#i’m solely blaming her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

perlelune · 1 year ago

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NDA | Coriolanus Snow

When you get hired as a nanny for President Snow and his wife's firstborn, you’re beyond thrilled and grateful. But quickly, the perfect facade melts, revealing the ugly truth of what actually goes on in the Snows' house.

Warnings: NON-CON, Capitol! Reader, Innocent Reader, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Power Imbalance

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your worried eyes track the frenzied glide of the woman’s quill over the notepad. You squint, hoping to discern some of the words she’s scrawling that way, but they are indiscernible…just like the stone-cold expression of the bespectacled woman on the other side of the desk.

She catches you trying to peek. Your heart jumps.

As her sharp green gaze zeroes in on you, you clear your throat and shift in your seat.

She puts her quill down and twines her fingers.

“So what do you think sets you apart from the other applicants?”

You chew on your lip. When you arrived to offer your candidature this morning, you naively believed you’d be early. Instead, you were forced to join the tail end of the massive waiting line stretching far outside the Snows’ estate. It didn’t hit you before that moment, how prized the position is. Each of the women and girls you saw radiated excellent breeding and impeccable manners. Many probably attended the University and could double as a tutor if the need presents itself.

This isn’t your case. Your parents left you and your brother Laertes with nothing when they suddenly passed away in a rebel bombing. You couldn’t blame them. This wasn't the plan. Who plans on dying and leaving their two children to fend for themselves?

Still, you now have a list of bills the length of your arm coupled with a massive mortgage to pay every month. And as Laertes’ sole caretaker, you must ensure you can afford to send him to University once he completes his education in the Academy.

Circumstances denied you that chance. Despite being of university’s age, you couldn’t afford the cost of tuition and had to drop out as soon as you got accepted. You want better for your little brother.

So as soon as you heard the news that President Snow and First Lady Livia Cardew were in search of a nanny for their son Martius, you jumped on the opportunity to apply. You rose before the sun, rummaged through your mother’s closet to find her best dress, and hailed a car to come here.

It’s a long shot, of course. You’re not as polished and impressive as some of the other women. You’re also noticeably younger. But the wages promised alone compelled you to take a chance despite the odds being unfavorable.

Fiddling with your hands, you meet the woman’s impassive stare head-on.

“What sets me apart?” You mull over your answer. You could paint a false, august portrait of yourself, your skills and your accomplishments. Or try to at least.

But what would be the point of pretending to be someone you’re not only to be found out later on? So you elect to tread the path of honesty.

“Nothing,” you say. “But I’m a hard worker. A very hard worker. In fact, I already have three jobs, one at a bakery, another as a clerk in an antique shop and I assist Fabricia Whatnot at her boutique sometimes.” Panic quivers inside you as the woman quickly jots something down on her notepad. You swiftly specify, “...But I’ll quit all of them if I get the position, of course.” You lick your lips as knots tie your stomach. “I can learn everything there is to learn on the spot. I love children, and…” You trail off, gaze traveling to your lap as you muse if you should reveal more. Your fists clench as you add, “I have a little brother who’s a few years older than Martius, and I’m really hoping I get this opportunity so I can give him the life he deserves.”

An unnerving quiet occupies the air. The wait is agony, your nails digging painfully into your palms. The jagged drumming of your heart bleeds inside your ears as she studies you.

Eventually, she leans back in the velvet chair, her face betraying no thought or emotion.

“You’re dismissed,” she says.

Your heart plummets to your feet. You shakily rise, dispirited as you drag your heels towards the door. You steal a glance above your shoulder. The woman’s attention has already drifted away from you as she shouts for the next applicant.

You sourly exit the office. You try to swallow your dejection as you note how many women are still waiting in line, each of them likely more qualified and experienced. It’s obvious you tanked the interview. Shoulders slumping, you take resigned steps through the elegant, palatial hallways of the Snow’s mansion. You get lost in admiring the crystal and gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. There isn’t an inch of the house that doesn’t scream excessive, unattainable wealth.

You take your time soaking it in. Chances are you’ll never step foot in such a place in your lifetime ever again.

Distracted, you don’t notice the person in front of you before it’s too late. You bump straight into a hard, inflexible body.

The sudden collision threatens your balance.

Fingers coil around your wrists as you stagger back, preventing your impending collapse onto the marbled floor.

As your attention drifts skywards, your jaw drops at who fills your vision.

“P-President Snow, my deepest apologies, s-sir,” you stammer, flames licking your cheeks.

As if you didn’t make yourself look dimwitted enough before, you now carelessly crashed into the leader of all of Panem. Just when you thought the day couldn’t possibly get worse.

You take him in. It truly is him. Shock fills you.

Tall and dazzling in a crisp white shirt and crimson vest that hints at his lean physique beneath the clothes, his signature blond waves slicked away from his face, he looks every bit the important figure that he is.

The flickering TV screen you own at home doesn’t do him justice.

A gentle smirk unfurls on his lips.

“It’s quite alright. I’m not made of sugar,” he jests.

“No…you’re not, your highness…majesty...I mean sir.”

Your blunder expands his smile. His cerulean gaze drags over your frame.

“Are you here for the nursemaid position?”

“I am, sir.” You unleash a deep exhale, his inquiry tossing salt on the fresh wound. The interviewer clearly wasn’t impressed by your less than stellar performance. Maybe you should have tried to mimic the way the girls with whom you attended the Academy behave more. They carry themselves with such confidence, wading through the world with the certainty of their destinies being secure, bereft of hardships unlike district dwellers.

You envy how carefree they get to be. Everyday you wake up worried you’ll come up short on a bill and you and Laertes will be forced to leave your family home. No matter how diligent you are at work, there never seems to be enough money to sustain the two of you. Even with three jobs, you’re barely eking out a decent living for you and your little brother. Many times, you’ve gone to bed hungry just so Laertes would not.

You don’t even realize tears have filled your eyes to the brim until a handkerchief is daintily pressed into your cheeks.

Flabbergasted, you blink up at President Snow.

“Thank you,” you exhale, stunned by his kind gesture.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

You search his eyes. Genuine interest lights up his pellucid blue orbs.

Without much thought, you confess, “I just don’t think I did very well with my interview.”

As he scrutinizes you in silence, cocking his head sideways, embarrassment rushes through you.

Words anxiously leave your lips in a tremulous string.

“God, I’m so sorry, spilling my problems to you as if you’re not an extremely busy man, sir.”

He shakes his head. “It’s quite alright. And do not count yourself defeated, sweetheart.” Your pulse stutters when he bends over you to whisper, “You may have left a stronger impression than you think.”

He nudges the pocket square between your hands. It’s still damp with your tears. You gape at it in awe. President Snow’s initials are elegantly etched in the left corner of the fabric.

“Here. Keep it. Though I’d much prefer it if you didn’t cry.” He pauses, studying you. “Girls as lovely as you never should.”

His words send your heart into a frenzy. For a while, you’re too stunned to move. You then shake yourself back to reality, noticing you’re now staring at the empty space where he used to stand. He’s gone. You look ahead. He’s already miles away from you, wrapped in conversation with who seems to be an assistant of his.

Your thumbs press against the soft fabric of the pocket square. Cheeks ablaze, you hold it to your nose. It smells like roses, the same delicate scent that wafted from him a few minutes ago. Your back prickles. You pivot and are astonished to find the envious glares of some of the applicants still waiting in line zeroed in on you. Self-conscious, you rush to continue your exit, fleeing away from the hateful stares.

As the outside gates come into sight, you can’t suppress an elated smile. It’s not everyday someone meets President Snow and receives such a gift from him. Shoving the handkerchief in your pocket, you vow to place it somewhere safe and always cherish it.

When you return home, your brother’s already sitting in the living room, his tiny brows scrunched in concentration and his nose buried in his books. Your stomach sinks. Everything you did today was for him. You can’t help but feel you missed out on a huge opportunity, one that’d have changed the course of his life forever. You glance around at the apartment. The walls are crumbling. The wooden floors are creaking. The pipes in the kitchen have been leaking for weeks, a measly bucket you must empty every morning the only thing preventing a flood. And at night, the pitter-patter of rodents’ paws resonates from the ceiling.

Every inch of your family home is in dire need of repairs.

Unfortunately, every penny you earn goes into rent and food, meaning the house falls apart a bit more everyday. Perhaps one day, you and Laertes will awake beneath the rubble of what’s left of your childhood home. Nightmares of that sometimes keep you up at night.

“How was the Academy today?” you chime, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Worry twists your chest. There isn’t much left. You’ll need to make do with cabbage and whatever other veggies are left. Perhaps you could toss in some leftover dried meat and make a stew.

“My teacher signed me up for advanced trigonometry,” your brother announces.

You close the cabinet and beam at him.

“Oh, that sounds hard. I’m proud of you.” It doesn’t exactly surprise you. Laertes’ always been exceptionally smart. Even his teachers noticed how gifted he is from an early age. Unlike you, he breezed through middle school and now the Academy.

It’s why it’s crucial you make sure he can go to the University. A mind like his shouldn’t be wasted.

You brother shrugs, exuding nonchalance.

“It’s fine.”

You rush to him. You wrap your arm around him playfully and hug him in his chair, pulling his cheek like when he was little. You know he hates when you do that but you can’t help teasing him a bit. It’s your duty as a big sister after all.

“Don’t downplay it. My little brother’s a genius.”

He wriggles his way out of the hug, rolling his eyes.

“Stop it.”

You head back to the kitchen and fire the stove.

“I’ll make you something,” you say, smiling at your brother.

His brows knit. “Make something for yourself first.”

You nibble your bottom lip. You truly hoped he wouldn’t notice, how much smaller than his your portions are. But he’s growing; he needs it. Much more than you. Besides, how can he focus at the Academy and be the brilliant boy he is supposed to be with a growling stomach? You won’t allow it.

“Laertes…”

He shakes his head, his expression firm.

“No. You always do this. This time, we split whatever is left.”

Heaving out a resigned exhale, you nod. You whirl to resume preparing dinner.

You gather a boiling pot from the overhead cabinet and place it on the stove. With the ease of practice, you begin chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot. You add spices and water. The mouthwatering aroma quickly fills the kitchen. Pride swells in your chest. Your cooking skills have improved so much in the last year since your parents passed. You now manage to bring flavor to the blandest of meals.

Once the stew’s ready, you pour a portion in each bowl, putting just a little more in your brother’s and praying he will not notice.

You place the steaming bowls on the table and take a seat opposite him.

“No books at the dining table,” you admonish, mimicking the exact tone your mother used with your brother. Admitting defeat, Laertes sighs and sets his homework aside. The tiny victory tugs your lips skyward.

He tells you about his day at the Academy while the two of you eat. You’re delighted to hear he’s making a lot of friends and he’s at the top of his class for most science subjects. He’s struggling a bit more with his poetry and ethics classes, but you encourage him by reminding him he can just ask the teacher for extra assignments to keep his grade up.

“I interviewed for a new job today,” you reveal, stirring the spoon in your bowl while waiting for your brother to eat more of his food.

“How did it go?”

“Well, it pays really well so I’m hopeful.”

The hope dancing in his eyes makes your chest ache. You don’t have the heart to tell him you made a fool of yourself today. You may not be gifted like your brother, but you want him to know he can rely on you at least.

Pursing his mouth, he looks down at his stew.

“That’s great. It’d be good if you didn’t have to work as much.”

Your smile falters. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”

“Okay.”

His dour tone stirs your concern. You wish you were better at hiding things from him, making his childhood as normal as possible. But your brother’s twelve now, and that’s old enough to sense when things are wrong.

He rises from his seat. You frown as you note there’s still food left in his bowl.

“Finish your plate before going to your room.”

Annoyance pinches his features but he still picks up his bowl and hastily guzzles down the remainder of his stew.

“Happy now?” he says, wiping his mouth.

“Yes. Very,” you cheerfully respond.

He gathers his books and strides towards his room.

Your voice rises.

“Don’t stay up too late to study, okay? I love you.”

“I…love you too,” he mumbles.

You bask in the moment as you clean the table. Thankfully Laertes is still at an age where he says it back. One day he might not. So you must cherish every instant. Every conversation, every hug, every ‘I love you’. Because it could all vanish in a second. You learned that the hard way a year ago.

The day of the interview recedes to the back of your mind as you keep living your life. Work is harrowing, as usual, but you tend to your tasks as best as you can. Your arms ache as you knead the dough in the back of the bakery. You give yourself a second to wipe the sweat off your forehead. It’s been a hectic afternoon. There’s a massive pastry order for some Capitol heiress’ birthday due tomorrow. So you’ve been racing between the front desk and the kitchen in the back. A baker called in sick today, leaving you with twice the workload.

You know it won’t take much to crash into your bed and fall asleep tonight.

To make matters worse, the day hits its nadir when you get your pay that day. You peer inside the envelope for the umpteenth time. An anxious chuckle peals out of your lips.

“I’m sorry I don’t want to complain, but…this doesn’t match the hours I put in.”

The owner scratches the back of his neck, a contrite expression etched on his face.

“I’m sorry too. With the new taxes imposed by the Capitol, I had to cut your salary.”

Slack-jawed by the news, no word leaves your mouth as you stare at him. He sighs.

“If it’s a problem, we can find someone else-”

“No, no,” you interrupt, blinking in panic. “Please, I need this job.”

He acquiesces and you’re forced to thank him despite feeling cheated. You actually scaled back your hours for your other part-times since this one paid more. What a waste.

Dispirited, you return home. As you give the driver a bill for the fare, your insides wrench. Every bill counts. Perhaps you’ll need to walk back home from now on. The streets of the Capitol are notoriously dangerous but you can’t see any other way to save your dwindling wages. You already know you’ll need to request an extension for rent this month. How will you pay it, however?

You suppose you’ll have to figure it out. You always figure it out.

These are the somber thoughts swaying in your mind as you check the mailbox.

Bills. Bills. And more bills. Your already sour mood plummets even more. But a slim, silver envelope sticking out from the pile corrals your focus. Curiosity surges inside you. It looks fancy and there’s a wax seal with the Capitol’s symbol keeping it shut. You rush to open it, heart fluttering in strange anticipation.

You unfold the neatly folded letter inside. As you read the words, you gasp, dropping the letter. Still trembling from shock and excitement, you bend to pick it up.

You take a deep slow breath before reading it again.

This time, a squeal escapes from your lips.

You read it many more times to make sure your eyes aren’t just conjuring wild fantasies.

After a while, you realize they aren’t. It’s true.

Holding the letter to your chest, you toss yourself on your bed and kick your feet excitedly.

You then place your palm on your forehead. In disbelief, you beam at the ceiling.

Somehow…you’ve been hired to work for the Snows. You actually got the job.

Perhaps there is light at the end of the tunnel.

You fidget before the iron gates, smoothing absent wrinkles on your skirt. It’s one of the best outfits you could find on short notice that wasn’t moth-eaten or visibly overworn. You pray it’s enough. You let your gaze wander. The Snows’ estate truly is majestic. The lush gardens. The beautiful architecture. You feel a little small as you admire the mansion.

Remembering yourself, you pivot to the man who drove you there. You fish inside your pocket for a bill and hand it to him. He stares at you blankly from the driver’s seat.

A weary sigh ripples behind you.

You turn, your eyes widening. It’s the woman who interviewed you that day. She wears the same stern expression.

“You don’t need to pay him,” she explains, dismissing the man with her hand. He nods and drives away. “He’s your assigned driver. He’ll pick you up each day and take you back home.”

“Oh.” You offer your hand. “Nice to meet you…again.”

She gives you a lengthy onceover, completely ignoring your gesture. Then she motions at you to follow her. You let your hand fall to your side. Heat blooms in your cheeks. Perhaps, you were too enthusiastic just then. Straightening your spine, you try your best to keep pace with her quick strides.

“I’m Pandora. I supervise most housekeeping duties for the president. I’ll show you around the estate. Then you’ll meet the young Master.”

She gives you a tour of the mansion. You’re even more amazed than last time though you try to suppress your awe and not stare excessively. She shows you the garden as well. The sea of snow-white roses makes your head spin. She specifies that the only part of the house that is off-limits is the west wing of the mansion, as these are the First Lady’s apartments and she must have rest and quiet.

She ends the visit by taking you to the nursery. A smile spontaneously finds its way onto your lips. A toddler plays with his toy train on the floor. With his blonde curls and bright blue eyes, he bears a striking resemblance to his father.

“That’s him? He’s so cute,” you whisper. Even the stern woman’s expression thaws a little as she looks at the child, softening ever-so-slightly. You send her a questioning glance. She gives you a nod of approval.

You approach the boy and crouch in front of him.

“Hi. You’re Martius, right?”

He lifts his head and beams at you. You’re immediately endeared. Again, his smile reminds you of President Snow. You suppose one could probably take over the world with a smile like that.

You turn to Pandora.

“Is his mother around? I should probably introduce myself.”

Her face pinches. “Mistress Livia has been unwell as of late. She is not to be disturbed today as she is quite tired.”

“Of course.” Your lips squeeze shut for a few seconds but curiosity gets the better of you. A question burns on your lips, one that nagged you ever since you got the job. It slips out before you can think it through. “Is this…Is this why the president and his wife require a nanny? The First Lady is sick?”

Pandora glowers at you. You flinch as she steps further inside the room, her searing tone like a whip.

“You are here to do your job, and nothing else. Mistress Livia’s health is no concern of yours. Do you hear me?”

You rise on shaky feet. You forgot yourself.

“I-I understand. I’m sorry I asked.”

“This reminds me. You have to sign this,” she says, handing you a pen and clipboard. A thin stack of papers are attached to the clipboard. The front page spells ‘Non-Disclosure Agreement’ in bold letters at the very top. You scowl as you flip through the pages.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a contract, one signed by every one of the President’s employees.”

“I don’t understand most of what’s written here…”

A frustrated exhale peals from her lips.

“I’ll make it simple for you then. For the duration of your employment here, nothing you see or hear must ever leave this house. You are here to care for the young master, that is all. Nothing else should concern you. Is that clear enough?”

You swallow thickly. It doesn’t sound hard at all. Discretion is essential in every job, isn’t it? But the way Pandora makes it sound, you’d assume there are bodies buried beneath the Snows’ estate. You’d laugh if her death stare weren’t so disquieting.

You peruse the contract, perplexed by most of the legal mumbo jumbo filling the pages. None of it rings any bell. You understand the gist of it however. You must preserve the president and his wife’s privacy. While you don’t know the specifics of the first lady’s condition, her public appearances have been few and far between in the last few years.

She used to be the envy of every woman in the Capitol. Beautiful, young and married to the dashing President Snow.

She was a fairytale princess come to life.

Then their son Martius was born. And when they held him up from the balcony of their mansion for all of Panem to gaze upon, they truly seemed like the perfect family.

Until one day, Livia Cardew simply…vanished.

She was noticeably absent from all the events of the season, some she even hosted herself. Tongues wagged of course, rumors and wild theories spreading like wildfire.

But no one knew the truth of what had happened to her.

The matter seems delicate. You promise yourself not to bring it up again.

You click the pen and scribble your name at the bottom of the very last page.

“I’ve…never signed a contract like that before starting a job.”

Pandora lets out a wry chuckle.

“Well, you’ve never worked for President Snow.”

As promised, you quit your two other jobs to focus solely on Martius. You’re hesitant at first. Your departed parents taught you never to put all your eggs in one basket. And it’s exactly what you’d be doing by trusting the Snows. But when you receive your first paycheck, long before the end of the week, every qualm you had fades. It’s more money than you’ve ever had, more money than you expected. Rent isn’t an issue anymore. Neither is food.

Besides, gifts keep coming from the estate. Clothes mostly, for both you and Laertes, but also jewelry, perfume and other fancy things you don’t need. Overwhelmed by President Snow’s generosity, you try to send some of it back, but you don’t have the heart to return everything when you see your brother’s happy face when he opens his wardrobe one day.

You’ve caught the self-conscious glimpses he casts at his classmates sometimes, when not wearing the Academy uniform. Their clothes are always brand new and custom, perfectly tailored while his are stitched back together by your clumsy hands whenever they fray at the seams. You’re not a seamstress but you’ve always done your best. But you know your best doesn’t compare to the access and privilege those kids have.

Other than those blessings, your time with Martius has been a breeze. Only hazy memories of your brother as a toddler linger in your mind, but you don’t recall him ever being as sweet and calm as the little boy is.

It hardly feels like work, caring for the small child. You spend the day playing along with his games, reading stories to him and, as the day nears its end, the two of you feed the ducks in the massive pond behind the mansion. He even gives them names and gets upset when they fight with each other.

“Lily doesn’t like James anymore,” he whispers to you one day, a sullen pout scrunching his tiny features.

“And why is that?”

“I think she’s angry that he steals her food.”

You chuckle and ruffle his golden locks. The little boy always has a story for everything he sees. At all times, his world must make sense. So if he cannot find a reason to explain what fills his gaze, he’ll weave a tale that matches it. His stories are each more wild than the other and he sometimes utters words you’ve never heard a four year old use.

