you want them now?”
“I’ll get them from you once we’re at the door,” he said. “Good thing you don’t have a roommate; I’m sure they’d be pissed off by you coming back so late, drunk out of your mind and with a random guy in tow.”
“You’re not a random guy,” you said, dropping the key to the complex in his waiting hand once the two of you reached the glass gate to the building. “If I had a roommate, they’d definitely know who you are. How could they not? You’re my Tabito.”
“Since when I have been your Tabito?” he said, unlocking the door and flicking your chin up playfully before returning his hand to holding up your leg. “I don’t think that I am.”
“Since always,” you said.
“Really? And does that mean you’re my Y/N?” he said, bending down so you could press the elevator button to take you to your floor.
“Yes,” you said. “For six years I did not know it, but ever since then I have been yours.”
“Well,” he said. “Is that how it is?”
“It is,” you said. He switched the lights in your apartment on and deposited you on the couch, heading to your kitchen and filling up a glass with water. Handing it to you, he sat at your side, bringing it to your lips so you could drink, not taking it away until you had drained the cup.
“Feeling better?” he said. “I’ll get you some crackers to eat.”
“Much better,” you said, chewing on the crackers while laying your head on his shoulder. “My stomach isn’t so queasy, and my vision is a lot more straight.”
“You’re talking more normally, too,” he noted. “At least, you sound a bit comprehensible. Want more water?”
“No,” you said. “I’m sleepy. Can we go to sleep now?”
“Here?” he said. “How about you change into your pajamas and wash your face first?”
“I’m too tired,” you said, yawning yet again to emphasize the point, nuzzling your face against the curve of his neck, your eyelashes crushing against his throat. “You’re so comfortable.”
“Thank you,” he said, patting you atop the head. “But you’ll feel horrible tomorrow morning if you don’t get in bed properly.”
“I’ll feel horrible either way,” you said. “I can’t do anything. We were partying for so long, and now I’m exhausted.”
“That’s true, but you’ll feel worse if you sleep here instead of in your room,” he said. “How about I help you?”
“You’ll help me?” you said.
“If you change your clothes, I’ll do everything else,” he promised, gently pushing you off of him and then standing so he could help you to your feet. “I just don’t want you to feel sick tomorrow, be all cramped up from sleeping in a weird spot, and get a break out on top of that.”
“I guess that’s fine,” you said with a dramatic exhale. “You’re so…so…what’s the word? You’re so persistent. Stubborn. Something like that.”
“People say that a lot,” he said.
“They call you an asshole a lot, too,” you said. “All of the time.”
“Yes,” he said, walking with you to your room, where your pajamas were folded at the foot of your bed. “I think I am one, at least a little bit. It’s impossible for me to be otherwise around mediocre people. I try to fix it, but it’s hard, you know.”
“I don’t think you are,” you said. “You’re the nicest person in the whole entire world. If you were an asshole, you wouldn’t treat me the way you do, but you do, which means you aren’t.”
“That’s because you’re special,” he said after a pause. “To me. And also in general.”
“What do you mean by that?” you said, but when you turned around, he had shut the door between you two, allowing you to change your clothes and him to avoid the question.
Only the thought of disappointing Tabito was enough to convince you to not collapse onto your inviting bed. Instead, you trudged towards the door, opening it and pouting at him, trying to beg with your eyes for him to allow you to go to sleep.
“Good job,” he said, ignoring your silent pleas and dragging you to the bathroom, where he sat you down on the edge of the bathtub. “Is this your makeup remover?”
He showed you the little tub of cold cream you kept next to your sink. You mumbled something generally affirmative, and he unscrewed it, kneeling beside you and massaging it onto your face, paying extra attention to your eyes, which was where most of your makeup was concentrated.
“Who taught you about all of this stuff?” you said, your eyes screwed shut as he used a clean, wet washcloth to remove the cleanser from your skin. “Do you have a secret girlfriend?”
“No girlfriends, secret or otherwise,” he said. “It’s all stuff Yayoi made me learn on pain of death. She refused to have a brother who didn’t know anything about proper skincare. It’s not like I do it all that much, but I’m aware of it thanks to her.”
“You’ve really never had a girlfriend?” you said. You supposed you had always been aware of that, but you had never really comprehended what it meant. How could it be that Tabito Karasu of all people had never even gone on a date?
“Nope,” he said. “Can I use this moisturizer on you? I’m sure you have a better routine normally, but it’ll probably be for the best if we skip steps for the sake of getting this done quickly.”
You cracked your eyes open and then nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. Why?”
“Why what?” he said. The lotion was cold at first, but the circular motions of his fingers on your cheeks warmed it quickly enough that you didn’t even have time to be shocked by the temperature. It was soothing, a tingly sensation washing over you as he worked.
“Why haven’t you had a girlfriend?” you said, his fingertips gliding over your forehead.
“I guess I haven’t found the right person yet,” he said. “Or, no, that’s not it. I have found them. I found them a long time ago, but I don’t — I don’t think they wanted to be found. Not by me.”
“That can’t be true,” you said. “What kind of person wouldn’t want you? Who are you talking about, anyways?”
His thumb swiped over your lips, once and then twice, before coming to rest where they slightly parted. You waited, thinking he might move it, but he did not.
“What will it take?” he said. “For you to stop thinking of me as a child. What more can I do? Name it and I will. If it means you’ll stop thinking of me as your little brother, then I’ll do anything.”
“How else would I think of you?” you said. “You are like my—”
“Please,” he said, and it had been so very many years since you had heard him so distraught that you quieted immediately. “Please stop it. I don’t think of you like that, I don’t love you like that, so please stop it.”