But you surmise it is expected from the son of the president. When he isn’t with you, the little boy is often with his private tutor. Even at his tender age, the importance of manners and eloquence is impressed upon him.

Martius tugs at your skirt when you make your way to the door. You look down. His blue eyes are pleading.

“You’re leaving again?”

You heave out a long exhale. The little boy wasn’t so clingy before but with your bond growing, he’s been expressing more sadness from watching you go at the end of every day.

You hunker down to his level.

“My little brother’s expecting me.”

His forehead puckers. “Stay…”

“I told you before, Martius. I have a brother. He’ll miss me if I’m not here.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, giving a begrudging nod. Tears already swim in his eyes though. Panic flows through you. You didn’t want to upset him. You pick him up and bounce with him in your arms to try to soothe him.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry, sweetie.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, nearly squeezing you to death when he wraps his arms around your neck. His loud, tearful sobs swell in the room. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow like always, okay? So I need you to be brave for me.” His grip on you loosens as he sniffles. You put him down and the two of you pinky promise that you’ll return. Your heart twists at the sight of his tear-stained little face.

You give his hair one last affectionate pat before rushing outside. If you stay, he might throw another tantrum. No matter what, you can never get mad at Martius. He’s just a child. In the absence of his mother, he’s bound to grow attached to any woman filling a role adjacent to hers. You loathe that you’re taking those moments from the first lady. Though it pleases you to have a steady job and spend time with the sweet boy, it feels wrong that she isn’t there. She should get to see her baby grow up. She should hear his inane ramblings and eccentric stories.

As time wears on, you’re dying to meet her and tell her about Martius. Is she truly so sick that she can’t even see him for a mere few minutes? You’re itching to break the rules and visit the west wing of the mansion. Sometimes you hear blood-curdling screams and wailing coming from the dark halls but you never dared venture through them. You know that if you did, Pandora would crucify you.

Laertes’ well-being matters more than your curiosity.

Humming absently, you halt in your tracks in the middle of a hallway. Confusion has you blinking. A peculiar noise bounces faintly against the walls. Your gaze drifts sideways, where the noise seems to come from. You’re clocking out. Whatever’s going on in the house isn’t any of your business at this hour.

But what if someone needs help? What if it’s something bad? You’d feel awful if you learnt something happened the next day and you pretended to ignore it. So you gingerly approach the wall. Your fingers graze the tapestry covering it.

Your eyes widen when the wall moves, a tiny crack forming in it.

Your eyes bulge. It’s an ajar door, you realize. A secret door one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t aware it was there. Light spills from the slight opening.

Confining your breath, you bend over the crack in the wall to get a glimpse of what’s behind it.

The vision crowding your sight makes the blood in your veins freeze.

President Snow rutting into a maid with his pants down to his ankles. His usually neat blonde locks are tousled, a few damp curls kissing his forehead. His massive cock glistens with the girl’s essence, disappearing into the girl’s spread lips over and over again. Her body is bent over the railing of the bed and her maid outfit is bunched around her hips, exposing her ass, the flesh trembling with each of the president’s harsh, pointed thrust.

Each time he snaps his hips he draws a broken moan from her. One of his hands is around the back of her throat while the other’s on the small of her back. He grunts low in his throat as she clenches around him, thrusting into her even faster than before.

The obscene sound of their coupling rises, coalescing with the feral grunts spilling from the president’s mouth. In that moment, he’s not the poised gentleman you’re used to seeing, he is an animal in rut chasing his high.

A shocked exhale escapes your lips. Your hand flies to cover your mouth. President Snow’s head snaps up, his gaze landing straight on you.

Your heart slams against your ribcage.

You jump back from the door and push the secret door closed. You dart across the hallway, determined to find the exit as quickly as you can. You don’t glance back, your steps hasty and panicked.

Pandora was right. It’s best not not to hear or see anything, to become a tomb in which secrets are buried.

You can only hope he didn’t recognize you through the tiny crack in the door.

Though you’re shaken to your core, you continue your work as a nanny. You still need money. You may have set aside everything you made thus far, but it will only sustain you and your brother for a month or two. Besides, you’ve already handed in your resignation for your other jobs. The positions have likely been filled. You can’t exactly show up out of the blue and ask for your former job back.

No. So you convince yourself that it’s alright. You have a good thing going anyway. You’re making more than you hoped. The child is happy. You’re happy. All is well. Or it would be at least.

…If you could conjure the memory of President Snow railing into the maid far away from your mind.

You want to forget it, bury the moment so deep in the abyss of your thoughts, it can never be unearthed.

But it isn’t so easy. Because every time your mind wanders even a little, you see him again. Skin glistening with sweat and blue eyes alight with lust. The image is tattooed into your brain.

You wonder if the first lady knows. Perhaps it’s why she’s hiding away. The weight of her husband’s indiscretions may have grown too heavy to carry. It sours your heart. President Snow seemed so kind, good and noble. He was nice to you. You still have the breast pocket he gave you tucked away in a drawer. You loathe to think he’d do that to his wife. No woman deserves this.

You lift your head when your name is uttered. You get to your feet. Adrift in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Pandora was in the nursery.

“Yes?”

“The president wants to see you in his office.”

Dread wrenches your gut. It’s exactly what you feared. Does he know? Did he see you? Your pulse picks up. What other reason would there be? He never summoned you before.

“Really, why?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m assuming it’s to congratulate you.”

Befuddlement wrinkles your forehead. “Congratulate me?”

Pandora heaves out a weary sigh. “Well, you’ve done much better than we thought,” she begrudgingly admits. “The young master smiles all the time.” She rolls her eyes. “Even if we must deal with his tantrums when you leave.”

A sliver of pride flutters through you with her admission. Pandora made her doubts about your capabilities plain and obvious from the beginning. It gladdens you that you may have changed her mind a little.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She turns to him, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s a small price to pay for his happiness.”

Your smile vanishes as she adds, “Now let me escort you to the president’s office. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you trail behind her. The entire trek to the president’s office, your stomach’s in knots. You keep wondering if it’s the day you’ll lose your job for being too nosy. You should have walked past the noise. You shouldn’t have peeked.

You inhale a lungful of nerve as Pandora opens the door to his office and frees room for you to enter. Your clammy hands wrench in your lap. He’s sitting behind his desk. You stagger further inside the room as he motions for you to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. He looks the same as the first time you stumbled into him, disarmingly handsome in an impeccable shirt and pants that flatter his long legs.

A sharp contrast to the version of him that has plagued your thoughts lately.

His sky gaze follows you as you take a trembling seat.

“Are you settling in well?” he asks.

“Hm, yes,” you stammer, anxiously twining your fingers. “It’s pretty much the perfect job. I get to be around a cute child all day.”

“I hear my son is very fond of you.”

You bashfully dip your head. “He’s very easy to like. He’s such a good boy, sweet, kind, and curious. You and your wife are raising him well, sir.”

He hums in thought. “I can’t take much credit for that. I’ve tried my best to carve out time for Martius…but work’s kept me busy. As for Livia...” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Well she isn’t quite herself these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He places one hand under his chin, scrutinizing you. You try not to twitch beneath his stare, your insides tight with dread.

“Hm, it’s strange,” he states after a minute that goes by like an eternity.

Your head rises. “What’s strange?”

“A girl like you.” His lips drag upward. “Sweet, nurturing, beautiful. Shouldn’t you be married already?”

Your lips part in astonishment. This isn’t the line of questioning you expected. “I-I’m not.”

“No fiancé?”

“No, sir.”

“A lover then?”

Warmth rushes to your face.

“No…”

He laughs, mirth dancing in his cobalt orbs.

“You must pardon me for being so forward but I simply find it astonishing. No suitors? It’s hard to believe since you’re so lovely, sweetheart.” He tilts his head. You shift in discomfort, his attention making you feel see-through. “I mean, a husband would have made your life easier than it’s been thus far, wouldn’t he, dove?”

A long exhale flows from your lips. “I’ve had offers, after I graduated from the Academy. There was even this boy, he was so kind to me.” The memory draws a small smile from you. “He proposed. I’m sure he’d make a great husband, but…”

“But…”

Your mouth dries.

“I know it’s probably naive and unrealistic but I want to marry for love, that great, life-changing love, like in those romance novels my mom used to love, not money or status.”

His eyes twinkle. “Or financial stability?”

Shame gathers in your chest. You know it sounds silly when uttered aloud.

“I know, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. It’s sweet that you still believe in love.” He appears lost in a faraway memory, his gaze hazing over with remembrance. “I used to believe in it too. I used to think, ‘Who needs wealth and success and power when love conquers all?’”

He chuckles but it’s bereft of amusement.

“Really? What happened then?”

His gaze locks with yours.

“I grew up.”

Confused, you frown.

“But aren’t you and the first lady in love?”

Another laugh bursts from his chest.

“God, you’re sweet.” His tone lowers to a dulcet whisper. “It’s like none of the world’s ugliness has gotten to you yet.” He reveals matter-of-factly, “My wife and I hate each other.” His smile widens at your flabbergasted expression. “Always did. It’s best that way, more…efficient. Of course, there was a time, when we had…passion.” He licks his lips, something you can’t pinpoint flickering in his gaze. “But not anymore. She’s far too gone for that.”

He rises from his chair. You stiffen as he circles the desk, making slow steps towards you.

“Which is why I must…satiate my needs wherever I can,” he mumbles, fingers lurking under your chin, forcing your eyes to fall upon him. “Do you understand my meaning, dove?”

“I…yes.”

Discomfort flares within you. Tension hangs in the air, so heavy it clogs your airways.

He cocks his head, lips slanting crookedly.

“Do you really? With that innocent look in your eyes, it’s hard to tell.” His thumb sweeps over your shuddering bottom lip. “Men have needs. And am I not a man, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes you are, sir.”

He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “You saw everything that day, didn’t you?” Your heart stops.

Flames lick your face as you bow your head. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

His warm breath ghosts over your earshell.

“Liar,” he mumbles.

Your pulse quickens.

He leans back and nudges your chin upward.

“Since my wife fell sick, I’ve been very lonely. And sometimes…” He looms over you, crowding your space as you peer up at him, fingers squeezing the arms of the chair. “I need something soft and warm to forget that feeling.”

President Snow slowly falls to his knees in front of you. His fingers find your thigh, starting to creep under your skirt. A devilish glint sparkles in his cobalt gaze. He finds your center, pressing the sheer fabric into your folds. You gasp. He chuckles at your reaction. He starts teasing you through your panties, tracing your slit and dragging over your tender bud. Your breath hitches as the air around you grows hotter. You grow slick beneath his finger, your thighs shaking as tingles bloom on your flesh.

“Sir…” you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes.

He pushes further inside you, adding another finger, and you unleash an audible breath. You try to close your thighs. He places his other hand on your knee to keep you open for him.

The air in your lungs grows thinner as he rubs your core through your soaked panties. The friction is a delicious torture. Pleasure pools in your belly causing your face to burn with shame. You’re getting embarrassingly wet with President Snow’s attention.

“I just want a little taste,” he murmurs, his deep timbre bleeding lust. “Just one time and it’ll never happen again,” he promises fervently as his lips graze your ankle. You find some relief when his fingers disappear from your drenched center. But your respite is ephemeral. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs at your panties.

Panic widens your eyes. Cheeks ablaze, you pull at the material between your legs with both hands. But he’s stronger than you and effortlessly drags the fabric along your legs. A wicked smile plays on his lips as tears glisten in your eyes. It’s soon down to your ankles. You squeal when the president yanks the panties off your foot, tossing them aside. Cool air sneaks beneath your skirt, swirling over your bare folds.

Hands over your knees to keep you spread, his wolfish gaze sweeps over your glossy folds.

Your skin heats, embarrassment gathering in your chest. You’ve never been this vulnerable and exposed in front of anybody before.

“Please, President Snow, s-stop…”

“But you’re dripping, sweetheart,” he states smugly, sinking a finger inside your weeping core, as if to make a point. Your breath hitches. He takes his finger out sluggishly. You clench when he grazes one of your sensitive spots. “Just as sweet as I expected,” he hums, obscenely licking your essence off his long digit.

Without a warning, he buries his head between your thighs. A sharp exhale leaps from your mouth. His cool tongue traces a wet trail over your folds. President Snow traces maddening patterns over your swollen bud causing your eyes to roll back.

You card your fingers through his silken platinum locks, hoping to push his head away. But the delightful sensations grow too overwhelming. You unravel beneath his sinful ministrations, your limbs twitching as the thread of your thoughts comes loose.

Your grip on his hair weakens. Your belly tightens, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

You jolt as his tongue flickers over your tender heap of nerves.

“P-President…”

He purrs against your folds and the vibrations rock through your core. You squirm in the chair. Your thighs quake. Your vision dims, your mind blank as waves of pleasure swaddle you in their tide. Protests scatter on your tongue, replaced by wanton whimpers and moans.

Electricity ripples through your spine as you cry out.

Bliss engulfs you and your legs turn liquid. Shame swirls in your gut as your juices coat his tongue. He drinks your nectar, elation rumbling in his chest.

When he lifts his head, you hardly recognize him. The feral glow in his gaze chills your blood.

There is no time to collect yourself, realize what just occurred, as the blonde gathers your limp frame from the chair and places you on his desk. Documents and papers are flung to the ground as he grabs your thighs and presses his throbbing hard-on against your cunt.

He hastily unbuttons his pants, freeing his hard length. He fists his cock and guides it through your wet entrance. Your back arches, the sudden intrusion robbing you of air. He reaches the hilt of you in a few seconds, giving you no time to accommodate his thick girth. You collapse over the desk, weak whimpers leaving you as your walls are stretched to their limit. He drags out of you, his pupils flaring as they trace the motion of his length in and out of you. Coriolanus leans over you. He snaps his pelvis into your hips, each of his thrusts tearing tearful moans from your throat.

When you turn your head, hot tears flowing down your cheeks, he grabs your chin so you’re forced to meet his lustful stare. Bracing himself on the desk, he reaches between your bodies to pinch your swollen clit. He plucks at your soft bud until you shatter around him with a sob. His throat bobs, a look of sheer bliss flitting across his face when you clench around him.

“I’ve been dying to fuck you the minute I saw you,” he confesses, trailing soft pecks over your collarbone. A sinister chuckle peals from his lips. “The way you looked at me with those sweet, innocent eyes…it made me rock-hard.” He tilts your chin towards him, his thumb skimming over your parted lips.

Satisfaction glimmers in his eyes as they flick over your prone form.

“You should thank me. Those boys at the Academy wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you…” His cock twitches inside you. Sticky warmth spills from him, painting your walls and dripping past your hole. Drops of his seed leak onto the desk. A throaty sigh pours from President Snow’s throat as your cunt flutters around him.

His teeth nip the skin of your neck.

“...But I do.”

After what occurs in his office, you hope to avoid President Snow. Those hopes are swiftly dashed however. President Snow lied to you. It doesn’t happen once. In fact, you begin to lose count of the actual number.

Every time the president finds a little spare time, he summons you.

Sometimes you end up bent over the desk in his office as he pours the frustrations of the day into your warm hole. Sometimes he prefers you sprawled on your back in one of the multitude of luxurious beds in the mansion while he devours you as if you were his very last meal. And at times, he grows even more impatient and simply shoves you against a wall before ravaging you.

More than once, a maid or footman has walked in on the two of you, and you’ve had to swallow your shame and embarrassment.

As you’ve come to learn, the entire staff is aware of Coriolanus Snow’s insatiable appetite and none of them seems to care.

You feel sick, desperate, trapped in something twisted and awful you never signed up for.

But how does one say no to President Coriolanus Snow? The entire Capitol yields to his every whim. And you are the same. Here to bow and smile and lie back whenever he demands it.

You long to focus on your job, to care for Martius and nothing else. Whenever the boy looks up at you with those innocent blue eyes, eerily similar to his father’s, your stomach wrenches. You pray he never comes to learn what kind of man his father is. You wish he’d stay just as kind and sweet as he is now.

Those are the thoughts drifting through your mind as you watch Martius play with his toy trains. Your eyes wander towards the window. Outside, orange and purple hues are bleeding into the sky, the afternoon nearing its end. Your stomach coils. It’s during times like these that President Snow often seeks you out. You’ve tried to run away from him but it’s all a game to Coriolanus, and he always delights in chasing you through the hallways.

Your brows crumple as you note that Martius has stopped playing. He drops his toy and rushes to your side. Confounded by his behavior, you’re on the cusp of asking him what’s wrong…but your gaze follows what caught his attention on the other side of the room.

You fall silent, your eyes rounding in shock.

“Martius. Come here, my love,” says the blonde woman in a white robe and nightgown, her arms wide open.

Time stands still for a few seconds. It takes you a while to realize who stands before the door. She looks so different, more ghost than woman, her glassy blue eyes hollow and sunken. But her likeness is unmistakable. Even with her graying, limp tresses and ashen complexion, you recognize Livia Cardew. The president’s wife.

You bolt to your feet. Arms still open, Livia takes slow steps towards Martius.

“I’m your mom, sweetie. Don’t you remember me?”

The little boy’s fists clutch your skirt as he hides his face against your leg.

“You’re not my mom.”

A stricken look twists Livia’s features as she shrinks. As if her own son just drove a knife through her heart. Your chest twinges. While her abrupt appearance is a shock, you can’t imagine how she must feel. You place a hand on Martius’ back and try to nudge him forward.

“Martius. It’s the First Lady, your mother. Go on, hug her,” you urge softly.

He shakes his head, tears filling his eyes as he hides behind you even more.

You’re stunned. Has it truly been that long?

“Martius-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, Livia lunging at you, her eyes wild with fury.

“You! This is all your fault,” she hisses. She points at you and scoffs, “You’re his new whore, aren’t you?” Her mouth wobbles as she grips her head. “First you take my husband, now my son.”

Martius begins to sob. His loud cries overlap with his mother’s frantic yelling. You cover his eyes, tossing Livia an apologetic look.

“First Lady, I never meant-”

Before you can explain yourself, she grabs a nearby vase and smashes it. White roses scatter on the floor. Stomping all over the petals and broken glass, she collects one of the shards and races towards you. Terror numbs you. You freeze as Livia aims the shard at you, scarlet droplets dripping on her nightgown as she squeezes her fist around the glass.

Your eyes shut as you wait for the inevitable strike.

You shiver, waiting still.

But it doesn’t come.

“Livia, darling, that’s enough. It’s time for you to sleep and take your medicine.”

The familiar sound of Coriolanus’ voice causes your eyes to snap open.

You watch him restrain a struggling Livia. She curses at him, fighting him with all her might. It’s a painful spectacle.

“No, don’t touch me!” Other staff members rush into the room. It takes several people to hold Livia down, colorful expletives pouring from her mouth as she punches and kicks whoever comes close. “You’re killing me! You bastard! Give me my son back! Martius! Martius!”

The child trembles against your skirt, his tear-filled gaze stuck to the floor.

Eventually someone manages to stick a needle into Livia’s neck. She instantly goes limp, arm still reaching for her son in her last conscious second.

“Take her away,” Coriolanus instructs.

The first lady’s flaccid form is dragged out of the room. Still shaken by what you just witnessed, you don’t move a muscle. President Snow approaches you, worry swimming in his blue orbs.

“Are you alright, dove?” He cups your cheeks, his brows crumpling as his gaze settles on your neck. “I’ll have Doctor Gaul look at you. She has an ointment for that.” He caresses your cheeks, smiling. You gape at him. How can he smile at a time like that? “It won’t even scar. I promise.”

You graze your neck. Your fingers come away bloody. Oh. Livia nicked you with the shard but you didn’t even feel it. Perhaps adrenaline numbed you to the pain.

“Dada,” Martius chimes, lifting his chubby arms.

Coriolanus’ face warms as he picks up his son. He tosses him in the air and catches him. Martius giggles through his tears.

“My sweet boy. That was very scary, wasn’t it?” he says, balancing his son on his hip. Martius nods and wipes his nose. Coriolanus flicks his cheek, beaming at him. “Don’t worry, son. The scary lady won’t bother you anymore in a few months.”

A wave of ice blows through your veins. You wonder why the president uttered those words with such certainty. Like a promise. Or a prophecy. Almost as if he knows exactly when the grim reaper will come knock on his wife’s door.

The next day, you hand over your resignation to Pandora. Her expression is skeptical as she gauges the manila folder you give her.

“This is for the president,” you announce.

She unleashes a deep exhale. “You should reconsider, sleep on it.”

You almost laugh. Sleep on it? You can hardly find rest, the picture of a disheveled Livia Cardew crying out for her son haunting your nights. Whatever befell upon the poor woman, you wouldn’t be surprised if her husband somehow had a hand in it. It broke your heart, seeing her like that, her own son unable to recognize her. You also despise the role Coriolanus forced you to play in erasing her memory.