Before you could respond, his mouth replaced his thumb against your own, and he was kissing you, cradling your head in his hands, his ardor winning out over his inexperience as he tried to impress upon you just how much he had wanted you, and for how long.
Unfathomably and without even realizing, you found yourself kissing him back, enjoying every demand he made of you and responding to them each in kind. Your hands wound around his neck and tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging on the silky, feathery strands, drawing a small whimper out of him as he wedged himself impossibly closer to you. Yet the sound broke you out of whatever daze you had fallen into, so, with a gasp, you ripped yourself away from him, resting your forehead at the dip of his collarbone as you tried to catch your breath.
“No,” you said. “No, I shouldn’t have — we shouldn’t have — you have to go.”
“Why not?” he said. “You said you shouldn’t have, but you did. Why do you wish you hadn’t?”
“You have to leave,” you said, and then you were crying again, soaking his shirt with your tears as the weight of what you had done began to smother you.
“Let go of me first,” he said. Your fingers, still in his hair, flexed but did not loosen. “Y/N. If you really want me to go, I’ll go, but you have to — you have to let go of me first. You have to be the one to do it.”
You wept harder, because you did not know how to let go of him, because you could not fathom doing it, but neither did you want him to let you go first. It was shameful and wrong, but the truth was that, more than anything, you wished for him to stay, to blot away your tears and lay you in your bed so you could sleep the entire night away.
Somehow, you found the strength in you to yank yourself away from him, all in one go. The moment they left him, it was as if your fingertips themselves mourned, aching to return to their rightful place, but instead of obliging, you used them to cover your eyes. Anything to avoid looking at him. Anything to avoid seeing the anguished expression that most certainly marred his features. Anything to avoid knowing that you were the one who had caused it.
You didn’t look up again until you heard the front door close, and then it was all you could do to turn off the bathroom lights and make it to your bed, crashing into the pillows and somehow managing to fall asleep.
As soon as Yayoi was feeling back to her usual self, you sent her a cryptic text essentially commanding her to meet you at your usual spot for food whenever she could. Thankfully, she recognized when you were having an actual problem versus when you just missed her, and she told you she was free that very evening, so you didn’t have to simmer in your thoughts for any longer than you already had.
“Your brother kissed me,” you said when you sat down across from her.
“Hello to you, too,” she said, closing her menu and setting it to the side. She had only even looked at it as a formality; both of you ordered the same thing every time, so opening the menu was meaningless at this point.
“Hello, Yayoi,” you said. “Tabito kissed me.”
“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” she guessed.
“Yes,” you said. “It happened the other night. I would’ve called you earlier, but you were sick, so I didn’t want to.”
“Alright. It’s a little awkward for me, considering he’s my brother and all, but I’ll set aside my biases and do my best. How do you feel right now?”
“I have no idea. How do you feel?” you said, perplexed by the lack of reaction she was displaying.
“Why would I feel anything?” she said.
“Because? Your best friend just told you that your little brother kissed her? Aren’t you mad?” you said.
“Not really,” she said. “I’m surprised it took him this long, honestly. Everyone knows he’s been in love with you for ages.”
“Everyone?” you said.
“Everyone,” she agreed. “Most of our friends, all of my family, both of your parents…he hasn’t really tried too hard to hide it. I’m pretty sure most of them think you like him, too, but I don’t want to make assumptions, which is why I’m asking you how you feel about it all.”
“How did I miss it?” you said. “I didn’t realize right up until — well, you know — that he liked me, let alone for so long.”
“Sometimes people only see what they think they see,” she said. “You thought Tabito would never like you, so that’s what you believed. But he could, and he did. Now what?”
“Now nothing!” you said. “What am I supposed to do, date him? That’s just wrong!”
“Why is it wrong?” she said. “By the way, I’m not all too invested in any particular outcome, just as long as you’re happy, so don’t think I’m trying to steer you towards any specific path. I just want you to be fully honest with yourself before you jump to making decisions about any of this.”
“Thanks,” you said. “Okay, well, first off, he’s your — you, as in my best friend — little brother.”
“Not yours, though,” she said.
“But as good as,” you said.
“I wouldn’t say so. You’ve never treated him like a sibling,” she said. “That’s not to say you don’t care about him, but it’s in a different way than a sister would.”
“He’s also younger than me,” you said.
“Yukimiya’s younger than I am, and we’re perfectly happy. Plus, you were the first to say that there weren’t any issues with that, so why’s it a problem now?” she said, raising an eyebrow at you.
“But that’s — that’s different! You met him only recently. I’ve known Tabito since we were little kids! Doesn’t that make it weird?” you said.
“People get married to their childhood friends all of the time. It’s not that unusual,” Yayoi said. “Is there anything else?”
“No, it’s just strange, that’s all!” you said. “You seriously don’t find it even a little odd?”
“I’ve had a lot longer to adjust to it than you have,” she said with a shrug, sipping on the soda she had ordered with her meal. “Let’s approach this in a different way. What about if you both were the same age, and you met later in life? In a university lecture or something. If that was the case, and he asked you out, would you say yes?”
“Absolutely,” you said without hesitation. “That was a stupid question. Who would say no? He’s smart, he’s good at pretty much everything, he’s sweet and funny and caring; additionally, from an objective standpoint, he’s incredibly attractive. I’d do everything I could to keep him if he happened to glance my way.”
“Even if he ended up being younger than you?” Yayoi said.
“Yes,” you said. “Yes, I — oh.”
She gave you a dull look. “Just so you know, that is not a sisterly way to view a guy.”
“I got that,” you said.
“Do you think maybe it’s possible that you’ve loved him too, almost the entire time?” she said. “Maybe even before you understood what it meant to love someone else? Back when sibling was the closest relationship to another kid that you, as an only child, could conceive of?”
“I guess that that — that’s definitely a possibility,” you said.
“It could be,” she said. “And then the notion of him being your ‘brother’ became so set in your mind that you couldn’t possibly think of him as anything else.”
“There’s a chance that that was what happened,” you said slowly. “But I don’t feel what I did for Aoyama when I look at Tabito. It’s something else entirely.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t love Tabito,” Yayoi said, flagging down the waiter so you could pay for your food. “It just means you didn’t love Aoyama, or didn’t love him as much. Considering which one is still in your life and which one you haven’t spoken to in years, it’s not unlikely.”
“What do I do now, then?” you said.
“What do you want to do?” she said as the two of you exited the restaurant. “I’ll be your friend no matter what. In the end, it’s up to you.”
“I don’t want to lose him,” you said, suddenly terrified. “I won’t survive if I do. Yayoi, I don’t…”
“You can’t,” she reassured you. “If you haven’t lost him yet, then I don’t think it’s possible for you to. But you know, then, right? What’s next?”
“I do,” you said, taking out your phone and picking up speed, veering in a different direction, turning over your shoulder to shout back at her. “Thank you, Yayoi!”
“Good luck!” she shouted back as you took off at a run, holding your phone up to your ear.
“Otoya,” you said breathlessly, as soon as he picked up. “Otoya, is Tabito there?”
“Uh, Y/N? Yeah, Karasu’s cooking dinner, why?” he said. “You good?”
“I’m coming over,” you said. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, and buzz me in when I get there. This is me calling in that favor you owe me, so do a good fucking job at it, okay?”
“Sure, I can, but why don’t you just ask him to do it directly?” he said.
“I don’t think he’ll pick up if I call him at the moment,” you said.
“Trouble in paradise? This is why I don’t do the whole ‘commitment’ gig. Too many complications,” Otoya said with a scoff. “Fine, I’ll help you, but only because — like you said — I owe you one, and because I’m going to evacuate the apartment as soon as you get here so I’m not caught in the crossfire.”
“Thank you,” you said. “That’s perfect. You rock.”
“Yup, you got it. See you.”
The elevator took too long, so after waiting for thirty seconds, you gave up and went for the stairs, taking them two at a time until you reached the floor that Tabito and Otoya lived on. Then you knocked on the door, waiting with crossed arms until it swung open and revealed Otoya, dressed in a pair of rubber-ducky boxers and nothing more.
“Well, that’s my cue,” he said when he saw it was you.
“Where are you even going to go, dressed like that?” you said, momentarily distracted by the outfit, which was all but offensive to the eye. Otoya winked at you.
“There’s plenty of people in this complex that would welcome me dressed like this,” he said, walking out with a devilish grin. “I’ll go see one of them.”
“You have fun,” you said, unable to do anything but shake your head at the rakish response.
“I definitely will. You…do your best with Karasu. He’s been kinda down, so it’d be great if you could fix him right up again, because his pasta tastes shitty when he’s in a bad mood,” he said, saluting at you before vanishing into the closing elevator.
“Who was at the door?” Tabito said. He wore the pale green apron with white polka dots you had loaned him and never asked for back, and there was a wooden spoon in his right hand, which he used to stir a pot of sauce. “Hello? Otoya? Was it one of your exes again or something? Dude, you’ve gotta stop giving them our address, this is the third time this month that some girl has come to harass you.”
You were still for a moment, standing in the doorway, watching the muscles of his back tighten and then relax as he finished mixing the sauce, setting the spoon down on its stand and putting the lid back on the pot.
“Damn, silent treatment? Was it that bad? It’s your own fault, you dumbass,” he said. “It’s not like I tell you to bring them over. You do that all on your own, and these are the consequences you face as a result. Don’t blame me for it.”
What would you even tell him? He turned the stove to simmer, and you opened your mouth before closing it. You had no idea what to say. You had no idea what was even going on in your mind — you had left Yayoi with such an urgency that you hadn’t had the time to organize your thoughts as you would’ve liked to before such an important moment.
He turned around while untying his apron, his mouth curved into a sneer as he prepared to taunt who he must’ve thought was Otoya messing with him. Yet when he realized it was you, his face fell, as if just by standing there you had reprimanded him harshly.
“Y/N,” he said. You wondered how he could do it, how he could bear to still say your name with the same affection as always. Why hadn’t he left you? Why hadn’t he given up a long time ago? What had you ever done to be worthy of this kind of loyalty? What had you ever done to deserve a person like him?
A lump swelled in your throat, and the harder you tried to swallow it down, the more your eyesight prickled and blurred, until you could hardly see anything at all. For a second you were frozen, and then vaguely you were aware of him taking a step towards you and your inhibitions were lost entirely.
Crossing the expanse of the small kitchen and casting yourself into his embrace, you clung to his neck, crying in earnest when he held onto you as if by instinct, because the way he clutched your waist felt like coming home. He felt like coming home. He felt like butterflies in the spring and leaves in the fall and ice cream in the summer and storms in the winter and every other little thing from your life which you could only ever associate with him.
“I love you,” you said. “I’m sorry, I love you, I love you so much I didn’t even realize it but I do now, I do, and I can finally see that I love you more than anything or anyone, Tabito, so please still love me back, please—”
“Shh,” he murmured, one of his hands moving up and down your back. “Don’t cry. There’s no reason to cry. Y/N, Y/N, don’t cry, I hate it when you cry.”