All of it feels wrong.

And most of all, you don’t want President Snow to use you to satisfy his lewd desires anymore. He took all your firsts, all the moments that should have been beautiful, and made them a nightmare you have to relive every time he touches you.

You respected him; you admired him. Now you can’t be in his presence without dread whispering through you. What will he make you do this time? How will he make you small and powerless again?

“I can’t…I can’t do this anymore. He can hire someone else to care for him.”

Pandora purses her lips and shakes her head.

“It’s really not that simple. The president has developed…a fondness for you.”

You bristle. “I have to go back home. Laertes is expecting me.”

“You won’t like what comes next, trust me.” Her gaze narrows. “No one leaves the president.”

Ignoring the shudder elicited by her daunting words, you pivot and make a beeline towards the exit. Pandora’s voice echoes down the hallways.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Depleted, you glumly make your way to the gates. You enter the car that takes you back home everyday. Your thoughts wander as the Snow’s house grows smaller through the car window. You were thrilled when you got this job. It felt like kismet after the year you and your brother had. A rainbow after the rain. A slice of hope.

How it all went to hell so quickly. You’re still reeling from it. You’ve no idea what you’ll do next. The only thing you know for certain is that you will not step foot into the Snows’ estate ever again.

The car suddenly halts. You bump your head into the passenger’s seat. Wincing, you grip the sides of your head. As you retrieve your senses, you look around. You stopped.

You toss a questioning look at the driver.

But before he can respond, the car door opens and you’re yanked outside. Two pairs of strong arms drag you away from the car.

You take in the blue uniforms of the men. Terror pulses through your blood.

Peacekeepers.

Noting the guns at their sides, you stop trying to resist. There’s no fighting against them, ever. They are the Capitol’s fist and carry the President’s will. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you likely never did. You slump in their grip, despair thrumming inside you.

They escort you to a black car with tinted windows. Your pulse soars. You’ve only ever seen one individual step out of this car.

The peacekeepers toss you inside and slam the door shut.

Your fearful gaze rises to him.

He casually sits in front of you, his eyes narrowed.

“You disappoint me, dove.” He lets out a weary sigh. “After everything I’ve done for you…you try to leave me. I thought you were smarter than that.”

You twine your hands, sputtering, “I-I’m not the right person for this job, sir.”

He slides his fingers under your chin, tilting it upward.

“Oh but you’re perfect. My son loves you. You’re sweet, dutiful and most importantly…” He smirks. “You are mine. Mine to hold, spoil and fuck whenever I please for however long I please.”

The prospect fills you with dread. He wants you to be his toy again, submissive, available whenever he pleases.

“Sir…”

His jaw ticks, his hold on your jaw tightening.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your brother could attend the University, free of charge? A bright young mind such as his, I believe he deserves it.” His blue eyes twinkle. “Instead of, let’s say…end up in a District, his name chosen as a tribute in the next Hunger Games.” Your heart sinks to your feet. “That’d be awful, wouldn’t it? So cruel…” he mumbles, stroking your trembling bottom lip.

“No, please,” you beseech, tears swelling in your eyes. Your brother’s all you have left in the world. Nothing can happen to him.

Coriolanus fondles your cheek, the tender gesture a sharp contrast to the wicked words rolling off his tongue.

“It’s all up to you, then, dove. As long as you behave, I’ll give you the world. But if you act like a little brat again…” A threat lurks in his soft tone, a glint of madness swaying in his cobalt orbs. “I really don’t know what I might do.”

Chills dance over your spine.

“I promise to never do it again,” you blurt out.

He pulls out a square from his breast pocket. It’s identical to the one he used the first time.

But a lifetime seems to have passed since that moment, the world now so different from what you imagined, and the man before you…even more so.

“Good girl,” he lauds while swiping away your tears.

He shoves the pocket square back in its place. Coriolanus then beams at you as he starts unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his pants.

“Now, I’ve had a long, exhausting day. So how about you get on your knees for me and make it better with that sweet mouth of yours, dove?”

#dark!coriolanus snow #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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k-hotchoisan · 3 months ago

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Hear me out... yeosang greek mythology-esque AU where every few decades a maiden is sent as a sacrifice to the one they believe is the god of love and fertility. A very confused deity yeosang usually just rolls with it and puts these young ladies to sleep for a night ot two before returning them to their people (cuz that one time he just sent someone back the entire village panicked and blamed her for not being a "good enough offering" and he felt bad for a century). But this time... for some reason... he just can't take his eyes off the sleeping girl before him (there can be backstory here like he's met her before while parading as a mortal or sumin idk) and decides... maybe this time he'll keep her...

alrighty aphrodite

every eleven years, a young maiden is chosen as sacrifice for the god of love and fertility, at least they think they do, only for Yeosang to put the sacrificed maiden to sleep because he doesn't want to deal with them.

but when it’s you being chosen to be the next maiden, Yeosang decides, maybe this time, he’s gonna keep you for himself instead.

Genre/warnings: smut with plot, (kinda) Greek god au deity yeosang x maiden!reader, mentioned elements of sacrifice (though not too heavy nor gory), unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, masturbation (m), obsessive softdom! Yeosang, he’s actually fucking whipped for you, praise kink, mentions of virginity (where reader is NOT but it’s not elaborated further), yearning!yeosang

wc: 6k

a/n: I’m sorry this took SO long to develop. Truth to be told, this prompt has been stuck at the back of my mind and boy, I really wanted to make this beauty work. Also a special thanks to @bro-atz for helping me develop (this is for you as well hehe) Enjoy! 🩷

Walking through the cold and pale marble temple, you watch the way the vines curl around the pillars, creeping its way up to get some sun. The temple is insanely huge, standing tall thanks to blocky pillars, with intricate carvings, which you identify as white marble being slowly overtaken by soft moss and stubborn vines.

You know, despite the gorgeous temple, its practices to serve Aphrodite were but.

Despite the anxiety you feel, you know you could do not much to fight against the elders and their ridiculous traditions. For centuries, chosen maidens by the fertility deity have been offered to appease the gods for the blessings of fertility of the town’s land and women every 11 years. No one knew how the gods looked like, but it seemed that every time a maiden was sent, the fields would bloom and flourish, couples would be blessed with a pregnancy.

Of course, why wouldn’t they continue this ridiculous tradition?

And this year, you were chosen.

You remember the last conversation you had with your mother before you had stepped foot into the temple.

“I’ll come back mother. Weren’t there rumours that one of the maidens managed to come back?”

Your mother’s index finger flew to her lips. “Be careful of what you utter, my daughter. They don’t like the reminder that their choice was rejected.”

You blinked at her, recalling the incident where one of the maidens got “returned” right after the ceremony and from what you could remember, led the elders to grow furious on top of anxious, then demanding that another sacrifice to be made, since the maiden was now considered “rejected” by the deity. The poor girl. Surely this deity couldn’t be that picky, right?

You continue to thread the path before you, the soles of your feet getting used to the coldness of the marble floor by now.

You enter the fountain room, and as its title, sits a large marble fountain, a statue lady draped over with a long piece of fabric looking down onto three cupids that spit out water, while she, herself pours water out of a vase.

The sound of flowing water could honestly put you to sleep, if it wasn’t a curt reminder that you’re meant to drown here. Rose petals decorate and almost fully cover the surface of the bottomless fountain. Maybe it was a ploy to at least relax the previous maidens. There are a handful of people, all dressed in white robes that hide their faces, while the elders are dressed in ivory.

“There she is. Beautiful y/n”, the elder woman smiles, the emotion not reaching her eyes. You force a smile back. “Come, the water’s not cold.”

You dip your toes in.

The water is fucking cold.

“Think of it as a blessing to us, that you’re doing a gracious service to the village”, another elder curtly reminds you while she tosses more rose petals into the fountain.

Two other women lie you down onto the water and more petals are strewn across the surface. Your hair is wet by now and so is your dress. You cringe at how cold the water is biting against your skin but you bear with it.

The older woman turns around.

“We are gathered here today to witness the blessing Aphrodite will be giving us. We pray that the maiden reaches the goddess safely and may she stay in good hands”, she announces with clasped hands.

“May Aphrodite bless us all.” She yells, her hands raised to the heavens, before the two hooded elders beside her shove your body into the fountain, sinking you to the depths, the last thing you’re hearing are loud chants that gradually become muted as you slowly accept your fate.

A familiar hymn plays, and it catches Yeosang’s attention.

“The maiden offering is here”, his Cupid announces.

Yeosang only sighs in defeat, annoyed that his rose gardening has been interrupted, muttering how these mortals were being ridiculous, while still walking over to his marble foundation, careful not the crush the roses that had fallen onto the grass.

“I genuinely have no idea how to stop these people from sending women down the fountain”, he complains to nobody in particular.

“Why not just appear in front of them and tell them you’re the deity?” The little Cupid suggests as he floats beside Yeosang.

He turns to his minion with folded arms. “No way. These people would pelt me with stones before they even decide to give me a chance to prove that I am. I’ll just do the usual.”

“Put them to sleep and then tie a red string on their ankles?”

“-to make sure they don’t get hurt or freak out or something. Then send them back up when enough time has passed.”, he continues with a small pout. “I’m still shocked at the way they freaked out when I sent the previous one back four decades ago.”

The Cupid purses his lips, listening to Yeosang rant about this for the nth time ever since he took over the temple and the rituals started every 11 decades as they near the fountain.

He continues his rant up till he reaches the fountain. “Besides, none of them they send are ever my cup of tea. I’m sure this one’s not any-“

Then Yeosang immediately quietens down when his eyes land on the sleeping maiden before him. His Cupid casts him a confused glance, then back to the maiden on the fountain, wondering what suddenly silenced Yeosang.

It’s just another maiden, his Cupid thinks.

On the contrary, Yeosang can’t seem to keep his eyes off the maiden who’s unconscious, covered in rose petals like the previous maidens. What made her so different? He doesn’t know, but there’s a strange tinge of familiarity when he rests his eyes on your sleeping figure.

The cupid’s eyes widen when Yeosang personally picks you up from the water with his bare hands. He never did that to the previous maidens, for he would complain about getting his robes wet.

He sets you down on the cloud bed, watching how you’re breathing softly while he waits for the cupids to hand him a spare robe for you to change into.

“Yeosang, aren’t you gonna change out?” His Cupid asks as he hands Yeosang the fresh set of robes.

You stir from your slumber, feeling softness against your skin. You slowly open your eyes, before you remember what happened, and you shoot up, soaking in the unfamiliar environment surrounding you. It’s a beautiful, spacious, and airy room. Your eyes land on a male who’s fitting stalks of roses into a glass vase.

“In a bit”, Yeosang replies, his eyes not lifting from you.

He turns to you just in time, and you freeze.

Oh gods, he’s stunning. His eyes are a shade of gray that makes him look all the more dreamy, and his lashes are long. His hair is a soft platinum blonde, contrasted by the bright red roses that rest on his hair. He looks like a statue himself.

“You’re awake”, he greets with a curt nod.

“You’re-“

“—Aphrodite‘s descendant, Deity Kang Yeosang”, the flying child announces.

“Oh! Pardon my rudeness, Deity”, you squeak, going on your knees, your hands on the cold, marble ground.

But Yeosang has his hands around you, lifting you up. “You don’t need to-“

“Oh but I should. You’ve been blessing our village with bountiful fields and beautiful children. It’s only right that I bow on their behalf”, you insist. Yeosang is speechless, mostly because it’s the first time that he has allowed a maiden to be conscious around his quarters, and that he’s speaking to one. He doesn’t really know what to do, let alone why he even did that in the first place.

Yeosang looks away sheepishly. “It’s part of my job. Please, you may rise.” Despite his seemingly soft demeanour, you realise how chiseled his arms are, his muscles lifting you up together with him. When you’re finally facing him, you can’t help but wonder if this was the view that every maiden had—and that maybe it’s not so bad after all.

Yeosang practically gave you the living quarters you woke up in, in which you were obviously thankful, offering for any help in exchange for it. Yeosang declined but you insisted, telling him you should repay him, so he decides to let you tend to one of his rose gardens around the temple.

It had been a few days since.

By then, you had warmed up to the deity, spending time with him in the gardens, exchanging stories. Through these interactions, you realise how mellow and soft Yeosang is—usually stories of gods warn of them being picky, petty and sometimes, even wrathful. Yeosang didn’t seem to tick all of these boxes. It seemed like he would rather tend to his myriad rose gardens and caring for his cupids.

“Has anyone told you you’re absolutely beautiful, Yeosang?” You say, missing the way his ears are turning as pink like the roses that lie on his head. The both of you are cutting off the fresh buds that bloomed to collect the petals that afternoon.

Yeosang’s cheeks flushes, rubbing the nape of his neck with a smile. It’s no different from what he always hears, especially as Aphrodite’s descendant, but to hear it from you makes him feel flustered for some reason.

“I mean not just how you look, but the way you treat the things around you.”

“I’m not following”, a confused Yeosang replies, and it makes you giggle.

“I’m saying, you’re gentle and kind too.”

Gentle and kind. Of course he is, considering that has been something he’s been his whole life. It’s well known how much of a temperamental and petty his ascendant had been known to be, and he knows he’s not like that.

Distracted by his thoughts, he feels a sharp pain shoot in his finger. He flinches and pulls his hand away, realising his finger has been cut by a rose thorn.

This has never happened before.

"Are you okay? Let me see-" you interject, taking his hand to inspect if the cut was deep, and you instinctually place his finger against your lips to suck on his skin.

Yeosang's heartbeat is climbing at an exponential rate right now, wondering why do your lips feel so soft. Would it feel as soft if it wasn't just on his fingers? How would you taste against him?

"Are you okay, Yeosang?" your voice snaps him out of his rapidly growing crooked thoughts. His eyes meet yours and he forces a smile, letting himself enjoy the way you're gently stroking his fingers. He thinks it feels nice.

"It doesn't hurt. Don't worry", his voice lowers a pitch, his gaze softening as he watches the way your hands go from stroking his injured finger to playing around with the rest of his fingers, thinking it would help ease the sting.

Yeosang places his hand on your cheek, gently stroking against your skin and his smile spreads to you.

“Thank you. I’ll go and wash the wound. Don’t worry about it, really. It’s just a small cut”, he assures, almost reluctant to leave your side when you let him go, and he walks back to his chambers.

As he rinses his hands, Yeosang's cupid floats to his side, watching the way his deity has his eyes locked onto the maiden.

“You haven't sent her back up, Yeosang. I’ve never seen you do that.”

Yeosang doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to reply.

There is silence for a while, as the Cupid watches Yeosang bloom the roses.

“How long will you keep her?”

Yeosang watches the way you smell the roses from his bedroom window. His heart flutters.

“For a little longer.”

You watch the rain fall and hit the leaves from the window of your room. The room is spacious, much too spacious for your liking. It wasn't you that you didn't hate being in the temple, having Yeosang and his little Cupids around were comforting, but during some days, the thorns of being home sick would prick you.

Something is starting to bubble in Yeosang when his thoughts drift to you as night falls. Unfortunately, he seems to have realised it too late.

Undoubtedly, the incident of Yeosang getting pricked by his rose bushes closed the distance between the both you. And that night, you realise you didn’t want to sleep alone.

That night, Yeosang is still up, his concentration on finishing a book he had bought from the mortal realm. Then he hears a soft knock on his open door.

His gazes flies to his door, his heart speeding up when he sees that it’s you standing at his doorway.

“Is it okay for me to intrude?” You ask. “I feel lonely in such a big room.”

Yeosang blinks before remembering to respond.

“Sure. There’s plenty of space on the bed”, he offers, shifting uselessly on the large bed to make space for you. You break into a smile, crawling into his shared space, the comfort of having Yeosang by your side already easing your worries.

“What are you reading?” You ask, peeking over to his book trapped in his long fingers.

He tips the book to show you the cover.

“I got it at the marketplace.”

Your eyes brighten.

“Right! You can travel to the mortal realm”, you remember him briefly mentioning it to you.

He nods. “I can bring you back to the village from time to time to get stuff if you want.”

“You can bring me back?”

“I try to, discreetly, I guess. The mortals in the village for some reason didn’t like it when I brought back one of the maidens back directly once.”

Suddenly, the pieces start to fall into place. It’s all starting to make sense.

Yeosang doesn’t realise he’s frowning. “You…yearn to go back there?” The words taste bitter in his mouth while he waits for your answer.

“Well, I’ve grown rather attached to this place actually. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go back from time to time. You can send me back whenever you’re ready to, Yeosang”, you reply.

Oh gods. Yeosang was internally preparing for the worst but for now, he’s satisfied with whatever arrangement he has with you. He’s never had a maiden stay longer than this, and he’s getting very comfortable with your companionship.

You stifle a yawn, eyelids growing heavy. Your fingers brush against his playfully, and it gets his attention even though his eyes are empty on the pages of his book.

“You’re my favourite thing about this temple”, you mutter, shutting your eyes. Yeosang freezes in his spot, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I think you’re my favourite thing about being a deity”, is his delayed reply. When he turns to gaze upon you, you’re asleep—comfortable and calm—just a hair’s breadth away from him.

That night, he had the most comfortable night of sleep since the past few decades.

Since then, your own bed in your quarters grew cold, and Yeosang’s bed only grew warmer as you continued to seek comfort with the deity.

Yeosang wouldn’t lay his hands on you, even though he was fine with your small touches. He’d grown accustomed to it.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t change the fact that his heartbeat accelerates when he feels you shift closer to him and lean your head against his arm or shoulder—whichever you felt like it—while you join him in reading whatever novel he has his nose buried into.

Your hair brushes gently against his skin again, and it’s making him more jumpy than usual for some reason. Is it the way that he’s conscious of how physically close you are to him? Is it the way that your scent surrounds him like a veil recently? Is it the way your laughter sounds more beautiful than the hymns the harps could play?

He glances down at you, realising you’ve fallen into slumber, your breathing light. Yeosang smiles, his gaze landing on your face.

Then the scent of you hits—sweet and intense—it makes Yeosang’s mind cloud. He feels his body warm up, and his eyes trail down from your face to your bare shoulders—where the strap of your nightgown had slipped past your shoulder—the lace trimming of your nightwear had lowered down your chest, revealing your soft breasts just shy of your nipples—

Fuck. Yeosang’s mind is on its road to being a goner. The discomfort that’s starting to bulge against his robes being the biggest indicator.

He seeps deeper into his twisted fantasies, letting his hand slip down to palm his thickness, groans leaving his lips soft and controlled enough so that he doesn’t wake you up. His suppressed fantasies start to bubble to the surface—flashes of you in between his legs, your tongue lapping his nectar from his base to the tip, then struggling to take his cock full into your pretty mouth. Shit. It’s driving him to the edge. Yeosang swallows hard. He knows that everything about this is so wrong, but he can’t help it. The pleasure trickling into his veins and the risk of getting caught if he’s too loud—it only adds onto the rush that his cock is feeling, and he’s fucking loving it.

The robe is slowly shed off his chiseled body, the speed of his hand fucking his cock increasing when his fantasies start turning to you above him, settling onto his cock, eyes so glazed out and pretty for him while he spilts you open. He dreams of melting into your velvet heat and it only makes more precum leak out of his cockhead while he struggles to keep his breathing slow.

He eyes flutter shut, a strained moan slipping past his lips. He doesn’t know how you’re not being awoken by now, but frankly, he doesn’t care.

And when you shift in your sleep slightly, accompanying your movements with a sleepy groan, it only makes Yeosang’s predicament worse. He watches the way your top has completely slipped down, your nipple growing perky and hard from the cool air. Oh, what he’d do get a taste of it between his lips.

The sounds of his hand fucking grow louder when his thoughts grow wilder when he wonders how you’d taste between your legs—sweet like the nectar of the roses you grow for him maybe.

The precum seeping only grows white and thicker, the sensitivity burning through his body, making Yeosang press his head deeper against his pillows, his hand movements more desperate.

When his fantasies reach to one of you cumming and fluttering with tears in your eyes on his cock, Yeosang bursts with a broken cry of your name, his white and thick cum making a mess of his body and undone robe. His breathing is shaky, staring at the thick cum that stained his hand under the silver moonlight.

It was then the realisation looms over him--there's no way it's possible to send you back up. Not when the need to hear you scream and cry his name is creeping into his veins like the thorny vines of his rose bush.

“With all these roses around, doesn’t Yeosang get sick of the smell?” You ask the Cupid while your hands are busy snipping off the buds.

He shrugs. “I guess he’s used to it.”

The Cupid casts another glance to the rose bush, furrowing his eyebrows, seemingly reflecting his confusion.

“Although, you’re not wrong—the roses recently seem to smell stronger, and I’ve never seen buds this dark before.”

“Something wrong with the roses?” You hear the soft deep voice echo through your ears.

“Yeosang!”, you exclaim, realising the subtle change in him—the roses that sit around his pale hair like flower crown are now as dark as the roses on the rose bush.

You absentmindedly reach out to touch the roses on his hair, amazed by the deep crimson hue. “No, Cupid and I were just mesmerised at how pretty the dark roses are, actually.”

His smile fills your stomach with butterflies.

“Were you? I’m glad you and Cupid seem to like them.”

Yeosang lets his hands linger on your cheek for a moment longer, his warm spreading through your skin.

“I’ll see you tonight as usual, y/n?”

You nod, but for some reason, the expression Yeosang casts you sets a whole cage of butterflies into your stomach.

He’s satisfied with your answer and he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to your temple, the smell of roses floating around you, before he strolls back to his quarters, humming to himself.

For some reason, something feels a little different that night.

You walk into Yeosang’s chambers as usual, as you always do. He has his novel in his hands, but his eyes glance at you at his doorway the moment he feels your presence.

You slide into his bed, like you always have done, noticing the comforting warmth that the deity radiated seemed slightly a little hotter than usual. But you attribute it to the fact that it had been pouring quite a bit lately, including tonight.

The moment you crawled into Yeosang's space, he has his palm spread over your exposed thigh, his warmth spreading across your skin.

“Isn't someone eager today”, you tease, absentmindedly returning his touch, much to Yeosang's surprise.

“It's been cold lately, and your warmth is the only thing I've grown used to”, Yeosang replies with a gentle smile, and it makes your stomach burst with butterflies.

“As with you”, you giggle, inching closer to the male.

Yeosang reflects your bloom with a soft smile, before his attention returns to his book. You rest yourself against his arm, as you always do.

This night, Yeosang realises he can't concentrate on reading, not when he's hyper aware of the floral shampoo that's emitting off you. You've always been using the same floral shampoo, so why does the smell seem to come off stronger this time?

His thoughts are then interrupted when he hears you soft sigh as you shift your weight against his arm, his eyes locked at the way the strap of your nightgown slips past your shoulder once more, the gown dropping slightly lower, barely revealing your soft and perky nipples.

Yeosang doesn't realise his fingers are clamping onto the pages, hard.

He averts his gaze back to the book that he knows it's pointless to get back to, so he shuts it.

Your eyes rake over his bothered expression, and your mind swims with worry.

“Are you okay, Yeosang?”

Yeosang turns his attention to you, forcing a smile. His words come out uncertain, “of course. I just need a breather. Give me a second, y/n.” He drops the book onto his nightstand before he leaves the bed to the balcony. You decide it's best to leave him be, while you keep yourself busy with the pile of books Yeosang bought for you on his nightstand.

Yeosang is barely confident that he's finally composed himself, but he decides to enter his room once he feels his heart gradually slow. He brushes off the crimson rose petals that had landed on his shoulder.

Since when have his petals gotten this red?

He returns back to his room, and all of that self preservation immediately falls apart when the view before him on his bed is you–relaxed, with the sheets off you, your bare legs in full view for him to take in, your sheer nightgown bunched up to your thighs as your nose is deep into your novel.

Yeosang remains silent as he inches towards to your side of the bed, and his movements definitely catch your attention. You look up and your eyes meet his, trailing him as he slowly settles down right in front of you.

“Can I help you?” You tease, shutting the book. Yeosang doesn't answer, but rather, he lets his fingers dance along your leg, and up until he pauses at your knee.

You watch the way his eyes glimmer against the moonlight, then how it highlights his features like a marble statue.

He's leaning closer.

His eyes are downcast for a second before they find the resolve to meet yours.

“Could I…?” he mutters, shyness reflected in his gaze.

His palm is flat against your knee now, and he's warm to the touch.

You're suddenly feeling curious yet shy. You lower your gaze when you feel his palm press against your cheek, then lean in. His hands feel like comfort. Your eyes flutter open and you meet Yeosang’s stare.

His mind is going haywire when you look at him like that.

There is tension in the air, silence so loud you could hear two hearts fluttering if you listened hard enough.

“Please”, you reply softly, loud enough for him to hear.

Before you could process it, Yeosang leans in for a deep kiss, determined to steal your breath and heart away as his lips collide against yours. He traps you against the bed, and your hands are around his neck, slowly lingering on his soft locks of hair.

Red petals are slowly filling up the white spaces on the white sheets as Yeosang grows greedy–he’s pulled away from your lips, now he's messing with your cheek, then your jawline, then down your neck. His hands are going down. You gasp when you feel him cup your breasts. There's no way he doesn't feel your nipples grow harder through the thin fabric, and he makes full use of it to pinch and roll in between his fingertips, the sparks going right to your soaked pussy.

Yeosang lets you off momentarily, and the strange glint in his eyes don't go unnoticed by you. Too caught up in the moment though, you let him continue with whatever he wants to do. He continues kissing down south, teasing you with the fact that he's not letting his lips touch your skin directly. Every soft gasp and sigh he hears from you is his reward.

Then, he stops right at the wet patch of fabric in between your legs.

You swear his eyes form hearts.

“You're already so wet for me?” He asks, which doesn't come off much as a question. His finger grazes along the damp fabric, and the wetness spreads even more. It’s driving Yeosang off the edge. You're driving Yeosang off the edge.

All Yeosang is thinking is that you're such a perfect gift. He wouldn't have asked for more.

The perfect offering.

Perfect for him to ruin.

A thought crosses Yeosang’s mind–how far can he get your thin and useless panties soaked? He nuzzles against the warm and sticky fabric, trying his best to ignore the way his cock is just painfully throbbing to be let out.

“Yeosang–!” You cry out, accidentally flattening some of the roses in his hair when the sensitivity bursts dully in your pussy.

You're suddenly feeling self-conscious even though your mind is slowly sinking into the sins Yeosang is gravitating you into.

Your cunt is getting soaked by the second, to the point your panties have pretty much grown transparent, so sticky and wet from your cream.

It doesn't change the fact that worries still flicker in and out of your mind.

You're not a virgin. Would Yeosang approve of that? Would he be disgusted that you aren't?

You feel his fingers slither up your thighs, his thump hooking onto the waistband of your panties before he completely pulls your panties off, your pulsing wet pussy blooming like the most gorgeous flower Yeosang's ever seen.

Before Yeosang’s ready to reward himself, you squeeze your thighs, stopping him.

He looks up at you, his eyes slowly glazed over, waiting for you to let him.

How is he so patient?

“I’m not a virgin—“

“It doesn't matter, darling”, Yeosang cuts you off while he presses his nose against your supple thighs, taking in a sharp inhale, letting your scent turn him dizzy. “I’ve always dreamed of hearing you scream my name when I’m fucking you.”

You struggle to keep your breathing in check, dazed and taking in this newfound side of Yeosang that seemingly bloomed from nowhere.

“I'll make you feel so good, darling”, he promises, a teasing lick just to the side of your pussy, and your rationale completely dissolves.

Yeosang pulls your legs apart, smiling against your skin when you don't offer resistance, then he presses his tongue against your wet cunt.

You taste like heaven, is what is repeating in Yeosang’s head, over and over. He wants to make sure he sucks you dry. You squirm against him, the pleasure building recklessly whenever Yeosang drives his tongue against your clit, your moans turning into a mix of cries. Your wetness isn't drying up anytime soon, that's for sure.

“So fucking good. Y-Yeosang…”, your lashes are wet, and with every flick of his tongue on your clit, it builds so fucking good that your legs have completely spread open for Yeosang, your cunt shamelessly leaking more creamy nectar for Yeosang to indulge in. He brings his tongue up to your clit once more, dragging the soft muscle against it.

“You're so close, aren't you? Your sweetness is just getting better”, Yeosang hums.

Your fingers clutch against the soft pillows under you, your mind slowly starts to blank and break. It feels so fucking good that Yeosang has to hold your hips down so he can tongue fuck you better.

“Be a good girl for me–cum as hard as you want.”

A choked sob echoes in his chambers while you go completely undone–shaking and pulsing against his tongue, your vision washed out by white as the pleasure seeps into each nerve and crevice of your brain.

Yeosang is still lapping your cream up, dizzy from how you cummed all over his face. He really wants to make you do that over and over again until you break.

The remnants of your orgasm and the overstimulation has you twitching in the best ways possible. You halt Yeosang–stealing his attention with your fingers under his chin. Yeosang looks up at you, burying his cheek against your palm while his tongue peeks out past his lips to lick the off the remainder of your cream on his face. Your thumb caresses his soft cheek and Yeosang appeases you for a moment before he climbs over you, his palm covering your wrist, guiding you down to the knot of his robe. Your fingers grab onto the loose end and you tug–his robe completely loosens. He leans in closer, letting your hands wander his body, flicking the robe away until Yeosang is fully naked before you.

He's nothing short of a marble statue–everything about him is completely ethereal. As much as you’re admiring his bare body, your eyes can't help but wander to his thick cock. Even his cock is so pretty especially when it's glistening and hard, in a sheen of precum.

His voice is deeper now and it tickles your ears.

“I don't think I can go slow on you, my love”, Yeosang mutters, before he presses his lips onto the back of your hand. His crimson eyes meet yours, and your heart skips a beat.

“I don't wanna.”

He fits a pillow under your hips, and his cock is easily resting right at your pulsing, wet hole.

“Wanna feel you all the way, Yeosang. You can go as deep as you want”, you whisper, just craving to be fucked now.

Yeosang smiles in reply, before he lines himself to your cunt and pushes himself in an inch or two.

A curt “fuck” slips past your lips, and your abdomen tenses once Yeosang starts fitting more of himself into your tight hole.

“Gods, you feel so fucking amazing. So fucking warm for me”, Yeosang curses, his fingertips pressing onto your hips to keep any remainder of his sanity intact.

When he finally has his dick fully fit in you, you look like you're about to cry.

His fingers brush your cheek.

“Are you okay there?”

You nod. “You just feel so full in me.” Yeosang laughs, then groans when you squeeze him again.

“I'm gonna start moving.”

The lewd sounds of skin slapping start filling up the room once more, one wetter than the other.

His thrusts have you clawing the sheets once more, eyes rolled back and pussy clamping him down for more.

He grunts at the way you're squeezing him.

“I'll fill you up so good, my love. Make you so swollen–full of my pretty little offspring just for you to bear”, he mutters in your ear.

Your head is spinning as the pleasure builds up in your abdomen once more every time his cock hits your g-spot. The thought of Yeosang making sure you're leaking full of his seed, that he wants to breed you so badly throws out any rational thought out of your head. You want it so fucking bad too.

“You feel so better than heaven, you know?” He manages, the thread of his rationale thinning the more he's fucking into you. “I really want you all to myself.”

His thrusts are getting heavier and every time his cockhead presses onto your g-spot, it sends you into an orbit. You're seeing fucking stars or flowers–they’re starting to look the fucking same at this rate.

“Yeosang!”, you cry out, your toes curling from the pleasure hitting you over and over again. You leave light marks down his pale skin. Your cunt has him tight in you, and it makes him dazed. His moans are filling up your ears while his cum fills up your pussy.

The high slowly descends, leaving both of you catching your breaths, his face in your hands, eyes locked onto each other. You watch the dark red in his eyes slowly lighten but still remain red.

Had he always donned such deep red eyes?

“How are you feeling?” He asks, letting his fingers travel down the curves of your body.

You giggle tiredly, “a little sleepy.”

He covers your eyes with his slender fingers. “Then rest

Yeosang stares at the way you slowly sink into your slumber, huddled close to him.

He brushes away the blood red rose petals that fall on your shoulders.

I can’t help it if I adore you this much. I’m keeping you for a little longer. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, right?

💘bonus epilogue💘

Yeosang knew he was about to be chided for always escaping his duties by hiding in the mortal world. Not that Eros would care anyway.

No human comes around here, and that’s another reason why Yeosang loves this specific spot. If he’s feeling slightly more daring, he might hide himself amongst the mortals while he window shops at the marketplace, but for today, relaxing is on itinerary instead.

He walks over to his usual tree, humming to himself.

Then he stops himself in his tracks, his eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. Someone is already occupying his tree. He watches the maiden hum to herself, her hands busy with picking flowers and she sits the stalks on her lap.

Unfortunately, Yeosang is the last deity to be confrontational, and he’s ready to just turn and leave—

“Oh gods! You’re breathtaking.”

He stops in his tracks, and turns back slowly.

His finger points to himself accompanied with a confused expression he wears.

“Me?”

He’s only met with laughter that sounded like sun rays when dawn first breaks.

“I’m sorry. I probably scared you. It’s just, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I’ve always wanted ask—has anyone told you that you’re beautiful?”

Plenty.

You laugh again. It tickles Yeosang’s ears.

“You’ve probably heard it many times. But I still want to say it—you’re beautiful.”

That day Yeosang hums a wonderful tune that even Cupid has never heard before. His attention goes back to tending his rose garden, his slender fingers getting busy, brushing against the bud of the roses, blooming them full.

He notices Cupid's surprised gaze, before he plucks a rose bud out to hand it to him.

“What's wrong, Cupid? Never seen a red rose before?”

Cupid furrows his eyebrows, his gaze reflecting confusion on top of curiosity before he shakes his head in reply.

“Yeosang…this is the first time I'm seeing you bloom red roses.”

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kaleldobrev · 1 year ago

Text

Old Man

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Summary: Dean never had a problem with the age gap between you two; not until now any way Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: Age Gap, Cursing (13x), Sexual Innuendos, Dean talking bad about himself, Frat guys giving Y/N the disrespect she doesn’t deserve Authors Note: Me and Jensen have a 17-year age gap – what’s your age gap? | This came out A LOT longer than I expected | I don’t know how to write frat guys xD | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You and Dean pulled up in front of a gas station; needing to stop for gas and maybe a few snacks before the two of you continued your almost four-hour long journey back to the Bunker. You and Dean had just spent the weekend in Lawrence, due to the very rare occurrence that there were no cases. You had told Dean that even though you’d been living at the Bunker with him and Sam for the past couple of years, you had never once been to Lawrence even though you could have easily made a day trip out of it. With that being said, Dean was more than happy to take you and show you around, reminiscing about some of the things that he remembered doing all those years ago back when he was four; back before everything. But that’s not all the trip was, you had done some other things too; like visiting the Biodiversity Institute and Natural History Museum – which was considered to be one of the best museums in the entire state of Kansas, along with Grinter Farms – who prided themselves on their sunflower photo-ops. You enjoyed both places immensely, and were happy that Dean did too, even if he wasn’t initially keen on going to either place at first.

“I’m gonna grab us some snacks while you do the pump.” You said, grabbing your wallet from the glove compartment. Once you closed it and before you exited the car, you looked over at Dean, who was currently giving you the most serious look on his face. “What?”

“You already know what I’m going to say Sweetheart.” His tone sounding just as serious as his facial expression had looked.

“Pie.” You said in unison.

“Cherry or apple?” You asked, the two of you getting out of the car at the same time.

“Like you have to ask.” Dean stated, opening up the fuel cap.

“Just making sure Dean. I mean, I don’t want to come out with apple when you really wanted cherry.” Your comment earned a slight chuckle from him.

“I’ll be getting some cherry pie later, don’t you worry.” He winked.

“I don’t think that applies to me anymore.” You smirked.

“We can always pretend.” He started fueling Baby just then.

“Now that’s a roleplay idea I can get behind.” You winked at him before making your way into the store.

As soon as you walked into the store to grab some snacks for the two of you – one of which needed to be pie; a car pulled up the next pump over with a group of about four men who all appeared to be from the University of Kansas solely based on their Jayhawks apparel. “I don’t know dude. I’m pretty sure that chick was into me.” One of the men said, causing the one that he was talking to, to roll his eyes.

“No dude. She was into me. She was giving me the old fuck me eyes. Did you not see that? Or were you too busy looking at her ass?” He laughed. It was the other guy’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Can you blame me? You could bounce a quarter off that thing.” The young man replied.

“Hell yeah you could!” The other one agreed, giving each other a high five.

There was a part of Dean that found their conversation funny because he had remembered when he was like that; but it hadn’t been for some time. Yes, there were times when he was still like that, but it was solely reserved for one woman: and that woman was you.

“Check out that piece of ass in the store there.” Another one of the men who hadn’t talked before was talking now. His comment caused Dean to turn in their direction and then back into the store. There was no other person that they could be talking about but you, as you were the only person in there besides the clerk behind the counter; and Dean was pretty sure they weren’t talking about the balding clerk.

“Bet she’s a good fuck.” One of the men said. Oh you have no idea. Dean thought to himself.

“I’ll bet you thirty bucks that I can convince her to have sex with me.” The first guy said, the one that had noticed you in the first place.

“Dude, there’s no fucking way she’d have sex with you.” The next guy said. “Look at her! She’s way out of your league. Plus, even if you could pull her, where are the two of you gonna do it uh? The dirty gas station bathroom?”

“Sure why not? I bet she wouldn’t mind it at all.” He winked. His comment caused Dean to chuckle a little to himself, knowing how wrong that guy was. You and Dean have had sex in a variety of different places, but never a gas station bathroom. “Dean, as much as I love you, I’m not fucking in a gas station bathroom. That’s honestly my only limitation.” You once told him. “So, Waffle House bathroom is okay then?” He joked back, causing you to give him a playful smack on the arm from his remark.

“Dude, she’s not gonna give you the time of day. She needs a real man. And that ain’t you.” The man started walking around to the other side of the pump and started making his way toward the store. You ain’t a real man dude. Dean thought to himself. None of them were what he would call a man, only boys pretending to be.

“Watch and learn boys!” The guy said using his most charismatic voice. Dean wasn’t worried at all; he knew that you would never give the guy the time of day. You two had been together for the last couple of years, and the group of quote on quote men weren’t remotely your type in the slightest. Dean had seen pictures of your previous exes or have worked cases with them before. All your previous exes besides about one were all hunters; not varsity jock looking guys, and that’s what those guys were.

“Hey kid, I wouldn’t if I were you.” Dean finally chimed in. At first, he wasn’t even going to say anything. He had almost wanted to see the boy come back out the store with the look of utter embarrassment on his face when you had rejected him; which he knew was going to happen. But the jealous side of him won in that moment. He knew that you were more than capable of handling yourself – you were one of the best hunters he’d ever seen or worked with. He’d seen you get hit on plenty of times either when you two went to the bar together or while working a case; but those men never seemed like threats to him. But this time, this time felt different for him.

“I’m sorry?” The guy questioned.

“I said, I wouldn’t if I were you.” Dean said, his voice a bit more stern than usual.

“What’s it to you?” The guy asked, giving a slight snort.

“She’s going to reject you buddy. Trust me.” Dean finished filling the car up and put the pump back in its place. “Just trying to save you the embarrassment in front of your buddies here.”

“Oh yeah? Why do you say that?” The guy turned to look at you. You were currently standing at the counter laughing, probably at something the clerk had just said with two apple pie containers in your hands. Although Dean couldn’t hear your laugh, the sound of it echoed in his brain. God, he loved the sound of your laugh.

“That piece of ass” Dean began to say, hating using the words that they had used to describe you, “is my girlfriend.” Dean smirked. He had hoped that his usual tactic would work like it had done in the past. In the past, whenever Dean was with a woman; regardless if she was his girlfriend or not, the minute he said the word girlfriend to another guy that was hitting on his girlfriend, date, etc. the guy would usually back off, not wanting to get into any trouble. But his usual tactic didn’t work, it had simply just made the guy laugh.

“Your girlfriend?” The man laughed again. “Yeah, okay Old Man.”

“Old, Old Man?” Dean was caught off guard. No one had ever really called him an old man before; the only one who ever did it was Claire, but she was the exception, because she was basically family to him.

“Yeah. What are you? Like 50?” The guy behind him chimed in.

Dean turned around. “50? You think I’m 50? I’m 42 dude.” Yet more laughter from the men.

“Close enough.” The man that was close to the store said. At that moment Dean had saw you wave goodbye to the clerk and started to head out toward the door. The man looked at you, and then eyed his buddies, making his way toward Dean. “Listen, tell her that if she wants someone that can keep it up without the use of meds and doesn’t go to bed before 6, to give me a call.” The guy said, giving Dean’s shoulder a slight pat before going into the car with his other three buddies.

Dean started to take out his gun just as the guy in the driver’s seat started the engine. Before he could fully take out his gun you were standing next to him, two boxes of pie in your hands and a slight look of worry on your face. “Can I shoot them?” He asked you.

“Not in public.” You responded, handing him one of the boxes. “What did they say to you?” You were curious, and you had every right to be. Even though you were accustomed to Dean pulling out his gun, you were confused as to why he had wanted to pull it out in that moment, especially since you were pretty sure that the men in the car weren’t any kind of monsters.

“Nothing.” Dean was quick to respond, but his response sounded angry, almost hurt.

“It didn’t look like nothing. Especially since you asked if you could shoot them.” Dean handed you back the box of pie that you had just given him, causing you to give him an even more worried look.

“Can we just leave?” His voice was panicked now, maybe with a small hint of embarrassment.