“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I was such a fool. I didn’t comprehend it, any of it, because I’ve loved you since before I understood what the word love meant.”
He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, over and over until your tears abated, and only then did he speak.
“I’ve loved you for longer,” he said. “I loved you before I even knew you.”
“And do you still?” you said.
“Yes,” he said. “I couldn’t stop so quickly.”
“Don’t ever stop,” you said. “But if you do, if you must, then keep it to yourself. I want to at least imagine that you’ll keep loving me for — for a long time.
“Oh, Y/N,” he said. “You don’t have to imagine that. I’ll love you forever if you want it.”
“I do,” you said. “I do want it.”
His lips ghosted along your temple as he smiled. Then, right before they fit against your own, he murmured: “Then that’s what I’ll do.”
Though you had neither reason nor proof, you found that, wholeheartedly and fully, with all that you were, you believed him.
#karasu x reader#karasu x y/n#karasu x you#karasu tabito#bllk x reader#bllk#blue lock#reader insert#best friend’s brother au#best friend’s brother fic#m1ckeyb3rry writes
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A little sneak peak from the Arranged marriage Omegaverse Alpha! Levi x Omega! Reader fic I've been working on!
Let me know what you think as I had been writing some chapters and so far this is one of my favourite scenes.
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The pressure that his fingers applied to the bridge of his nose was so strong that the pain of it overcame the migraine. Strong footsteps echoed in the corridors as cadets moved aside to make way. Since the Scouts were almost wiped out, more and more people had been joining their ranks, and Levi was not enjoying the crowded halls.
"The day I decide to call all this shit off, I'd like to see them surviving without me," Levi thought, clenching his teeth. The stress was taking a toll on him lately. The military was expanding so much, particularly the Scouts, and they simply lacked soldiers in higher positions to handle everything from mundane tasks like organizing lines to making highly important decisions regarding the Marley issue.
Swinging the door of his chambers open, his eyes fell on her. She was looking out of the window, book in hand and cat on lap, dying of boredom as if she were either waiting for rescue or for her death. His grimace was a mix of empathy and annoyance. He had insisted at least five times that she could help in the kitchen, sew uniforms, or work in the laundry room. All his proposals had fallen on deaf ears. Yes, he pitied her, closed up in his office all day and night with nothing better to do. But her privileged upbringing, which made her repulse the idea of helping with anything related to housework, rubbed him the wrong way.
And the horrendous day he was having, having to listen to all of Zeke’s demands from the other side of the damn world, was simply not helping. Slamming the door shut made her turn and look at him.
"Pack your stuff, we're moving," he spat out, already moving to his room to gather the few belongings he actually had. He threw the black trousers of his uniform out of the drawers onto the bed to pack them, regretting the decision as soon as he saw his immaculate, perfectly washed trousers covered in cat hair.
"Moving? Moving where?" Y/N jumped from her place at the window and followed him, excited. Her eyes shone brightly, feeling her prayers had been answered.
Eyes shut as tight as his clenched teeth, he took a deep breath in and out. He was fond of animals, and the white Persian cat was lovely, but the fur was something he wasn’t getting used to easily, and it just added to his day.
"Where are we moving?" she insisted, not sensing his lack of patience. "Are we finally moving to the Capital facility?"
Levi, trying to find any remaining good mood inside him, turned to his side and raised an eyebrow. "No," he said, "To the south."
The excitement dropped substantially, and she frowned at him. "We ARE in the south."
That made Levi quickly realize this was not going to be a quick and easy conversation. "No, we are in Wall Rose."
"I'm not moving to Shiganshina," she said, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together, and her voice raising.
Levi sighed as he folded one uniform. "Lucky for you," he said, each word dripping with his remaining patience, "we're not going there."
"Then… where?"
Levi knew he should have delivered the news more gently, but he had no time to spare and no energy left to deal with her lately. "South, we're setting up a camp next to the coast. Construction has already taken place, so we'll have a room. Pack your stuff; we're leaving by horse to arrive sooner and organize everything. The luggage will be taken by carts that will probably take a week to reach."
"What?—NO!" she quickly complained, her voice filled more with tears than anger. "I don't want to go to the end of the shitty world!"
"The soldiers from Marley are already arriving, and we need to be there to make sure everything evolves as planned—"
"Aren't you listening to me?!" She screamed loudly enough for Levi to close his eyes at how it reverberated in his ears, only fueling his headache. "I'm NOT moving there. We will be in the middle of nowhere; there’s no communication with the walls. I want to be closer to my friends and family, not there."
The air began to fill with her scent, demanding she wasn’t submitting. Challenging him, and Levi felt how each breath he took through his nose was tinged with it. He had no good temper left, and her insistence on asserting dominance was the final straw. Her even daring to assert dominance over him. Her, the omega the government had saddled him with.
Turning to his right, his piercing eyes locked onto her. "Don’t," Levi ordered, his own pheromones mixing with hers and warning her. The stare of a high-breed alpha, his own body warning her that fighting with him was a bad idea. Maybe it was because he had been hearing demands from Marley soldiers and allies all day long, people challenging his authority. But Levi wasn’t going to allow an omega to step on his dominance. He had been, in his opinion, more than good and patient with her—probably more than any other alpha would have been. He wasn’t one to use his stare to force omegas to do what he wanted, but he was having none of it.
Lips trembling, fists clenching, deep frown, and her eyes struggling to keep eye contact. Fighting against her own biology, she could feel how each fiber of her body trembled in trying to maintain the resistance. Eventually, she couldn’t keep it up and looked to the side, breaking the stare and lowering her head in submission.