“Yeah.” Was all you said as the two of you got into Baby.

There was a strong silence between the two of you, and it wasn’t the comfortable kind like you were used to. That was one of the things that you had loved most about Dean; that you and him didn’t constantly need to fill the silence with talking. It was something that you enjoyed because your past boyfriends always needed to have some kind of conversation going because they hated the silence. “Y/N, can I ask you something?”

“Always.” You turned your attention to Dean.

“Am I…Am I old?” He asked. His eyes flicked in your direction and then back onto the road.

“Old?” You asked, not sure if you had heard him right. Him asking if he was old was something that had caught you off guard.

“Yeah. Am I old?” He repeated again.

“Did those guys back there say you were old Dean?” This conversation topic was something that Dean would have never brought up, not unless someone had specifically said something to him. The last time he had this conversation with you was because Claire had jokingly called him an Old Man.

“You didn’t answer the question.” Dean stated. You were positive that’s what it was.

“No. You’re not old Dean. I don’t even know why you would think that.” You knew why he would think that; you were pretty sure that the men back at the gas station had said something to him about it. But you didn’t know why they would have said something to him.

“Those guys back at the gas station called me…Old Man.” His voice sounded slightly defeated, like he was embarrassed even though he had no reason to be. “I caught those assholes looking at you, making comments.” He turned to face you for a slight moment before looking back at the road, his knuckles started to turn white as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “They were trying to make a bet about who would be able to pick you up. When I confronted them about it, telling them that you were my girlfriend, that’s when they laughed and called me an old man.”

“Dean –” You began to say, but he cut you off before you could finish.

“Sweetheart, I know you could have handled that yourself. You have a black belt in three different martial arts and you don’t take any kind of shit from anyone. Hell, a part of me had wanted to see you embarrass the guy because I know for a fact that he isn’t your type but…he was your age.” He was your age.

“Well, you’re not old. It’s not like you’re 90 Dean. You’re 42. That’s still young.” You stated, putting your hand on his thigh, a small gesture that you knew he loved. You had hoped that your comment would make him feel slightly better.

“I’m not young Sweetheart, you are. I got like 15 years on you.” His response made your face drop.

“That’s never been a problem for you before. I mean, it’s not like I’m 17 Dean, I’m three years shy of 30.” When you first met Dean, it was roughly five years ago when you were 22 and he was 37. Initially when you had first met him, you had figured that the two of you would be nothing more than just friends due to the semi-massive age difference that there was between the two of you, despite the fact that you did find him attractive. For the first couple of years that you knew him, you didn’t try to pursue anything; and neither did he, although the two of you had similar feelings. Dean had figured that you wouldn’t want to be with someone his age, and you thought that he didn’t want to be with someone your age. It wasn’t until Cas said something and both of you almost dying on a hunt that caused you two to realize that maybe you should give it a shot – and you’ve been together ever since.

“Exactly. You’re three years shy of 30. I’m far, far past that. You know what I was doing at 30? Trying to stop the Apocalypse. When I was 30, you were still in high school. You weren’t even on my radar back then.”

“Would have been pretty good jailbait though.” You joked.

“Not funny.” He responded.

“I’m not laughing.” You said back.

“Can I ask you another question?” His knuckles were still white against the steering wheel.

“Of course.” What else could you possibly say?

“Why me? Why out of all the guys you could possibly be with, that are your own age, that you actively choose to be with me? I mean, I know I drink too much, I have way, way too many screws loose, I’ve been to Hell, Purgatory, been possessed more times than I can count, I have major trust issues, PTSD.” He looked over at you again. “The list goes on and on. I’m all kinds of fucked up Sweetheart.” Your heart sank at Dean’s comments. You hated more than anything when he talked bad about himself, because there was no reason for him to do that.

“Pull over.” Was all you said.

Dean looked at you with a confused expression. “What?”

“Did I stutter? I said pull over.” Your voice was stern now, but it made Dean pull over on the side of the road.

“Dean, the fact that you even have to ask me why I’m with you shows me that you don’t actually realize or understand the reasons why I love you. You’re right, I could be with someone my own age. But you know what? I don’t want to. I’ve dated people my age, and they honestly suck. Hunters or not, men my age or even a year or two older have no fucking clue what they want in life. The only thing they’re positive about is wanting to fuck anything that has a pulse and gaslight women.” You let out a frustrated sigh. “My parents used to tell me, ‘not all men,’ and I knew that. You may have a slight case of alcoholism –”

“A slight case?” Dean interrupted, raising an eyebrow. He thought you saying that he only had a slight case of alcoholism was a tad too generous.

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t interrupt me.” Dean put up his hands in defeat. “As I was saying. You may have a slight case of alcoholism, are insanely prone to nightmares, get angry more often than you probably should, enjoy murder every now and then, have been to Hell and Purgatory and back, but wanna know something? I’ll take all of that, gladly! Because you are honestly the best man I could ever ask for. Yes, you have some flaws, but who doesn’t? I mean look at me for example.” You went into your jacket and pulled out your hunting knife. “I’m someone who brings a hunting knife wherever they go like it’s a security blanket. No normal person does that Dean.”

“As you should. You need to be prepared at a moments notice.” He agreed.

“Exactly! No sane person would agree with me.” You said, putting back your hunting knife.

“Y/N, are you saying that part of the reason you’re with me is because I’m not sane?” He raised an eyebrow. He’s been called crazy or insane more times than he could count, so this wasn’t particularly newsworthy for him.

“I was thinking more…cautious.” You shrugged. “I mean…No, cautious isn’t the right word. You are cautious but…” You were really trying to come up with the right word to tell Dean, and you could feel it on the tip of your tongue. “What I’m trying to say is, any other guy would be freaked the fuck out if they saw me walking around with a hunting knife in my jacket. You? You couldn’t give two fucks. And you wanna know something else? I’ve worked with a lot of hunters over the years before I met up with you and Sam, who just looked at me and laughed because of my age, thinking that I don’t know the difference between rock salt and holy water.” You took one of his hands in yours intertwining your fingers. “You, not including Sam of course, accepted me as someone that actually knows a thing or two about hunting despite my age. You treated me like your equal. Hunter or not.”

You treated me like your equal. Your words rang in Dean’s mind. “Of course I treat you like my equal Sweetheart. What man wouldn’t? ‘Sides those other hunters and the Jayhawks spirit squad back there.” He chuckled, and you let out a small laugh too.

“Exactly. You’re a feminist icon.” You smiled.

“A feminist icon uh? Who knew?” Dean finally smiled.

“In all seriousness, I could give a rat’s ass about your age. You treat me right and my parents love you. What else could I possibly ask for?” You gave his hand a slight squeeze as you shot him another smile, but a softer one this time.

“Still amazed that your parents love me.” He said, starting to lean in closer to you.

“You treat their daughter right. That’s all they care about.” You confessed. When you had first told your parents about Dean, one of the first things they asked is if he was treating you right, they never asked about his age. And when they had met him, they still never commented on that fact, even when he wasn’t in the room.

He caressed your face. “I really am lucky to have you.” He smiled and leaned in fully to kiss you. “I love you so much.”

You smiled. “I love you more.”

He let out a slight chuckle. “Show off.”

“Always.” You responded, leaning in to kiss him again.

#dean Winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #spn #supernatural #reader insert #female reader

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bloobydabloob · 5 months ago

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Holy shit I love your Dirk interpretations, it's so true and I could talk about this shit forever. I feel like another part of his character that people seem to forget (along with Roxy for some reason) is that he's from the future in solitude in an apocalyptic wasteland. I just see that part of his character always removed which is disappointing because I feel like that's a pretty big part, especially regarding his themes around technology, his brother's theme of Time, his own isolation, and how he plays in the vastness of the universe and spacetime.

Art I drew related to the subject because I like to respond to asks with art.

But absolutely. I certainly understand where the lack of discussion over his isolation + upbringing comes from, considering a majority of the fanbase that I have seen builds their ideas based on their own version of postcanon. I’m not entirely sure how that would be fixed, but certainly even in the somewhat recent past I would see a lot more content regarding his upbringing both literally and symbolically. I don’t have much to add regarding the things you’ve mentioned, because they just are what they are. Dirk being confined to a singular room left to him by a father figure he never met, in a future where the only other person left on the planet is someone he cannot pursue a relationship of because of himself, with purely 3 robots to keep him companion, one being an exact replica of his own brain who is *also* trapped inside a pair of glasses, is about as literal as it gets to me.

The contrast to me involving the flooded, organic world in comparison to the little speckle of Dirk’s apartment packed with the dude and his technics is not only a representation of his isolation and entrapment within himself, but also of his lack of control. I think his obsession with & themes of control are a direct product in the case of Dirk specifically *of* this kind of upbringing. His themes of technology are also related to his themes around control. So much of his character is actually revolved around this to me like so much. Dirk is so deeply disconnected from humanity in every way and so much of his character + symbolism is based around that.

It doesn’t even have to be about the symbolism or anything though. It’s just pretty *interesting* in the literal sense that he lives in the middle of the ocean in the future. There’s not only a lot to theorise on to do with his young life there, but on how it might affect him in the way he acts for the rest of his life. The latter part is probably what I see mentioned the most by people talking about Dirk regarding this, I’m surprised I don’t see more discussion on the former too though. I really ought to actually talk more about Homestuck stuff on here. I will do it myself.

Roxy & Dirk’s relationship is largely ignored though because there is a narrative a certain demographic spreads that Dirk resented and blamed Roxy for her interest in him, and thus too many people believe that their relationship was or would continue to be an abusive one. Realistically, I believe it’s important to acknowledge that the way Roxy treated Dirk regarding his homosexuality wasn’t right while still acknowledging the obvious amount of respect and admiration Dirk had for Roxy. I mean we have a huge piece of dialogue from their post trickster mode conversations on the quest beds from Dirk purely stating how he feels about Roxy that people completely ignore somehow. I think this usually happens to characters that are women though. I know everyone says it, but it is true. Jane gets the exact same treatment of boiling her down to solely her negative aspects. The things I see completely mischaracterising both of them are horrific.

I mean how much more explicit can it get that their relationship is obviously very important to Dirk? But I digress. I think the best or I should say “most interesting” interpretations of their relationship usually come from DirkRoxy shippers actually.

I would be interested to hear about Dirk’s relation to his brother’s theme of time though. I don’t have any thoughts on this and I don’t recall ever hearing anyone talk about it before. If you or anyone else would be willing to enlighten me I’d be thrilled.

#homestuck #homestuck fanart #hs fanart #dirk strider #blooby posting #ask #Sorry for taking so long to reply to you on this. I’ve been in more of a drawing than a speaking mood lately #which is very unusual for me. This is definitely not as much of a post as it could be but I’m still not back on my thought and speech game #I know the Roxy mention was in brackets but good lord the treatment Roxy gets from fanbase is insane. Couldn’t help myself #Sorry if anything is worded badly. I’m tired per usual #I think (with no malice in my heart) people just tend to leave out what they don’t like about characters though.#I was very briefly talking with Pomme johnegbertirl #and it got me thinking about how far a lot of people’s interpretations of characters stray from what would be realistic to canon #based on their own biases. Which I guess I probably do too to a certain degree.#I’m not one to judge people for their characterisations at all #I tend to be very forgiving when it comes to reads #but… I admit that is indeed a little disappointing to see how completely ignored some parts of his characters are.#Sorry for tangent that is tenuously related. It is relevant enough to shove haphazardly into tags #I’m glad you like my Dirk ramblings though. Thanks brother #We live on

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Ok I’m still thinking about the mafia boss/assistant thought from earlier this week. (Partially because I binged the “Mafia!141 au” by groguspicklejar)

Content: implied misconduct

You were the executive assistant for one of the 141’s business associates. Looking to leave for a while because your boss is obvs kind of an asshole. Like, mean to you when he’s in a bad mood, blames you for things you can’t control or plan for, has harassed you once or twice but “only because he was tipsy”. (You’re not fucking deaf, you’ve heard him make nasty comments 🙄)

Farah happens to be his next 141 enforcer check-in. You go above and beyond - apologizing that his meeting is running late as if it’s your fault, would she like anything at all? Water, tea, coffee? There are mini muffins as well!

She takes a shine you immediately, especially once she goes in for her meeting with your (soon to be former) boss. You hand him a little portfolio, obviously color-coded, with sticky notes and highlights. You even adjust the blinds behind his windows for the light about to bounce off the high rise across the street.

Before she leaves, she mentions that her boss would love an assistant like you, and if you have any recommendations…

She drops her number. You call by the end of the week.

Mr. Price meets you personally for the interview. He’s a big man, built. But somehow it’s complemented by the understated wealth he exudes. Expensive cologne, expensive cigars. A tailored suit and perfectly polished shoes. His watch alone costs half a year of your rent, but it’s fashionable, not gaudy. You hope that his taste isn’t the only nice thing about him.

You’re pleasantly surprised by how courteous he is. Shakes your hand (you’re surprised by the callouses, but dont let it show) firm and polite, without lingering. Flicks his gaze over you once, perfunctory, then focuses solely on your face for the rest of the interview.

You like him instantly, and it shows in the way you joke and gesture while answering his questions. Professional, of course, but relaxed and genuine, not the polished and bland veneer of a person your previous boss preferred.

And something about that must appeal to him as an employer because he concludes the interview asking when you can start.

You’re absolutely thrilled to tell him you can be in the next day. And he agrees.

Masterlist

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #grey fic #because it’s not dark but it’s the mafia ya know #mafia boss price #assistant reader

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heesdreamer · 2 years ago

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SUNSHINE

PAIRING ➩ basketball player heeseung x cheerleader reader

WARNINGS ➩ um its super rough smut lol

WC ➩ 5k

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ i hate both short works and straight smut but i guess that vlog got to me so here you go NOT PROOFREAD also i don’t like writing the boys completely out of character and i do not think hs would say or do half of these things lol but for the sake of the story

“You might just be the least positive cheerleader of all time.”

You were turning your head to the side to glare at the voice suddenly appearing from your left, sighing and rolling your eyes when you spotted who it was and going back to your position with your arms crossed on the side of the court as the game continued on.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be all smiley and ‘go team’?” Heeseung was continuing on even though you were clearly ignoring him, something you did every time he attempted to bug you during the games and rile you up enough to get a reaction.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the court and not sat next to me on the bench?” You were snapping back at him and you quickly glanced at him before looking away when you saw the familiar smirk creeping up on his face.

Heeseung was definitely not a bench warmer, far from it considering he was practically the star of your schools basketball team and he knew you were aware of this. That still didn’t stop him from occasionally allowing the coach to switch him out so he could come and sit near the cheerleaders, seemingly finding a lot of mid game entertainment in you and your cold reactions.

You’d gone to school with him for most of your life but you never really noticed him until high school started and you joined the cheerleading team under the pressuring words of your mom.

She’d been one when she was your age and she claimed it to be the sole reason she loved high school, the place where she met all of her friends and eventually your father when he transferred their junior year. You’d pretty much expected to be forced into it since you were a child and now on your fourth and final year, you were more so just going through the motions.

Your stoic, and borderline aggressive, personality mixed with the image of you in a small glittery skirt and your hair sporting a giant obnoxious bow in your schools representative colors, seemed to catch the attention of the star player and he hadn’t left you alone since.

“When would I get to talk to you if I wasn’t on the bench?” He was leaning sideways towards you and you frowned softly, trying to ignore him and the stupid smirk sticking to his face now. “It’s not like you stop for me in the hallways.”

“Have you tried taking a hint?” You were once again harshly spitting the words at him and you felt a bit frustrated with yourself for not being able to keep your composure like normal, already stressed from an intense workload and the building pressure of graduation as it approached. “Why can’t you go bother your fan club, I’m sure they’d be more than willing.”

Heeseung definitely didn’t have the same concerns as you and you didn’t necessarily blame him. It isn’t his fault he was immediately offered full ride sport scholarships to multiple different schools and as much as you hated to admit it, he worked hard for his success and he deserved it.

That fact still didn’t make it any less annoying that he was constantly bugging you with his quick comments about your attitude or his countless attempts to flirt with you, asking for your number or sending you Valentine’s Day singing grams every year since you’d met, even though you’d stormed into the cafeteria freshman year and dumped his soda on his head for humiliating you.

He hadn’t gotten upset and started to dislike you like you had hoped for, instead he smiled and moved his wet hair out of his face before asking if you liked the flowers he’d left at your locker.

“Why would I do that? You know you’re my favorite, sunshine.” His tone was lower now and the nickname fell from his lips casually, routine by now considering how much he said it despite the fact you told him to knock it off every single time he used it.

You were sparing him once last glare before turning back towards the game and ignoring the fact he was a lot closer to you now, one small sideways scoot away from being off the bench and on the same bleacher seat you were on.

He was persistent to a point that you could almost admire and you’d never be foolish enough to deny that he was almost stupidly attractive but that didn’t change anything for you. You had too many differences for you to be truly interested and it didn’t help that he smelt like sweat almost every single time you saw him.

Plus, you weren’t lying about his fan club and you already had to deal with numerous sharp glares and mean whispers throughout the years and that was without you reciprocating the interest.

You’d long associated the boy with negative things so it was pretty common for you to greet his smiley face with an eye roll or a straight up sneer, trying your hardest to ignore him but typically falling into a small session of half bickering half flirting before he was giving up again and leaving you to sit and seethe. You couldn’t even escape him at home either, something you were especially aware of right now.

It was two hours into trying to get some homework done and your patience was wearing thin the longer the sound of the basketball outside continued on.

You just so happened to be in the universes shit list and you lived directly across from a park in the neighborhood. You’d been excited when you first moved in, being able to play constantly when you were younger and eventually developing it into a nice place to sit and relax after school. You would have solo picnics under one of the big trees or just go and listen to music laying in the grass.

That is until Lee Heeseung also moved into the neighborhood, starting off your sophomore year with a big obnoxious moving truck on the other side of the park and what followed nearly drove you insane.

He was outside nearly every single day after school and practice, no matter if it was cold or hot, rain or snow. What once had been a calming spot for you to unwind was quickly overtaken by the sound of rubber against cement and you stopped going the day he started.

Sometimes he’d wave at you from the court, catching sight of you glaring down at him from your open bedroom window, but he never made any attempts to talk to you or invite you to join him unlike he did in school and neither of you ever mentioned the fact you were neighbors during your little moments of heated conversation. You learned to ignore him over time but you were particularly stressed recently and before you knew it you were letting out an annoyed yell before marching out of your room.

You’d barely processed the fact you were moving as you tugged a hoodie over your head and slipped on your boots, heading out the door and slamming it as you passed through.

Some of your fire had disappeared by the time you were actually pushing out into the cold night air and crossing the empty street, your steps becoming more hesitant as you entered the park and approached the basketball court, realizing you were going to have to actually speak to him. He didn’t look over as you got closer and your frown appeared again at the sweat gleaming from his skin, his neck red and agitated like he was pushing himself past his limit.

“Do you ever go home?” You were asking before you had decided it was a good idea and you were almost as surprised as he was to hear your voice, jumping slightly at the same time he did as he whipped around to look at you.

He looked confused for a second when he saw you standing there on the court with your hands stuffed in your pockets but when he seemingly processed it was you, he was breaking into a small smile.

You watched him as he continued to pant and try and catch his breath to be able to respond to you, sighing in the meantime and taking a few step backwards so you could sit on one of the benches and stare up at him in the middle of the court.

“Almost didn’t recognize you without your pretty little skirt, sunshine.” His response was eventually coming and it immediately pulled an eye roll from you despite the fact your stomach flipped as he took a few steps in your direction, tucking his basketball under his arm routinely and watching you with amusement and interest.

“Yeah well…” You couldn’t think of a good comeback as he continued to get closer and you inwardly blamed it on the cold.

“Did you come to cheer me on?” He was asking in a soft voice but it had a mocking hint to it, not necessarily mean but potentially bitter and you stared up at him as his eyebrow cocked. “My own personal cheerleader?”

You were trying to get a good read on his expression but it wasn’t making any sense to you, his face lacking it’s usual lightheartedness and almost looking conflicted as he watched you and seemingly waited for you to finally think of a witty response. You didn’t have one, thrown off by both his strange demeanor and having a conversation in an unfamiliar place and you couldn’t tell if he was pleased or disappointed at your sudden loss for words.

He wasn’t saying anything further and you would’ve sighed in relief if it wasn’t for the fact he was watching you so intensely, eventually sitting beside you on the bench and you tensed up when you felt his thigh pressing against yours.

“You didn’t have to stop playing.” You were eventually muttering and you would’ve been more self conscious about your out of character behavior if he wasn’t already being so strange.

“Yeah I did.” He was sighing and you turned your head to look at him, being met with his side profile as he stared straight ahead towards the court and ignored the fact you were staring at him. “You’re a distraction.”

A laugh was bursting from your lips accidentally, almost a scoff and you cut it off short by covering your mouth and giggling out an apology when he shot you a sideways glare. You were shaking your head and trying to gather yourself before clearing your throat softly. “You see me every time you play, never been a distraction then.”