A long sigh left his nose as his demand withdrew once she ceased the claim. “Pack your stuff,” he ordered, lowering his voice sensing that the rebellion was over.
But it hardly was. “I’m not going. I’ll move in with my parents. I’m not going to some rotten, muddy camp in the middle of nowhere.”
Levi shook his head. “You’re coming because that’s the arrangement between your parents and the military board. So pack, and that's the end of the deal.”
“No! I don’t want to go, I’m not going to pack!”
“NO! NO! NO! NO!”
Her complaints echoed in his head as the headache pounded against his skull, his teeth clenching so hard he was even showing them. “ENOUGH!” His hand slammed against the drawer, the loudness of it ceasing all noise. The room fell silent, and the scared cat ran to hide under the bed.
Levi finally turned to fully face her. “We are going to do this whether you like it or not,” his voice harsh and leaving no room for interruptions. “It can be the easy way or the hard way.”
Raising his hand in the air, showing three fingers. “I have a meeting, and in three hours I’ll come back and pick you up. Either you pack and get ready for when I return, or you don’t pack and not only will you be in a shitty, muddy camp at the end of the world stuck with me, but you’ll do it without any of your fancy stuff. And I warn you, there are no stores there.”
As he left the room with the same urgency he came in, he said, “You choose!”
But as the door was slamming shut, a cadet interrupted him. “Ehm… Captain?” The tremble in the kid’s voice indicated he sensed the environment was not conducive to another demand. “Commander Hange needs a signature?”
“Fuck off!”
#levi ackerman#levi#captain levi#levi aot#snk levi#levi x reader#levi x y/n#aot levi#snk levi ackerman#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackeman#levi attack on titan#captain levi ackerman x you#captain levi x reader#captian levi x reader#captain levi ackerman x y/n#captain levi x you#levi shingeki no kyojin#levi x you#aot#attack on titan#snk#shingeki no kyojin#attack on titans#levi smut#levi x reader smut#levi ackerman snk#levi ackerman smut#levi ackerman x reader smut#levi ackerman x female!reader
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MORE OBEY ME FICS!! PLS I BEG!! PERERABLY ONE WITH DIAVOLO IN IT PLEASEEE MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!
I LOVE THEM SO MUCH Let's do a little world building
sex for favour, contracts, apocolypse au, religious references, yandere
You really, really, really hate using your contracts. Not only does it take a toll on your body, a part of your soul being syphoned out each time but, the aftermath is also unpleasant.
Your story is typical, home demolished by Angelic monsters, rejects cast down from Heaven that didn't quite make it to Hell. Family and friends gone, only some survivors remained that were either not in your village or left with less body parts. The killing blow to your ideals was learning that the Capital had denied help from Exterminators, their best exorcist too far away and no one else willing to fight against a Throne of all creatures. No one even came to look for survivors since it was a waste of resources on a gamble not worth betting on.
Angels trudged all along the Earth, the lowest orders scattered around like pests. Middle orders tend to be the 'boss' of these groups. The highest order, Thrones, were much like natural disasters; sudden, with little warning.
It wasn't easy, and though many still prayed to the Heavens for help and despised any anti-religious behaviour, you had separated long ago from that group. An outcast of an exorcist, making deals with demons to gain enough power to kill angels. Years have gone by and no one knows how you manage to keep Avatars of Sin on your side.
No one knows you've had to sell yourself to young King of the Devildom, either.
You can harness their powers into your weapons, your soul used as fuel for very powerful attacks. To bring of them to aid you in battle, however, costs a little bit more.
.
Your arm is torn at the shoulder, fingers on your right hand bent backwards, broken. Your right eye was swollen shut, and your left leg had a flag pole through the thigh.
Ribs broken, blood coughing from your mouth, this Throne was more powerful than any other you've faced. You wonder if Lucifer could handle it, already knowing he requires your help with Thrones alone. Or maybe that was just him being a nuisance to you? You're not sure, and you're not really in a position to risk it now.
The angel before you rises, a dark mass covered in mouths, constantly laughing as you had sliced and cut through its body. When you thought you were doing well, it had suddenly stopped its incessant cackle, the hundreds of mouths on the castle-like mass opening wider than any creature you know, red veined eyes appearing and staring at you unblinkingly. Pure horror had struck you, though you were still able to force yourself to fight. Lucifer's power had damaged it enough, you really did think you won.
... Until it shed it's crust. Wet, tar-covered wings rose from the inside, two, four, eight, sixteen in all sorts of directions. You were lucky to not be hit, the tar latching to any living thing it flicked to and devouring it, turning it to a walking corpse. You were blinded by a golden light, more cracking of the crust, dust shredding once it finally propelled out. Your jaw slacked, it was somehow even bigger, the carnage of a mansion, houses, farmlands, all nothing but a playmat below it. Four of its wings dragged on the ground, the feathery limbs surrounding wheels of golden wings, mouths laughing at you, eyes unblinking and twitching in every direction. The very middle was a pair of black lips, human teeth like eyelashes over the outside of a giant, weeping eye.
You wonder if you can even pull this off?
Exhaling all your nerves, trying your best to focus as you sit slumped in the mud against a cracked boulder, you close your good eyes murmur under your breath, the words bubbling through blood, "In the name of the Exterminator, (Y/n), I call upon the aid of the demon monarch. Come forth, please, Diavolo."
Silence follows, as though a rushing river is hit with a sudden calm. When you finally open your good eye, you see Diavolo in all his glory, a low whistle reaching your hearing as he places his hand on his hips and admired the creature before you, "Just what have you gotten yourself into this time, Miss (Y/n)?"