“Are you kidding me?” Now it was his turn to laugh but it was a lot more dry than yours and almost sarcastic sounding, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually said that. “You don’t think seeing you in that outfit every game is a distraction?”

He was finally looking at you now and your face flushed at how close that made you, nearly touching noses if either of you leaned forward slightly but you stayed perfectly still and scanned over his face as you tried to take in his words. You would’ve thought he was joking around and doing his usual rounds of mindless flirting but his tone was flat and his face remained serious, even as you watched him curiously.

You weren’t exactly sure how to respond and your words felt caught in your dry throat, letting down your guard for just a second too long and being struck with nerves.

“A good distraction?” You were eventually pushing out and your voice lifted in a curious tilt, his serious face breaking into a small smile again at the sound of your soft question and hesitant tone, two things he rarely heard from you.

“Yeah sunshine, it’s good.”

——

You spent the next two days avoiding Heeseung as much as you can, having ended the night in some more whispered small talk before he was resuming practice and you were eventually slipping off back to your house once the cold became too much for your hands and nose.

It was weirdly nice to watch him play in a place where he wasn’t obviously trying to show off and under the pressures of competition, watching the skillful way he moved and the sweat that continued to reflect off his deep tanned skin despite the bitter cold touching on yours.

You still felt awkward for having interrupted him and it didn’t help that you had finally played into his flirting for once, mistakenly letting your guard down once you saw him in a more neutral environment and you felt extremely embarrassed about the whole entire encounter. You were telling yourself it had nothing to do with the fact he made your face flush every time he leaned closer or the way your stomach flipped as he talked about your skirt distracting him.

Sadly, you couldn’t stay away from him for long considering a school year quarter pep rally was approaching and everybody involved needed to come to the gymnasium to practice together, including both the cheerleaders and the basketball team.

You frequented the gym a lot more regularly than other students and were pretty used to being in front of a crowd or performing routines to all of your peers but you could tell some of the clubs who would be involved were feeling nervous, striking up conversation with one of the boys from the dance club to try and ease his nerves.

The conversation was entirely friendly and even a little bit awkward considering you barely knew him and he was a lot younger than you but little did you know, Heeseung was watching you from across the gym and making his own assumptions about the interaction.

You completely missed the way his jaw was clenching as he watched the two of you laugh, you instinctively leaning forward and touching the boys arm as a comforting gesture and giving further reason for the hard glare being sent your way from the other side of the room. It didn’t help that you hadn’t been speaking to him and had went right back to actively avoiding him, he’d been overthinking it and looking forward to talking to you about his worries today since you had to be in close proximity.

So it was driving him crazy that you still hadn’t approached him and even worse, you were too caught up in a conversation with some kid he didn’t bother to place a name to.

Eventually the first round of practice was going to start soon and Heeseung watched as your coach said something to you briefly, stared as you nodded in acceptance and then wandered off to go and gather whatever it was that she had asked for.

He was following behind you without even thinking about it, completely ignoring the calls from his teammates asking where he was going and urging him to hurry up before the run through started. You were heading back towards the storage lockers where there was plenty of extra balls and uniforms, anything that might be needed during a game or an event.

You were barely thinking about the basketball player during this whole time, too distracted with the busyness of the day, but he immediately came to mind when you felt something pressing up against you from behind after entering the storage room that was tucked behind the large indoor bleachers.

“What are you doing?” You were grumbling out to him in your usual annoyed tone even though your stomach was flipping at the fact he was actually touching you for once, something he rarely did despite his constant advances.

He wasn’t fully pressed against you but just enough so that you could feel his clothing near yours, you could sense his large frame looming over you and practically caging you in near the wall you’d been passing when he arrived. You shifted slightly so you could turn your head to look over your shoulder and glare up at him when he didn’t respond.

“Who’s the kid?” He was responding and his voice was lower than usual, lacking it’s typical lightness and humor that came along whenever he felt like teasing you.

“Don’t be jealous of a freshman, it’s not a good look on you.” You were shaking your head and sighing, turning back to look at the shelf and try your best to ignore him despite your alarming awareness to how close the two of you were.

It was only increasing when his hand was finally touching you, snaking forward and resting against your hip in a way that caused your breath to catch in your throat, making you lose your nonchalant demeanor for just a split second before you were attempting to compose yourself again. He was just holding onto your hip, his hand large enough that his fingertips were pressing into your stomach.

You didn’t say anything as he touched you and you still didn’t when he was tugging you backwards softly, pulling your bottom half against his instead of fully pressing against you. Your eyes fluttered shut for a second at the feeling of him but you didn’t want him to see the obvious effect he had over you.

You were wearing a hoodie over your cheerleading uniform and half of his hand was underneath it so he could feel the hem of your skirt properly, bunching up the thick fabric around his arm slightly. He’d only pulled your lower half backwards so you were partially bent over now, barely enough to be noticiable but the implication made your cheeks burn.

“Why would I be jealous?” He was finally asking and his voice didn’t cut the tension at all, if anything worsening it. “Wasn’t him you were thinking about when you put this on.”

A scoff was falling from your lips at his sudden claim, despite how true it was considering you’d stared in the mirror particularly long this morning thinking about Heeseung calling you a distraction. Your careless attitude wasn’t holding too strong especially since he was squeezing your hip bone softly, your body instinctively pushing back further against him and causing your breath to stutter.

You felt slightly dizzy from the feeling of him against you so intimately, mixed with the fact that he had obviously been jealous over something as simple as you having a conversation. It should’ve annoyed you like it normally did but your heart raced slightly instead and you placed your hands against the wall subconsciously.

He took that as a cue to bend you over more, bringing his other hand up to your empty hip and using both of them to tug you fully backwards by the waist so you were flushed against him.

“Why are you wearing this?” He was suddenly asking and you were confused for a second before you felt him tugging on your large hoodie, childish annoyance in his tone at the fact most of your uniform was covered up.

You laughed softly at his whining, your voice embarrassingly affected and breathless. “Didn’t want to be a distraction.”

“That’s bullshit, you like knowing I’m watching you.” He was mumbling again now and it almost sounded like he was talking to himself, not really caring if you heard him. He was taking another step forward now and you could feel him more now, your head falling forward at the realization he was hard against you. “You’d let me take you right here, wouldn’t you?”

You considered not answering for a second and lowering his ego but he was slightly shifting backwards and releasing the pressure and a wave of panic ran through you.

“Yes yes I would.” You were rushing out and moving backwards to try and feel him again, ignoring the soft chuckle he gave and the way he squeezed your desperate hips in amusement. “You know I would.”

“Always so mean to me sunshine.” His voice was mocking again like it was the other night at the park and you were slightly thrown off by his change of demeanor, not expecting the roughness from the boy who was always big smiles and loud laughter everytime you’d seen him. He was bordering mean at times with his rough touches and provoking voice but you didn’t mind it at all, knowing you’d be dripping down your thighs if you were less clothed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being mean Hee.” Your voice was high and whiny but you were too turned on to be embarrassed, knowing how pathetic you must look.

“Show me how sorry you are.” He was instructing and you paused for a second, not exactly sure what he meant until he was lessening his hold on your hips. “Fuck yourself against me.”

Your breath was catching in your throat again and you let out a soft whine, one of your hands on the wall sliding down it slightly as you almost lost your balance.

He wasn’t exactly radiating patience and you were beyond desperate so you wasted no time in giving him what he wanted, pushing yourself back against him harder and crying out when you felt that he wanted it as much as you did, almost painfully hard now. His hips instinctively moved forward to meet yours but he immediately froze and stopped, letting you do all the work as you continued to roll your hips against him and try to get some sort of relief.

It wasn’t nearly enough for you, barely enough pressure for you to feel him and imagine how deep he would feel inside you but not enough to actually help you out in your building desperation, overwhelmed with longing for him as your hand fell off the wall and reach back to grab into his wrist.

“Please, I need you to touch me please.” You were begging him and a soft cry sunk into your voice, your head spinning with how bad you wanted to feel him anywhere.

“Fuck look at you.” He was grunting out before caving into your request, pulling you up softly and walking forward so now your entire body was pressed against the wall.

The cement was cold on your cheek and it would’ve been too uncomfortable if it wasn’t for the immediate distraction he was providing, his large hand slipping under your hoodie and aggressively groping your chest. His knuckles must’ve been rubbing against the wall but he didn’t show any signs of caring about the pain, twisting your hard nipple in his fingers and humping himself against you.

Your head was falling backwards to land on his shoulder, panting and letting out streams of high pitched whines as he roughly played with your mounds and thrusted against your skirt covered core.

He was using his free hand to reach over and grip your chin, holding it tightly between his fingers and turning your face so he could sloppily kiss you from where you laid on his shoulder. You were happily humming into his mouth despite the amateurish way you were moving against each other, more combined teeth and swapped spit than an actual kiss.

You could feel it dripping down your chin as he licked into your mouth, completely filthy and dirtier than you ever imagined him being. It was driving you absolutely insane and you’d completely forgotten about where you were or the fact people were expecting you back, the door not locked and accesible to anyone who came looking for you.

“Want you inside me Hee, please.” You were crying out into the kiss and he was only pulling back enough so you could speak, watching you with hooded eyes and parted lips and he tried to catch his breath and process what you were begging for. “I need you so bad, I can’t breathe.”

“Want me to fuck you sunshine?” His mocking tone was back and he squeezed your chest aggressively to emphasize his words, rutting against you in a sharp thrust that sent you harder into the wall again. He ignored your shocked cry and did it again before laying another wet kiss against your mouth. “Tell me baby, go on and beg for me.”

“I’ll do anything please, anything.” You were nearly sobbing now as you desperately tried to appeal to him, rocking yourself backwards into his hard cock to try and get him riled up enough to snap. “Need your cock in me so bad, do anything.”

Your words were slurred and mainly gibberish by now but it seemed to be enough for him, he cursed under his breath as he watched you desperately beg for him and you barely had time to process the fact he was moving before he was tugging down his basketball shorts and pressing your face against the wall again.

You moaned sharply into the cold cement and you were grateful it muffled it slightly considering you only got louder once he was roughly pulling up your skirt, ripping down your panties in one go and not bothering to warn or prep you before he was pressing the head of his hard cock against your entrance.

“Next time I’ll take my time with you, make you fall apart for me slow.” He was muttering in your ear as he lined himself up, pressing forward slightly and covering your mouth with his head when you let out a loud cry. “Can’t wait anymore though, gonna fuck you like the slut you are.”

You were nodding enthusiastically at his demeaning words, the more coherent part of you fluttering with butterflies at the fact he was already thinking about a next time that wasn’t so rushed. You had no issue with him simply fucking you now, feeling like you’d die if he spent another second teasing you or building up to it.

He was finally pushing himself fully inside you and your legs would’ve gave out if it wasn’t for his arm that was snaking around your stomach and his heavy weight pressing you against the wall, practically suffocating you as you lost your breath from the feeling of his complete length inside of you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He was hissing out between gritted teeth and you instinctively clenched around him at the comment, satisfaction rolling through you when he groaned at the feeling. “No idea how long I thought about this.”

“Then show me.” You were snapping out, immediately hearing him laugh as your usual attitude resurfaced for a second, quickly growing impatient the longer he stayed still inside of you.

You were quickly taking back any anger you had when he was pulling out of you, almost all the way, before slamming his entire length back in. You could feel him so deep that you almost couldn’t catch a breath, bucking forward and your mouth parting in a silent cry that was immediately interrupted when he started to fuck into you at a fast pace.

He gave you no time to adjust to his thick size and you were grateful for it, the rough burn of him stretching you being exactly what you needed after years of bickering and teasing with him. It was beyond what you could’ve imagined, all that tension finally bursting into relief as he fucked you so rough you’d surely be coated in bruised by the time the pep rally actually rolled around.

You’d gone completely dumb and you knew he had too, holding his composure just enough to continue his aggressive thrust but losing all ability to tease you or make more comments towards your behavior.

He was holding you tightly against him and you almost wished you were somewhere more private so you could see him undressed, suddenly overcome with the need to feel his skin against yours and be completely covered in his warmth. You tried to ignore the unusually soft thought towards him and focus on how good he was making you feel, the familiar tight coil building in your stomach as he continued to fuck into you deep and rough.

“Please please.” You were begging again but you weren’t even sure what for at this point, your mouth just moving on instinctively so he didn’t stop under any circumstances.

“I know baby I know.” His voice was more gentle than it had been before but still just as tight and overwhelmed, definitely reaching the end rapidly himself like you were and trying his hardest to prolong it considering how good you felt as you kept getting tighter and tighter around him. “Squeezing my cock so good sunshine, you’re so perfect for me.”

“For you, just for you.” You were quickly responding to the casual possessiveness he had showed and this seemed to affect him more than anything, his hips faltering for a second in their assault before he was fucking into you even harder than you thought was possible. He clearly liked hearing you claim yourself as his own and you felt overwhelming dizzy at the realization.

It was a complete blur now as he fucked into you, coming undone faster than you ever had before and blacking out for a few seconds from the pleasure of him doing the same inside of you. You were too out of your head to care about the fact he had came inside of you and you didn’t even think about it.

You were immediately worried it would be awkward once you were coming back to your senses but then you processed the fact that Heeseung was placing soft kisses against your neck, turning you around gently so you were finally facing him and you felt a bit emotional from how kind he was being now after he’d just taken you so aggressively.

You were definitely in some sort of dropped space after the intensity you’d just been through because you were kissing him suddenly, happy you’d had him in that way but now feeling like you’d missed out on seeing him from this point of view.

He was grateful accepting the kiss and tugging you forward by your lower back, the same place he’d been holding but very different context now as he softly moved his mouth against yours and brushed your hair out of your face.

“Are you going to let me take you on a date now?” He was asking into the kiss and you pulled back to laugh softly, laying your head down on his shoulder and feeling the way they lifted as he chuckled at your reaction.

“Yeah hotshot… I’m sure we can work that out.”

6K notes · View notes

m1ckeyb3rry · 7 months ago

Note

hi mira can i pls req a sae x reader and it’s like falling in love with someone. like you know that feeling when you’re really getting to know someone and it sounds like a soft song

i love uu take care x

── SEABIRD

Synopsis: Thanks to a chance encounter on the beach, you spend your vacation trying to apologize to the famous soccer player you inadvertently offended. Unfortunately, Sae Itoshi has other plans.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 11.6k

Content Warnings: love at first sight, fluff, humor, teasing as a love language, sae does not understand emotions or relationships but he’s rich asf, reader has a little brother and loves eating, meet-cutes, summer romance, SEAGULLS

A/N: although sae is a difficult character for me to get a hold of, i ended up having fun with this LMAO as i’m sure you can tell by the massive word count 😭 i hope he’s not horribly ooc or anything and that this is kind of what you were looking for anon!! tysm for requesting and ily too <3

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

You tried to evaluate the series of choices you had made which had led to you lying atop a boy with green eyes and sand smeared across his cheeks, a blank expression on his face despite the way you were literally sprawled over him.

First: your family had decided to spend your summer vacation in Spain. This was innocuous and broad enough, considering how large the country was, so you concluded that your brother’s desire to practice his rudimentary Spanish in a more realistic setting than his high school classroom could not be blamed for your plight.

Second: your father had gotten a great deal on rooms in a luxury beachfront hotel. He was like a bloodhound when it came to haggling and discounts, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were staying in such a nice place for a relatively cheap price — and with a complimentary breakfast every morning, too! Anyways, the hotel had its own private pool that you could’ve been lounging around beside, so that probably wasn’t the cause, either.

Third: your mother had told you that the beach within walking distance of the hotel was famous for its smooth waters and pale sand. You had to visit at least once, according to her and every other travel guide written about the region, but since no one had wanted to go with you, you had decided to go alone, bringing a book, a bottle of sunscreen, and a blanket with you, throwing a dress on over your swimsuit and preparing yourself to spend the entire day soaking in the sun’s rays. This was definitely a contributor to your current predicament, although considering the miles of beach that stretched out in both directions as far as the eye could see where you could’ve been instead of right there, it wasn’t the sole factor.

Fourth: you had thought you would get hungry at some point and had had the foresight to bring a sandwich with you. That was definitely the reason. If only you hadn’t been so concerned with your stomach! If only you had just sucked it up and made the trek back to the hotel upon feeling peckish instead of being so lazy and planning ahead, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Can you get off of me?” the boy groaned.

“I am so sorry!” you said, scrambling to your feet and offering him your hand. He did not take it, standing on his own and doing his best to wipe the sand from his face. Then he shook his head like a dog, shaking out the grittiness from his soft hair. “I’m really sorry. I was just running so fast, and I was so worried about my sandwich that I didn’t notice you were there until it was too late!”

“Sandwich?” he said. A few paces away, a seagull landed, the remnants of your lunch held in its beak. You and the boy watched as it tilted its head back, swallowing the last few bites before cawing at you in satisfaction.

“You pig!” you shouted, pointing at it, the boy beside you temporarily forgotten as you fumed over the loss. It cocked its head at you. “That was mine!”

“Ah,” the boy said. “Your sandwich.”

The seagull hopped towards you, like it was teasing you or something, and you screeched before diving at it. Satisfied with the mischief it had caused and the food it had stolen, as well as with making a fool out of you, the seagull took wing, flying well out of reach and leaving you facedown on the ground, your stomach grumbling sadly and emptily.

A foot nudged against your rib cage. “Hey. Sandwich girl. You’re not concussed, are you?”

Being referred to as sandwich girl was so humiliating that you were instantly pushing yourself into a sitting position, folding your arms across your chest as you gazed up at the boy, who still wore that same unimpressed expression from when you had barreled into him.

“No,” you said.

“That’s great,” he said, though he did not sound particularly concerned nor relieved. “Mind elaborating a bit more on why you ran me over? You could’ve seriously injured me, and then you would’ve been in a bunch of trouble.”

“You would’ve been in a bunch of trouble,” you mocked, making your voice high and smarmy. “Jeez, what are you, some kind of celebrity or something? I ran you over because I was taking a break from reading my book, and I realized that I was hungry. Well, luckily, I had brought a sandwich along with me, so it wasn’t a huge deal. I was just about ready to dig in, when that fat pig of a bird swooped down and stole it right out of my hands! The gall! The shamelessness! It was definitely laughing at me, and I can’t stand anyone who laughs at me, so naturally I took off in pursuit, and, uh, that’s how I ended up crashing into you. Though you really should’ve been paying more attention, too. What’s so fascinating about the horizon that you just blocked out the rest of the world for it?”

“I like looking at the ocean,” he said. “But, wait. What do you mean, some kind of celebrity? Don’t you know who I am?”

You gave him a once-over. He was tall, though not impressively so, and definitely well-muscled. His hair was a warm shade, and his green eyes were framed with long eyelashes that fluttered every time he blinked. A pair of sunglasses was perched atop the crown of his head, and the top few buttons of his white shirt were undone, lending him a breezy appearance.

“You’re not handsome enough to be an actor, so that can’t be it,” you said, chewing on your lower lip in thought. “Plus, I’ve seen a bunch of movies, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t been in any of them, so if you were in the film industry, you’d be a D-lister at best, and there’s no way you’d want to flex that kind of status.”

He furrowed his brow, the first hint of a different expression than the one he had kept for the entirety of your very brief acquaintance. “What?”

“What else are people famous for?” you said. “Oh! Are you a singer or something? Were you in that one boy band from a few years ago? I’m sorry, I was too busy having a ‘not-like-other-girls’ phase when they were popular, so I never got into them. I’m over the phase now, if you were wondering, but that would be why I didn’t recognize you.”

“You are amazingly off the mark,” he said.

“I am? I’m kind of out of ideas at this point, though. Can I have a hint or something?” you said.

“Do you watch soccer?” he said. You made a face.

“Hell no,” you said. His eye twitched, so you hurried to elaborate. “My little brother is obsessed with it, so by law, I’m required to hate everything related to the sport. Do you have any siblings? You’d get it if you did.”

“Ask your brother about Sae Itoshi,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, drafting a text to your brother and sending it when you had deemed it to be a perfect blend of uninterested and cool while also underscoring the urgency of the request. “So, your name’s Sae Itoshi? I’m Y/N L/N! I’m not a celebrity, though. If you text anyone and ask them about me, they’ll probably be pretty confused.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” he said. Your phone vibrated in your hand, and when you looked at the notification, you saw that it was from your brother.

uglier sibling: no shit i know about sae itoshi. he’s that one super talented midfielder on re al. he’s dad and i’s fav player atm.

You gulped, glancing up at Sae before returning to your phone.

me: lol wtf is re al.

uglier sibling: it’s madrid’s team lmfaooo dumbass how do you not know that

uglier sibling: actually wait why are u even asking lol

uglier sibling: did u meet him or something

me: funny story actually!

uglier sibling: WHAT

uglier sibling: y/n are u with sae itoshi rn.

uglier sibling: y/n answer pls

uglier sibling: can you at least get his autograph for me or smth???

Pretending like you were still texting your brother, you typed the name Sae Itoshi into your phone’s search engine. The photos that came up matched the boy in front of you, and the news articles made your heart pound. He actually was a celebrity, and furthermore, his earlier arrogance was deserved. If you had somehow injured such a famous player and put him out of commission for the season, then you really would’ve been done for. It hadn’t been an exaggerated sense of self-importance but an honest evaluation of himself.

“Ahem,” you said, feigning a cough to appear dignified and mature. “It seems like you are a pretty well-known soccer player, Mr. Itoshi.”

“It seems like I am,” he said.

“My brother and dad are big fans, apparently,” you said.

“Good thing you didn’t take me out permanently, then, or I’m sure they would’ve been pretty disappointed,” he said.

You cringed. “I’m sorry again.”

“Whatever. I won’t hold it against you; all’s well that ends well, after all,” he said.

“I feel really bad, though,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“You didn’t do anything, so there’s nothing to make up for,” he said.

“Not true! I knocked you over and said you’re not handsome!” you said. “I’d say that warrants some kind of recompense.”

“It’ll warrant more recompense if you keep saying it,” he said.

“You agree that you deserve payment, then? Great! Um…how about I…buy you lunch?” you said, the insistent pangs of your stomach reminding you that you still hadn’t eaten.

“Is food the only thing you can think about?” he said.

“For your information, it is not, but I haven’t eaten since the morning, so I’m hungry,” you said.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m not interested, and just so you know, I’ve been asked out by plenty of girls, but by far, this has been the lamest attempt.”

You supposed, looking back, that it did seem like that was your end goal. But, of course, it had been nothing of the sort; you were just planning on going to eat yourself and thought that you might as well kill two birds with one stone. It was just your luck that he had twisted your words into such a request, though! How were you supposed to maneuver yourself out of this position? If you denied it furiously, then it would seem like you were just ashamed at getting caught, but if you didn’t say anything, then it would be akin to agreeing with his accusation.

There was only one way out of it, and even though you were usually opposed to lying, and even more opposed to bullying others, it was the only thing you could think of. So, bowing your head, you clasped your hands together in front of your heart.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type, Mr. Itoshi,” you said. “Like I said, you’re really not that handsome. Also, I’m into tall guys.”

That was how you found yourself sitting across from Sae Itoshi in a private booth at a fancy restaurant, your hands trembling as you read over the menu items and their associated prices.

“I’m in the mood for steak,” Sae said, stroking his chin and setting down his menu, interlacing his fingers and raising his eyebrows at you. “What about you?”

“Steak is a dinner item, don’t you think?” you said, your head spinning at the fact that he had picked the most expensive thing that was served at the entire establishment. “It’s lunchtime.”

“I’m an athlete,” he said seriously. “I need a lot of protein in all of my meals. Especially because I’m so short. It’s important for me to build muscle, don’t you agree? How else will I manage to compete with the taller, better-looking players?”

“Steak it is,” you said with a faux smile. “As for me, I’ll just get crackers.”

“Crackers? What kind of lunch is that?” he said.

“An affordable one,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing!” you said. “It’s nothing. I just really like crackers.”

He gave you an odd look. “Alright.”

You waved the waiter over. He had been hovering around your table for the past few minutes, and as soon as he saw you beckoning him, he sprinted to your side, fumbling with his pen and notepad before reaching you and bowing.

“Sae Itoshi, sir! I’m sorry to interrupt your date, but I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of yours. If — if it’s not too much trouble, could I have your autograph?” he said.

Sae sighed, a long-suffering and irritable sigh. “Just take our order first. I’ll give it to you after we’ve eaten.”

“Oh, my apologies,” the waiter said. “What would you like?”

“I’ll have the steak, and I also want this sandwich, but omit the tomatoes, please,” he said, pointing at the menu items he wanted.

“Got it,” the waiter said. “What about you, miss?”

“Just the crackers,” you said. The waiter paused, but when you did not say anything more, he giggled nervously.

“Would you, uh, like some cheese with those?” he said.

“Nope,” you said. “I’m really the biggest fan of plain crackers. That’s all I want.”

“Sure, miss, if that’s what you’d like,” he said. “So, one steak, one sandwich, and a plate of crackers?”

“That’s right,” Sae said, hardly looking up from his phone when he did so. It was only once the waiter had run off to place your orders that he put the device away, resting his elbows against the table, setting his chin in his hands and giving you a bored look. “Why are you glaring at me?”

“Steak and a sandwich, really?” you said.

“A conversation with you was more than enough to increase my appetite,” he said. “Forget about that. This is the part where you ask me questions about myself and I pretend like I am interested enough to answer them.”

“Why would I do that?” you said, rolling your eyes at him. “Actually, I’m pretty sure your answer to that question will be something that makes me even more annoyed than I already am, so don’t bother. What’s your favorite movie?”

“You’re not going to ask me about soccer?” he said. “It’s Taxi Driver, by the way.”

“I don’t know that much about soccer, so what would I even ask? Based on what I’ve seen from the matches my brother and dad watch, it’s just a bunch of sweaty guys kicking around a ball and pretending like they’re dying whenever another player happens to look at them the wrong way,” you said. “Oh, actually, I am curious about that. How many of those injuries are real? Have you ever faked getting hurt?”

“Almost none of them,” he said. “Generally, players will overreact for the sake of entertainment and the possibility of the opposition receiving yellow cards. I’ve never needed to do anything like that, and I never want to, because it looks stupid. Also, soccer is more than that mediocre description you just gave me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” you said. “Man kick ball. Ball go in net. Man happy. That’s the extent of it.”

“Women play soccer, too,” he said.

“It’s the same concept there, but with women instead of men. Not the argument you thought it was,” you said.

“I can’t believe you actually dislike soccer,” he said.

There was definitely some irony in the fact that you couldn’t care less about his chosen sport, and yet you were the one who had somehow finagled your way into eating with him — even if you were the one who was paying. There were so many people who’d do anything to be in your place, but to you, it was a begrudging chore that you were only performing because you felt obligated to. Mentally, you had already marked the entire encounter down as something that you’d laugh about to your friends later; a fun story you’d tell at parties, but little else.

“Like I told you earlier, I’m the older sister. If I didn’t rag on my brother’s interests, then I couldn’t claim that title in any way that mattered,” you said. Sae’s eyes flicked down to the ground.

“You should be nice to your brother when you can,” he said.

“Are you some kind of an only child or saint, then? There’s no way you’re saying that if you have a normal relationship with any possible siblings,” you said.

“I have a little brother,” he said. “Our relationship is okay. I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

“Long distance?” you said, reaching over to pat him on the hand sympathetically. “That’s the worst. I miss my friends and my pets already, and I’m only here for vacation.”

He snatched his hand away. “You make it sound like we’re dating or something. It’s alright. I’m sure it’ll be the same as it was whenever I go back.”

“True, it’s not like he can dump you and find a new brother who’s both better and more conveniently located than you are. He’s kind of stuck with you forever,” you said.

“Enough about my brother,” he said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay,” you said. “What TV shows do you watch when you’re bored?”

The two of you continued on in that mindless manner until your food arrived. Your mood, which had steadily been rising as Sae proved himself to be, if nothing else, a willing conversationalist, rapidly plummeted as the waiter set the steak and sandwich in front of Sae and the crackers in front of you.

“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said.

“I’m sure one of us will,” you said, picking up a cracker and biting into it rebelliously. Sae began to cut his steak into small pieces, using his fork to demurely place the meat on his tongue, doing nothing to disguise the indulgence of eating such a wonderfully prepared meal while you were stuck with crackers.

“What a shame,” Sae said when he was about halfway through his steak. You hadn’t spoken since the food had come, mostly because you were too busy fervently hoping that he would choke and you would somehow be awarded a free meal as an apology on the restaurant’s part, so you jumped at the sound of his voice cutting through the silence. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat that sandwich after all.”

“We should send it back, then,” you said.

“What sort of place do you think this is?” he said. “It’s already been ordered, so it’s ours now.”

“Are you serious?” you said. “What now? I’ll have to pay for something that you didn’t even eat!”

“You’ll just have to have it,” he said.

“Me?” you said, already salivating at the delectable sandwich, the bread which was taunting you. Come, it seemed to be calling out to you. Eat me. You know you want to. “I guess that’s a sensible prospect. Someone’s going to have to take it.”

“Someone will,” he agreed, sliding the plate across the table and stealing a cracker for his troubles. “It might as well be you. My coach will be pretty upset if I get stomach cramps next season because I overate too much on my off time. I’d have to tell him that it was your fault, and then you’d have all of Re Al after you, and you don’t want that. They’re relentless.”

Your fingers inched towards the sandwich. “I definitely don’t. That sounds scary.”

“It would be amusing,” he said. “A waste of resources, though. They might cut my salary to make up for it. ”

“Then the only solution is for me to eat this sandwich,” you said.

“Essentially,” he said. You gave in, taking an enormous bite of the tantalizing sandwich and exhaling in delight. It really was as good as the exorbitant price tag claimed it would be, and although you would never buy such a thing for yourself, you found that you were a little more grateful for the series of events that had led you to be in this position now that your stomach was finally being greeted with something substantial.

“It’s good,” you said, your words muffled by the napkin you held in front of your mouth as you finished chewing. “I can kind of get why they charge so much now. It’s still way more than any sandwich should ever cost, ever, but…I kinda get it. Is your food good, too?”

“It is,” he said.

“Alright!” you said, giving him a double thumbs up. “Then you can consider this a worthy apology! Let’s finish eating and be done with the entire mess.”

“Hm? But how can it be a worthy apology when I’m the one who paid for everything? To me, that doesn’t sound like an apology at all,” he said. You froze, your mouth wide open, the sandwich still halfway to your mouth and drooping in your hands. Sae looked at you, still expressionless, though if you really focused, you would’ve noticed something like mirth dancing in his irises.

“What do you mean?” you said. He unlocked his phone and showed you his screen.

“You can pay by app here,” he said. “I did it as soon as we were done ordering. I was going to tell you after you ordered what you wanted for yourself, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so frugal that you’d really only order crackers!”

“But — but I was supposed to pay! To apologize for—”

“You don’t have to say it,” Sae said sourly, cutting you off. “Believe me, I remember exactly what you have to apologize for, and I’m not going to forget. I just paid this time because I was feeling generous, but you still owe me.”

It was a little suspicious, but you didn’t have any reason to accuse him of anything, so you only narrowed your eyes at him. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you mulled over the latest reveal. He was paying for the entire lunch? You still owed him? You could manipulate that in your favor, then.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay for your breakfast,” you said. “The hotel I’m staying at has complimentary breakfast for guests, but outsiders can eat for a certain fee. I’ll pay for your entrance, and then we can be even.”

“Sure,” he said. “I eat breakfast early, though.”

“How early?” you said.

“I have a snack at 7:00 a.m., before I go for my morning run, and then I eat a proper meal afterwards,” he said.

“Oh!” you said. “Any chance you could not do that?”

“It’s part of my training regimen,” he said. “How about you pay for my food and come on my run with me?”

“I hate running,” you said.

“You’re apologizing. It’s supposed to be an agonizing process,” he said. “You’ve called me short and ugly at least three separate times already, not to mention the entire slamming into me ordeal. It’s really the least you can do.”

“7:00 it is,” you said, though you were fighting back tears at the mere thought of getting up so early while on vacation. “Give me your phone.”

“No way,” he said, holding the phone away from you while you tried to swipe at it. “What are you going to do, post something embarrassing on my social media accounts?”

“Why would I do that?” you said. “I was going to text myself so I had your number and could send you my location for tomorrow.”

“Or you could tell me which hotel you’re staying at now, and then my phone is entirely removed from the equation,” he suggested.

“Do you think I remember the name?” you said. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I don’t.”

He handed you his phone with an aggravated huff. “Fine. Don’t abuse the privilege. I only give important people my contact information.”

“Woah, you really are stingy,” you said, scrolling through his contacts list. All of them either had the designation of work attached to their profiles, or they were clearly members of Sae’s family.

Clicking on the plus sign in the corner, you created a new contact for yourself, typing in your number and giving yourself the name Y/N L/N — sandwich. It fit the naming conventions he had going on, and if it weren’t for the reminder that you were the so-called ‘sandwich girl’, you doubted he would remember who you were in the first place.

“Of course I am. Imagine I gave every crazy fan I met my number. I’d have a million stalkers before you could say Re Al,”he said.

“I’m not a crazy fan. To clarify, I’m not a fan in the first place,” you said, texting yourself from his number before taking out your own phone and responding to the message with a thumbs up.

“Correct, which is why you get my number,” he said.

“I feel so honored,” you said dryly. “Actually, you know what? I would feel honored, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re only giving it to me because you want to wake me up at an unholy hour and make me run with you before paying for your breakfast.”

“Would you rather pay for this meal?” he said, showing you the receipt he had been emailed. Your eyes widened, and then you shook your head rapidly.

“Nope! See you tomorrow!”

The next morning, you tiptoed around the hotel room as you got ready, trying your best not to wake your mother up. She, and the rest of your family, had been up late last night, going out for dinner and dessert well past your bedtime. Far too embarrassed to tell them the realreason you were going to sleep early, you had said you were sick and went to bed as soon as the sun set.

Angrily gnawing on a granola bar from your mother’s emergency stash, you stomped down the spiraling hotel staircase, your eyes still bleary as you texted your family group chat that you were going out for a morning walk but would be back for breakfast.

Sae Itoshi was waiting for you in the lobby, doing some weird stretching routine that involved pressing his foot against the wall and leaning over it. You watched him, bemused, wondering which muscles he was trying to stretch before giving up and deciding it was probably one of those pro moves that you were too uninterested and unathletic for.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you said, giving him another one of the granola bars you had taken from your mother’s backpack. “Sorry, it’s sort of smushed. It’s been in a backpack for the last few days.”

He pinched the wrapper between his forefinger and thumb, looking at the granola bar with a disgusted expression. You didn’t think it was thategregious, but according to Sae, it must have been all but an offense against humanity, as he tossed it into the trash can within seconds of having it within his grasp.

“I already ate my snack,” he said.

“Why did you throw that away? I could’ve eaten it!” you said.

“That thing had probably melted and reformed at least twice. It was most definitely radioactive. I did you a favor, so you should say thank you,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Itoshi, for protecting me from the horrors of a slightly misshapen granola bar. I’m sure that, by throwing away that still edible brick of deliciousness, you have done me a great service. Possibly, you have even saved my life. I am eternally grateful,” you said.

He snorted. “You’re terrible at groveling. No wonder you have to do all of this ridiculous stuff to apologize to me instead of just saying sorry and moving on like a normal person.”

“Look, it’s a product of my upbringing,” you said. He finished stretching and headed out of the door; you followed after him with a smile at the hotel concierge, who seemed surprised to watch you go — whether it was the hour or your company, you weren’t sure. “Whenever my parents did something to upset me, they never apologized. They just came to my room with a bowl of fruit they had cut for me.”

“At least you got fruit,” he said. “My parents just told me to go practice soccer until I had cooled off.”

“Wow, really? That’s hardcore,” you said. Sae began to jog, and you did the same, though it was closer to a run for you than anything. “Did you just kick around the ball until you were less mad?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

“How horrible,” you said.

“Eh, it’s fine. It was a good way to get my anger out, and it had the added benefit of making me better at the sport, so it was pretty constructive overall,” he said.

“I still can’t imagine it,” you said, shaking your head. “What’s it like, being a professional athlete? Your entire life revolves around a game. What about when you can’t play anymore? When you’re too old, or if you get injured?”

His upper lip curled. “Do you want that to happen or something? Why are you speaking it into existence?”

“Not the injury part, but everyone grows old. You can’t stop that,” you said.

“I’ll play for as long as I can, and then I’ll coach for longer,” he said. “After that, I’ll retire and make sure my kids follow in my footsteps. Athletes make a lot of money, so I luckily won’t ever have to worry much about my finances.”

“What if your kids don’t want to play soccer?” you said. He actually sneered this time, the expression at home on his cold face.

“What else would they do with themselves? If they don’t want to play soccer, or if they have no talent at it, then they’re definitely not my children in the first place,” he said.

“Hm, maybe cooking? What if they want to be a chef?” you said.

“Then I’d wonder how your kids snuck into my house,” he said. You gasped, though it was as much for breath as it was out of offense.

“Stop it! You just happened to catch me at a hungry time!” you said.

“Sure,” he said.

“Just entertain the hypothetical that you really did somehow father children that were into cooking instead of soccer. How would you react?” you said.

“I would put them up for adoption,” he said.

“Seriously?” you said.

“No, obviously not,” he said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Why did you actually find that to be within the realm of possibility?”

“I think you’re some kind of soccer fiend. Who knows how dedicated you are to the cause?” you said.

“Not that dedicated,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if my kids can’t play soccer, and our relationship would probably be a bit distant, as I don’t know much about anything else, but I wouldn’t disown them.”

“You don’t know much about anything besides soccer? That’s a little sad,” you said.

“Kind of,” he said.

“Do you wish you knew about other things?” you said.

“Everyone has something they specialize in. It’s not uncommon for someone to know a lot about one thing and only a little about others,” he said. “My ‘thing’ is soccer. If it wasn’t that, then it’d be something else, so if I was in the business of wishing, I’d always be unsatisfied.”

You were already panting for breath when Sae picked up the pace, though he had not so much as broken a sweat yet. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in your obvious struggles, and then he made the decision to not slow down at all.

“I get it,” you said. “You’ll face no judgment from me.”

“Like I would care if you did judge me,” he said. “You’re already dying, and we haven’t even started running yet.”

“This isn’t running?” you said. “What the hell? How much faster can you even go?”

“If you think that this is anywhere near the pace of an average soccer match, then I don’t even know where to begin with you,” he said.

“You look slower on TV!”

“What, so you think I’m slow, too?”

You and Sae returned to the hotel in markedly different conditions. He wasn’t even warm, still appearing to be perfectly put together and entirely perspiration-free, smelling faintly like body soap and cologne. On the other hand, you were still trying to regain your wits about you, leaning on his shoulder so that you did not fall over from exhaustion.

“This is embarrassing for you,” he informed you as you walked towards the breakfast area.

“You’re a professional athlete and I’m a normal girl! It would be embarrassing for you if I could keep up!” you argued weakly.

“That would be true, if I wasn’t going easy on you,” he said, pulling out a chair for you and helping you into it, brushing his arm off when he was sure you were seated. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Have fun,” you said, resting your head in your hands, already knowing what you wanted to get. “We can walk through the buffet together. I’ll take the time to recover.”

“You do that,” he said.

While he was gone, you opened your phone, catching up on all of the texts in the family group chat that you hadn’t been able to read while you were attempting to run with Sae.

me: going for a morning walk but i’ll be back for breakfast

me: just wanted to let you all know so you weren’t worried!

uglier sibling: yeah nobody was worried LMFAO

mom: Hope you’re feeling better, honey!

dad: Make sure you’re back before 10. That’s when the complimentary breakfast ends, and we’re not paying for overpriced toast with jam.

uglier sibling: i still can’t believe u went for a morning walk

uglier sibling: like

uglier sibling: since when do u voluntarily wake up in the mornings at all let alone leave ur bed LET ALONE TAKE A WALK

uglier sibling: bitches will meet sae itoshi one time and suddenly they’re fitness influencers or wtvr

uglier sibling: btw i’m still mad that u didn’t get his autograph or a photo with him or anything

uglier sibling: i bet u made it up

uglier sibling: LIAR. FRAUD. HACK.

mom: Honey, leave your sister alone. Why would she make something like that up?

dad: Your mother is right. Y/N doesn’t even know who Sae Itoshi is.

So it was a typical conversation, then. You hadn’t missed much; just your brother being salty and your parents showing some care for your well-being, as well as your father worrying for his wallet like he was prone to do. You didn’t even bother responding, just liking your father’s two messages and then putting your phone away.

“Y/N, you’re back already? What good timing!” your father called out to you from the entrance to the hotel restaurant. The world slowed as you turned to see the rest of your family walking into the restaurant, dressed in their typical touristy outfits. Your mother waved at you, and your brother faked gagging.

“Wow, you look like shit,” he said. “The fuck kinda morning walk were you on?”

“Gross, it’s you,” you said. “Go away! I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have any food with you,” he pointed out. “Can I sit with you? The parents are way too chipper in the mornings.”

“No!” you said.

“But there’s an empty seat at your table. Are you saving it for someone?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, wishing that for once they would’ve all slept in instead of getting here at the exact time that you and Sae had.

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“Come on, you two, let’s sit together and have a family breakfast!” your father said, motioning you and your brother over from where he and your mother had settled at a four-person table. Your brother gave you a pleading look.

“I’ll owe you forever,” he said. “I’ll grind on all of your video games for you the entire plane ride home!”