You open your mouth to speak, only for your lungs to concave and more blood pushing up your oesophagus. The spell was apparently too much.
Diavolo smiles kindly at you, holding one of his hands up, a soft light from his palm sending all the aches and pains away, "Rest now, Miss (Y/n). You've done well to get this far."
If it weren't for the serene spell he used, you would have felt scared to become so vulnerable before a demon and an angel, contrarily you were all but eager to rest your head against the boulder and sleep.
.
When you next awoke, you were tucked into bed. Your fingers were back in place, you had bandages around your legs, arms, torso and neck. What was broken and out of place had been promptly fixed and the terrible, hellish pain you endured was now dull compared before.
You also didn't miss the way the demon lord was lapping his wet tongue between your legs, giving kisses to your clit before making out with your pussy.
His eyes met yours as his tongue delved deeper, an appreciative moan eliciting from him as you clenched around his tongue. Another kiss before he pulls away enough to talk, "Apologies, you weren't waking up and it's almost been 24 hours."
As much as you want to bark at him to get off, you recognise the pact. You needed to provide some sexual favour for the demons within 24 hours of summoning. It was embarrassing, demeaning, you felt horrible about it. They seemed to thrive off of all these feelings.
If you didn't do it, the energy depleted from the experience would double each hour, putting you out of commission for a longer time.
"I'm surprised you didn't wait," you croak, jerking when he goes back to tonguing your insides like a creature in love, "You would have gained more... food. Or, whatever it is you get out of this."
He chuckles and moves up, your thighs going over his own so he could take out his thick, throbbing cock and smack the fat of it against your stomach, "Believe it or not, I don't want to make you suffer just yet, I'll wait until I have you in my castle for that. Besides, I'm quite busy as the King." Your lips part when he nudges the head between your lips, rubbing up and down to gather your slick so he can push in nicer. The smile on his lips was too nice for a demon, "I'm quite surprised you lasted that long before summoning help, though."
Your stomach bulges from the length of his cock, humping into you upwards to really feel your body around him. His large hands graze over your hips, squeezing the flesh of your stomach before coming to cup your cheeks in a gentle embrace. Your tits rub against his pecs, and though it feels really good, you keep talking about what just happened, "It wasn't like any other Throne I've fought, hah... I think they're getting stronger."
"Throne?" He laughs, kissing you deeply, tongue tasting before his lips retreat with a wet smack, "That was no mere Ophanim, dearest. You were up against a creature on par with the Cherubim."
Of course, you knew the rankings of angels in the Celestial realm, everyone who has been forced into this situation does. It was just easier to name the monsters after those rankings. A lot of people didn't like it, though it didn't stop anyone. "Ngnn~" You move your hands to his shoulders, looking for purchase as his cock rubs deliciously inside you. You can feel your energy draining, the way Lord Diavolo holding you was like he was trying to cage you to him. "I thought only Throne rankings had made it to earth?"
"Cum for me, dearest. Only think about the pleasure you're feeling right now," he orders, biting into your neck and sucking on your skin. His lips move to below your ear, tickling you with a light flick of his tongue. One of his hands had trailed over your ribs, past your belly button and began circling and pinching your clit. Your toes curl before stretching out in pleasure, panting while you clench down around his cock, feeling the weight of his balls push into you as he empties his cum as deep as he can. You feel the trickle of your own fluid down your thighs from your orgasm.
His lips are panting over your own, though you know he isn't anywhere near as out of breath as you are. "Should I be worried?" You questioned, wishing he would avert his loving gaze from your own tired eyes.
Lord Diavolo gives you one more kiss, his cock slipping out and letting his cum overflow onto the sheets, "I have it on good intel that something big is coming. If you come across another Ophanim you must call one of us, if not multiple. And be careful..." he ominously states, standing to fix his regale, tucking away his satisfied dick, "I think a Seraphim might be visiting soon."
#obey me#yandere obey me#yandere diavolo x reader#diavolo x reader#lucifer x reader#mammon#leviathan#asmodeus#beelzebub#belphegor#simon#solomon#yandere#apocolyptic world#yandere obey x reader#obey me x reader
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Percy Jackson x Aphrodite Kid! Reader
warning; none ! author's notes; another req(moreso me wanting to write this !) from the dear @officiallyalbino !! i hope hcs work for you pooks bc i haven't had the energy to write an actual fic with school and whatnot😞 alsooo HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY PERCY JACKSON(it's still the 17th for me) WE'RE KISSING TONIGHT !!! also also sorry to anyone bothered by the capitalization of certain words ie; Her or Him when i talk about the gods ! it feels weird not going that to me😭
using a more.. oceany coded Aphrodite kid bc i REFUSEE to make this a beauty thing !! he'd call you gorgeous anyways so ??
plus it meshes better :33 still keeping some other elements ofc but y'know (plus x2 all of you are gorgeous, cabin 10 or not !)
THE PAIR EVER !!!
mr. ocean himself with a kid who's mother was literally born of sea foam and is CONNECTED to a good amount of sea animals ??
you guys are that couple.
i feel like i've said this before but beach dates !!
lost of seashell crafts so you can gift to both him and your mother ! :33
one year for your anniversary he gifted you a picture frame decorated with seashells he'd collected over time
you cried, he cried, then you kissed
the sheer concept of Percy going to Olympus and getting a highly stern conversation from Ares makes me giggle
by proxy, you are technically His kid in law ?? and I like to believe Aphrodite absolutely cherishes Her children(pjo book lore be damned.)
so either She or Ares is giving this poor boy the "you will be back in Tartarus" talk..
PINK ANS BLUE POWER COUPLE IDCC
something about that mesh of colors is so sweetie pie to me !!
sometimes you trade clothes and everybody just knows where it's from
also ! matching rose quartz necklaces for good luck since well.. it's Aphrodite's sacred stone
pre-dating Percy, he probably got super flustered when he went to Olympus and saw you in place of Aphrodite(that scene with Annabeth y'know ?)
that was how he knew he liked you. that's also how your Mother knew she was going to have a field day messing with both you and Percy
he's probably caught you rambling to your Mother about him too honestly !
very sweet and he has never told you about it
I'M SO SRRY IF THIS IS TRASH i haven't written anything worth while in a hot minute so😞
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UH OH ! — cl16. [ series masterlist . part ii . ]
CHAPTER ONE / gorgeous.
❛ you should take it as a compliment, that i got drunk and made fun of the way you talked. ❜
summary : usually, birthday parties are supposed to be a close friend's and family celebration, so why on earth are you being dragged along as your friend's plus one?
warnings : implied references to cheating. food mentions. vomiting mentions but not explicitly written. sexual themes, inuendos. a purposeful choice to refuse to write without capital letters. too many taylor swift references. google translated french. no use of y/n but reader is referred to as soleil by charles and that transfers on through all the fic. charles leclerc's toxic relationship. alcohol consumption, drink responsibly. suddenly charles leclerc is actually decent at flirting. inaccurate storyline of pierre's birthday. 2023's silly season just got sillier. live laugh love kika gomes. word count : 1.7k
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[ caption one: hot girls always do skincare 🧖🏻♀️ / caption two: i fear i girlbossed to close to the sun, how did i end up here ⁉️🤨 ]
THE STREETS OF PARIS , were lively enough that you could blend in seamlessly, everyone else dressed essentially to the nines in their finest attire, walking in and out of all the restaurants in the vicinity. you want to cower, wrap the shall around yourself tighter and hide away; you'd never felt more insecure and out of place in the entire month you'd been vacationing in france, until this very moment.
everyone around you exudes the amount of confidence that comes naturally to them that you wished you had, even if you felt genuinely good in the outfit Kika had practically forced you in when you'd briefly mentioned having nothing to wear to the event she'd asked you to tag along to. a part of you wants to remind yourself that you knew better than to expect things to play out differently, it wants to ridicule you for going back on your usual stance of always expecting disappointment to no longer feel disappointed.
you wave off a taxi that pulls beside you, you're already at your destination, and a fleeting wave of nausea makes you want to clench your gut, and hurl what little you'd eaten earlier throughout the day into the hedges beside you; you don't, thankfully. instead, you resort to the safety of your phone, back-and-forth bickering between your best friend and Kika to work up your nerves to get yourself inside the building.
you feel wobbly on your feet, something you will also plan to blame on Kika when you find the courage to get yourself to walk in through the door of the Laperouse, a considerably more elegant spot to eat at than you would have picked, you only dread the fear of looking over the menu and bearing witness to the prices of the food.
the ding of the bell above the door pulls your head out of your phone when you're met with the silhouette of quite possibly the most attractive man you'd ever had blessed your gaze — excluding that one time you'd run into lorenzo zurzolo on a girls trip to madrid and fumbled the whole ordeal so embarrassingly you had to block him on instagram to keep from ever seeing him.
his actions are almost more exaggerated in frustration than you'd plainly described to your friend, his hand is constantly dragging down his face when he pulls the phone away from his ear, promptly allowing you to hear the snippets of french being, basically, screamed through the phone at him. yikes. the phone call seems to drag on and the amount of time you've been staring at this man can be somewhat considered borderline stalking if he wasn't uninterested in the world outside the french screaming match on the phone.
deciding you'd done enough oogling to satiate for the brieft maladaptive day-dreaming you'll experience during mundane errands. with the very little courage you had, you wipe your hands on your dress, pitifully, and tuck your phone into the clutch before making your way inside. you're blissfully unaware of the way the man had turned towards the noise the heels of your shoes had made against the pavement, his attitude doing a complete 180 had him disregarding the remainder of the phone call before finally giving up, a defeated sigh follows the silence of the call being ended.
'i told you so. . .' your brain supplies when you feel even more out of place being inside said restaurant than how you were simply just standing outside of it, you felt both over and under-dressed watching the mass of patrons standing at the front bar along with the glimpses you could get inside the dining room from where you wait at the hostess stand.
"can i help you?" the hostess asks, words sleek with her french accent as she flicks her gaze up towards you before down at the booking book in front of her. you fiddle with your fingers, white-knuckling the black clutch, suddenly unable to find your own words. the woman rolls her eyes, and taps her perfectly manicured finger against the book and you visibly shake.
"elle est avec moi et la réservation Gasly" a voice speaks, standing behind you, close enough to be flush against you, but remaining a finger length away from you, refusing to lift your head, you don't dare look at who's just saved yourself from any more bouts of unwavering embarrassment for the night.
"profite de ta soirée" the hostess grins, it doesn't shine in her eyes and it's clearly a put-on customer service smile, forced to maintain a friendly atmosphere within the restaurant, you're allowing yourself to be lead through towards the private dining room, stepping away from the man, you mumble a simple thank you in your own butchered french pronunciation as you spot kika and find yourself attached to her hip for a majority of the night.
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[ caption one: @yourusername spotted arriving at pierre's birthday party / caption two: @yourusername wearing the monot black maxi cutout ]
now, see if you weren't the type of person to be so easily persuaded into joining in on the drink festivities, you wouldn't have ended up with kika as one of your closest friends. you were never one to turn down alcohol, especially open bar alcohol; which is perhaps why you'd found yourself in a state of being a social butterfly, you'd floated around the room, meals long since eaten and cleared by the wait staff left people standing around and conversing.
mixtures of english, french and portuguese filling the room, bits and pieces of conversations you were picking up, but with your minimal understanding of french you found yourself avoiding anything beyond "hi how are you?" and introducing yourself, aside from that you smile and nodded before politely excusing yourself to float around once more.
"are you purposely ignoring me?" there it is, the sound that would haunt your best dreams and your worst nightmares; the shiver that runs up your spine makes you inadvertently cringe at yourself, how were you this reactive to a voice, you're going to blame the entire thing on the amount of sparkling moscato you'd been drinking by the glass.
"hm? no, no i'm not ignoring you?" you mock his accent, turning around to finally make eye contact with him, lips pursed into a line to keep yourself from giggling, the bubbles in your stomach is either your own nerves, the bubbly alcoholic beverage you'd consumed or a mixture of both — either way you feel content enough to be less than self-aware of the situation.
you can almost see the way he visibly lights up at the interaction, the way can't hold himself back from laughing at your attempt to mock his accent, the way his eyes crinkle and the laughter that follows the expression leaves you virtually speechless, you'd never been in a situation where someone, especially not a man. had ever laughed at you in a way that didn't feel the least bit mocking towards you; his laughter subsides and you feel yourself mourning the noise, head tilting to the side before he's taking a sip from his own glass.
"how do you know pierre?"
"through kika, she's the sole reason i'm here" you explain, gesturing with your hands as you talk, the conversation carries on throughout most of the night, new drinks replacing old ones all whilst the distance between the two of you closing inch by inch and shamelessly, perhaps even a little selfishly you allow it.
you allow more than just close proximity, you allow his knee to knock against your own, the hand to graze your waist as his arm moves around you to put his empty drink on the bar. you allow yourself to meet his gaze, hold it and find yourself lower and lower your own inhibitions. the good, the bad and the ugly of a man who hasn't asked for your name and whose name you hadn't bothered to ask for either.
perhaps, it's the events of the night that led you to here, in this heat of the moment pursuit of pure guiltless drunk happiness, lips against the nap of your neck in the back of a taxi, a hand dragging dangerously up your thigh, closer and closer to a spot you hadn't known longed to be touched until now. you're mutual shouts of laughter are shared through the streets of paris, leading into the hotel room you'd been staying in for the week, you're set to check out the next morning, but realistically, what's one night of parisian fun to end your trip with a bang, literally.
"soleil, fuck, the things you are doing to me right now" his voice comes out like a growl against your ear, his teeth dragging along your ear lobe and further down your neck, never biting, just allowing the feeling to pull the breathless noises out of you. your hand finds its way to nestle into his hair, grip tight and pull him away, the way he looks at you, a gaze you're all far too familiar with, lust.
god, had you wished you knew life wouldn't feel so horribly if you'd felt like this the entire time, the way the man finds himself home between your thighs, even as they clench around his head as soon as his tongue flicks against your abused and overly sensitive clit, fingers working their way in and out of your as you're pushed to complete your third orgasm — your hands griping the pillow behind your head, back arching as you moan out breathlessly, the needy coil in your stomach untangling once more as he pulls the orgasm out of you; your left breathless and shaking as your ride out the orgasm on his fingers.
his face is glistening with your juices; god if you were brave enough to take a picture you would have, he looked effortlessly pretty as he wiped his face with the back of his hand and finally pulled his fingers out of you to lick them clean.
you were royally screwed. even after you woke up in the morning, he was still asleep, but check-out was soon and there really wasn't any need to actively remain in the hotel room bed any longer, even if the man sleeping beside you was dreamy, even asleep, you knew alcohol-influenced one night stands were less than impressive to boast about the next morning. so you do the easiest thing to bypass awkward morning conversations, you leave a note with your number and leave.
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liked by francisca.cgomes, yourbestfriend and 489 others yourusername are you happy to have been in paris? oui! tagged francisca.cgomes
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user girl, what is that on your neck in the second pic?? ⤿ yourusername the question is are you a narc?
francisca.cgomes paris couldn't handle us for longer than a week ⤿yourusername where too next gf x
yourbestfriend i miss you come home ! ⤿yourusername i think i might find a new home ⤿yourbestfriend you're really gonna abandon our kids like that?
user since when have her an kika been friends? ⤿user since like forever, they grew up together
yoursisteruser look at you being a slut pookie, we love to see it ⤿yourusername get out of my comments blocked and reported ⤿yoursisteruser can you answer my facetime now, you got a lot of catching up to do, this is new name lore !!!
authors note : hi oh my god, so i'm absolutely nervous to actually have this be posted, it's not been beta read so i apologise in advance trying to edit this myself was the longest task i've come to find myself tethered to. i really like the plot of this story, the smut a lil dry because my smut writing is dry, we gotta work ourselves up to that, later chapters pookies, later chapters. i would have added more to the story, i'm like super inspired by this, but alas the 30 image limit said, no. so we gotta listen !
add yourself to the taglist here !
taglist : @iluminaya @greenbaby12 @therealcap @marshmummy
#𐙚 paige’s works#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc imagine#f1 xreader#formula one x you#formula one x reader#formula one imagines#f1 imagines#opla sanji x reader#f1 x reader#f1 x you#charles leclerc#𐙚 uhoh fic
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