“I’m not lying, dude, I actually am sitting with someone. Now fuck off and leave me alone!” you hissed.

“Who?” he said, crossing his arms. “Your imaginary friend? Or your imaginary boyfriend!”

“Excuse me? Sorry, I was sitting there. Do you mind—?”

The most comical expression you had ever seen flashed over your brother’s face just then. It was horror mixed with incredulity mixed with extreme confusion. He turned slowly, his jaw dropping as he made eye contact with Sae Itoshi, whose dry countenance and perfect posture were as off-putting as ever.

“What?” your brother said. “What is going on?”

Sae sat opposite you. “This hotel has the most confusing first floor layout I’ve ever encountered. It took me ages just to find the bathroom.”

“There’s signs. Can you not read?” you said. He stared at you dully.

“I can read. I just happened not to look up at them,” he said.

“If I didn’t want to pay for even more food, I’d make another short joke, but I shall refrain,” you said.

“That was cutting it close,” he said.

“Y/N. My beautiful, amazing, wonderful older sister,” your brother said.

“Yes?” you said, preparing yourself for the incoming explosion. “Also, that’s not what you were calling me in the group chat earlier, was it?”

“Is that Sae Itoshi?” he said.

“Liar, fraud, hack, was that what it was?” you said. “Run along, loser. Maybe if you were nicer to me, I’d let you sit with us.”

Your brother opened his mouth to argue, but then, like he had remembered he was standing in front of his idol, he hung his head and trudged off, scuffing his toes against the floor as he did and giving you a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“That’s your little brother?” Sae said.

“Yup,” you said. “Your self-proclaimed biggest fan.”

“And you made him go sit with your parents instead of talking to me? You’re super mean, big sister,” Sae said.

“He wouldn’t shut up if I let him stay here, and considering the goal of this is for you to eat and then leave me alone for the rest of my vacation, that would not be conducive,” you said.

“I see,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was the goal.”

“Isn’t it yours, as well? I’m sure you’d like to enjoy yourself on your time off from soccer,” you said.

“Who says I’m not enjoying myself?” he said. You furrowed your brow at him.

“You’ve had the same expression on your face every time we’ve spoken,” you pointed out, lowering your eyelids and pursing your lips in an imitation of his resting mien. “Like this. It’s totally amphibious.”

“Amphibious?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know what amphibious means? Man, when you said you only focused on soccer, I didn’t think it was this bad!” you said.

“I know what amphibious means! I just don’t see how the word applies,” he said.

“Oh, right. Well, you kind of look like the frog emoji,” you said. “Sorry, I could’ve been clearer. That’s my bad.”

“Were you dropped on the head as a baby? I’m asking this from a place of concern, not anger,” Sae said. “It’s because you say so many nonsensical things. After all, I look nothing like the frog emoji.”

“Sure, and people tell me I look like a famous actress,” you said.

“Really?” he said.

“No, I thought we were both saying things that aren’t true,” you said.

“I think you look like a famous actress,” he said. “There. Now we’re both saying things that are true.”

“Well done, Mr. Itoshi! That was clever,” you said, knowing when to concede.

“Thank you,” he said. “Let’s go get our food now. If you die of starvation on my watch, it’ll be a major scandal for Re Al.”

“Your manager must love you,” you said. “So conscientious of your public image.”

“Nope, he’s usually pretty pissed at me,” he said as the two of you got in the buffet line.

“What for?” you said.

“Contrary to what you think, I’m pretty unconcerned with my public image. I’m a soccer player, not some kind of philanthropist or actor or whatever,” he said. “What does it matter if I offend people? My value is in playing well, not being friendly or kind.”

“No one ever accused you of being either of those two,” you said, spreading butter and jam over your toast. “You’re not that bad, though.”

“You’re not that bad, either,” he said. “At least, you’re better company than my manager.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you said. He scoffed.

“You have low standards,” he said.

“Yours are lower,” you said.

“Very mature response.”

“Thanks!”

Sae was a pretty agreeable breakfast partner. He wasn’t as impossibly cheerful as your parents, who generally drove you crazy with their talkativeness so early in the day, but he also wasn’t as silent and closed off as your brother, who was prone to snapping at others until he had finished at least half of his meal. As with lunch yesterday, it was almost an enjoyable experience, right up until you remembered whose card he was eating on.

“Where are you going?” he said when your plates had been cleared and you had pushed yourself to your feet. He followed after you as you made your way to the hostess’s station, ignoring the whispers that echoed behind the two of you.

“To pay for you to be here, duh,” you said, fishing around in your purse for your wallet. “I know you’re famous and all, but that doesn’t mean you get to eat for free. In fact, that was kind of the point of the meal.”

“I already paid for myself, so you can go and sit back down with your family if you’d like,” he said.

“What? When?” you said.

“I wouldn’t spend that long in a bathroom,” he said. “Not a public one.”

“You little—! Now what?” you said.

“Now you have to see me tomorrow,” he said. “Bye. I’ll pick you up for dinner, so make sure to wear something nice, and bring your credit card. It’s your treat.”

He walked off with a jaunty wave, leaving you standing there, confounded by the development. He had paid for himself again? What was the point of making you take him places if he was just going to cough up the cash himself anyways?

“Psst. Y/N,” your brother said. You weren’t sure when or where he had appeared, but it remained that he was suddenly tapping you on the shoulder and whispering in your ear. “Does Sae Itoshi have a crush on you? If so, please ask if he can get tickets for dad and I to attend his next game.”

“What?” you said, a shockwave running through your entire body at the mere thought of Sae having a crush on you. It was so juvenile and cliched as to be out of Sae’s character entirely. “No! I just owe him.”

“For what?” your brother said.

“I ran into him, called him ugly, and said that he was short,” you said. “Indirectly, of course, but it still happened. I was supposed to buy him lunch yesterday as an apology, but then he ended up paying for us both, and then today, I went on a run with him, and I was going to pay for him to have breakfast here, but guess what?”

“He paid for himself?” your brother said.

“He paid for — yeah, how did you know?” you said.

“There weren’t that many ways the story could’ve gone. Also, I overheard you guys talking,” he said.

“Creep,” you said.

“Weirdo,” he said.

“Freak,” you said.

“Stupid,” he said. “I bet he has a crush on you.”

“Why would he? We have zero common interests, and I’ve mostly only insulted him in our very short time knowing one another,” you said.

“Maybe he’s into that. Some guys are. My one friend is — actually, I’m not exposing him like that,” he said.

“Thank you, because I really didn’t want to know,” you said.

“Anyways, where I was going with that is some guys like girls who humble them a bit. Especially someone like Sae Itoshi; he’s probably so used to people falling all over themselves to get his attention that it’s nice for him to hang out with someone who’s too oblivious to care about that kind of stuff,” he said.

“People like you?” you said. “I told him you were his biggest fan, just so you know.”

“Why would you do that?” your brother said, his eyes bugging out and his mouth forming a pained grimace. “He probably thinks I’m a nerd now!”

“You do it to yourself, buddy,” you said. “Let’s go. It looks like the parents want us to go sit with them. Think you can handle it?”

“After learning that my hero has a crush on my sister and, furthermore, probably thinks of me as some kind of dweeb, I can handle anything,” he said.

The entire day, you pondered your brother’s words. Did Sae have a crush on you? Running through his actions and every conversation you both had ever had led you to think that he did not. It didn’t seem like he liked you very much in even a platonic sense, so how could anyone begin to think he liked you romantically? It was just tolerance for the sake of his pride, that was all.

And you definitely didn’t like him. He was emotionless and conceited and teased you far too often. What did it matter that he was somewhat attractive? He had a terrible personality, and you bet that if more of his fans knew what he was like, he wouldn’t have any to begin with.

No wonder Sae’s manager hated him. He was probably a jerk to his poor employees, too.

“We’re thinking of going here for dinner tonight,” your father said the next day. “Look, their reviews are pretty high, and their prices aren’t crazy. What does everyone think?”

“I’m fine with anything,” your mother said.

“Same here,” your brother said.

“Y/N?” your father said. You were about to respond when your own phone buzzed. You knew exactly who it was texting you, and you sighed as you opened it.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I will be there in one hour.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): You better not have forgotten about our plans for tonight.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I made a reservation, so I’ll really be mad if you stand me up.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Especially because you’re paying.

me: I WILL BE THERE OMFG STOP TEXTING ME

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Okay.

“I can’t,” you said.

“Why not? Are you on some new diet or something? They should have vegetarian options, so that won’t be a problem,” your father said. “We can look at their menu beforehand if you prefer, and if you really don’t like anything, then we can find somewhere else.”

“I already have plans,” you said, your lower lip jutting out childishly. “Not that I want to! But I made a promise.”

“You already have plans? What’s that supposed to mean?” your mother said.

“I’m having dinner with someone,” you said.

“Ooh, how exciting! With who?” she said.

“I bet I can guess!” your brother sang.

“Enough out of you!” you said, kicking him in the back of the leg. He doubled over, though that did not stop him from smirking at you.

“Y/N and Sae, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” he said.

“You’re going out with Sae Itoshi?” your father said. “You should’ve just said so! That’s perfectly alright, honey. Actually, he’s the one man I’m not upset about you dating!”

“We are not dating!” you said. “It’s a more transactional relationship than that. No feelings involved. It’s just me apologizing to him.”

“Are you close enough to him to get an autograph for your brother and I?” your dad said.

“Um.” You thought about it. Would Sae give you an autograph for them? You weren’t sure. There was a chance he would, but there was also a high chance he would not. “I dunno. I can ask.”

“You’ll ask for dad, but not for me? Wow, I see how it is,” your brother said.

“Yeah, because you’re annoying!” you said. “Ugh. I have to get ready now. He’ll be here to get me in an hour. Have fun at dinner, all of you. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.”

“You have fun as well,” your mother said. “Make sure not to bring any money with you. Gentlemen should always pay on the first date.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” you said, giving up on explaining things to your family for the sake of your sanity.

Sae was aggressively punctual. Exactly an hour after he had texted you, a shiny black car was pulling up in the valet lane, and a tall, bald man in a suit was opening the door for you. You climbed in awkwardly, finding Sae to be sitting on the other side, gazing out of the window pensively.

“Hello,” you said, smoothing your dress and buckling your seatbelt. “You have a driver?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “I usually walk places when I’m on vacation, but this restaurant is kind of far, so I thought it’d be more prudent to have the driver take us.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you, driver, sir.”

The driver hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything else. You supposed he probably wasn’t used to talking with his passengers; you doubted Sae ever spoke to him much.

“It’s been so hot out recently,” Sae said stiffly.

“That’s what happens during the summer, yes,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said.

“You’re right, though,” you said. “It has been hot.”

“Super hot,” he said.

“Yes,” you said. “Super hot.”

That must’ve been why there was a slight redness to his cheeks. There was definitely no other reason. And there wasn’t any other reason for why you felt uncomfortably warm, shifting in your seat to dissipate the feeling in your stomach. It was the temperature. That was all.

Given the trend, you really should have anticipated it when Sae paid for your dinner while you were freshening up in the bathroom, but you really had not seen it coming in the slightest. He scrunched up his face when you argued, simply telling you that he would see you tomorrow before dropping you back off at your hotel, the receipt in your hand, his flourishing signature scrawled across the back.

“For your brother,” he had said, handing it to you before you could even ask him for his autograph. “You said he was a fan, right? I’ll get him a better one later, but for now, this should do.”

You spent every day of the rest of that vacation with Sae Itoshi. Some days, you would accompany him on a morning walk — he had softened to slowing his pace, so that he was only barely jogging instead of the full on run that he had forced you into that first time — and on others, the two of you would have some meal or another together. The common theme was that, if there was money involved, he would take care of it. Without question, without hesitation, he always slapped your hand back and pulled out his own credit card, telling you that now you both had to meet again, and the next time you really would be the one paying, or else he’d never be able to forgive you for your terrible behavior.

Your parents and brother complained about it at first, as your new friendship with Sae — could it be considered a friendship, or was it something else? — meant you did not see them much on what was supposed to be a family vacation.

You brought it up with Sae, and he responded with something about how it wouldn’t have been a problem at all if you weren’t such a freeloader and actually paid for him, like you were supposed to. This resulted in a lighthearted squabble between you both, which in turn made you forget your family’s whining, and as well you should have. You could take a million more vacations with them, but you’d likely never get a chance to hang out with Sae Itoshi again, so why wouldn’t you take advantage of it when you could?

Sae didn’t forget, though. He sent you back from dinner the next evening with a soccer ball he had won in one of his games, his signature and a note of gratitude scribbled on it in black marker.

Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter and sister from you while you’re on your trip. I really appreciate it, even if she doesn’t know anything about soccer. — Sae Itoshi

They stopped complaining after that. The ball became your brother’s most prized possession, and every day, your father would tell you how happy he was that you had made such a considerate friend.

“And you know, if you ever want to date him,” he’d say, elbowing you in the side with an obnoxious wink. “We wouldn’t be opposed!”

Your mother was in the same boat. “He really cares about you, I think. Enough that he gave your family something so precious just because he thought we didn’t like him. You could do a lot worse than that.”

“Plus, he’s rich and famous!” your brother would chime in without fail. “Double win!”

“You guys are all nuts,” you’d tell them, shaking your head to disguise how pleased the thought of dating Sae made you.

It could never happen. Like your brother was so happy to remind you, he was rich and famous, an athlete that was adored worldwide and played for the best soccer club in history. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he ever choose you? You and he were from two different planes of existence. Maybe you could pretend for a little bit that you weren’t, but the date for your eventual departure from Spain was drawing closer and closer, and that day meant the certain end of the fever dream that was your closeness with Sae.

You had been prepared from the start for it to finish in this way. You would go home and tell all of your friends about your trip, how you had spent almost every day with the famous soccer player Sae Itoshi, how he had given you his phone number and made you go on runs with him, how together, you and him had eaten lunch and dinner and breakfast and several meals that you were convinced he had just made up to have an excuse to buy food for the two of you — brunch, linner, midnight snacks and third desserts.

There were other things that you wouldn’t tell them, too, things that Sae had not necessarily said to you in confidence but which you sensed were held close to his heart and which you would therefore hold close to yours. His little brother was named Rin, and they had the same eyes, though Rin’s were quicker to water and perpetually had hair falling into them. He still watched the same shows he used to when he was very small, because they reminded him of his parents’ home. He thought that a person’s athletic potential could be determined by the shape of their butt, but he tended to avoid looking as a form of respect for others.

“That’s a pretty cool skill, Sae! What do you think my athletic potential is?” you had asked when he had revealed that last fact.

“If it’s possible for a person to have negative potential, then that’s about what yours is. If it’s not, then you’re definitely at a zero,” he had responded.

“You didn’t even look,” you had said, shoving a French fry into his mouth as punishment. He hated French fries for how unhealthy they were, and you had half-expected him to lecture you about fats and oils and salts, but instead, he had dutifully chewed and swallowed without any theatrics.

“Don’t need to, and don’t plan to,” he had said, and that was that. “I’ve already seen you run, and that told me all I needed to know about your athletic skills. Or, in this case, your lack thereof.”

If you took his words at face value, then you would’ve thought he truly hated you. He never missed a chance to make fun of you, and you were the same way — certainly, anyone who overheard your conversations would’ve been convinced that you and he were bitter enemies. But that was because they didn’t see the way he always positioned himself on the sidewalk so that he was between you and the oncoming traffic. They didn’t see the way he’d pull out your chair and only pretend to frown when you’d thank him for it. They didn’t see the way his ears would turn pink if you dared to smile in his direction or, heaven forbid, agreed with what he was saying instead of arguing, as was your go-to.

No, you were pretty confident that Sae Itoshi did not hate you. It was just that soccer was his thing and all other areas were beyond him, areas which included such fields as emotional awareness and sensitivity.

Maybe you might tell the friends you were particularly close to about that. Sae Itoshi treated me pretty well, you’d say, with grand, sweeping hand motions to emphasize the point. As well as he knew how to, which was well enough for me. If I ever get a boyfriend, they’ll have a lot to live up to. Seems kind of unfair to whatever poor schmuck gets stuck with the task, don’t you think? Considering the two of us never even dated…

“I'm going home tomorrow morning,” you said. The sun was setting, and the two of you were walking along the same stretch of beach that you had first met at. “I finished packing all of my things before dinner. It’s surreal, almost. I feel like an entirely different person now, compared to when I came here.”

“Is that so?” he said, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “I wonder why.”

“Did you just smile?” you said. Immediately, he scowled.

“No way,” he said. “I’d never smile because of something you said.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, you definitely smiled. I made you smile! I made you smile! I made you smile!” you said, poking him in the cheek repeatedly. Sae’s expressions were so subtle that it was easy to overlook them before they had vanished, but there was no overlooking what you had just seen. He had definitely smiled at you, or at least he had been about to.

“Stop poking me,” he grumbled.

“No,” you said, poking him again. “Only if you smile again.”

“Hell no,” he said. You poked his cheek again. “Y/N. Stop it.”

“Will you miss me?” you said.

“Not if you don’t quit that!” he said, grabbing your wrist when you prepared to poke him again. Heat rose to your cheeks at the way his thumb rested against your pulse, and when he realized he was holding your hand so familiarly, his own cheeks flushed. “No. I won’t.”

“I’ll miss you,” you said, digging your feet into the sand, turning out to the sea because you couldn’t stand to look at him when you were being so vulnerable. “I’ll tell everyone I know about you, of course, but it won’t be the same. Something funny will happen, and I’ll think to myself, oh, Sae would’ve snorted at that — but not laughed, because you don’t laugh. Or I’ll order shitty French fries, and it’ll remind me of how much you’d scold me for eating them. You’d say something like, those are basically heart attacks in a box, and then you’d pour a bottle of salted kombucha down my throat to cleanse my system.”

Somewhere in the distance, a seagull squawked, reminding you of the fateful encounter from so long ago. You wished you could go back and get to know Sae all over again. You wished you could ask him the same questions and not know the answers, so that you were surprised when he told them to you. You wished you could argue with him for a little bit longer. You wished that, one more time, you could imply he was short and ugly and slow and a thousand other rude adjectives, even if he was really none of those things, none of them at all.

“I’m going to ask you one last question, okay?” you said. “Please think over your answer carefully. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he said, uncharacteristically gently. “I’ll really consider it well.”

“What’s your favorite animal?” you said.

“Seagulls,” he said immediately, directly contradicting his solemn oath. You laughed at this, burying your face in your hands to hide the hitch in your throat.

“You traitor,” you said. “You know all about the feud between seagulls and I, and yet you’re still claiming they’re your favorites?”

“They always have been,” he said. “I like migratory birds, how they don’t stay in one place but are always moving around. It must be such a blissful life.”

“But it’s probably pretty lonely, too,” you said. “They don’t have anywhere to call home.”

“I like lonely things,” he said. “That’s why the end of the summer is my favorite season.”

“Hm,” you said. “Then, if I tell you that I’ll be lonely once I leave here, will you like me, too?”

He looked at you, but you stared resolutely ahead, your gaze trained on the horizon, the way his had been on the day you had run into him. It was such a kiddish question, and internally, you were beating yourself up for asking it, but deep down, you wanted to know, so you did not move to retract it.

“Well, I like seagulls for a different reason now,” he said.

So that was your answer, then. The waves crashed against the shore, and a balmy wind blew through your hair and clothes, carrying the light scent of Sae’s cologne to your nose, the same one he had worn for as long as you could remember.

“I understand,” you said.

“These days, it’s a specific seagull I’m fond of, actually,” he said.

“Huh? Like a breed or something?” you said.

“No, just one bird in particular,” he said. “It did me a really huge favor recently.”

“What are you talking about? You always say that you suspect I was dropped on the head as a baby, but between the two of us, I think the one that was dropped was you,” you said, the fraying ends of your rejected feelings driving you to irascibility.

“A while ago, I was standing on the beach, feeling pretty annoyed with the world — as usual,” he said. “I had had to run from the paparazzi in order to go on this vacation without being bothered, you know, and I honestly was starting to question if I’d ever be seen as a normal person. I get that the only thing I’m good at is soccer, but it’s pretty tiring to be thought of as a guy who kicks balls around and nothing more.”

Unbidden, you inhaled sharply, because the story was starting to sound familiar. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of Sae smiling shyly, peering down at you through his unfairly long eyelashes.

“That seagull must’ve known how I was feeling. There’s no other explanation for it all. It must’ve known how I was feeling, and somehow, it managed to find the one person in the entire world that saw me as something other than that. Do you know what it did next? It stole that person’s sandwich, and it led her right to me,” he said.

“Are you talking about me?” you said.

“How many people do you think have called me a short, ugly, D-list celebrity instead of asking for my autograph upon meeting me?” he said.

“Probably not very many,” you said. He chuckled.

“Probably not any,” he said. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“Probably not,” you said. He stroked your hair, though his motions were like a marionette’s — he was not very used to this type of relationship, after all. But he was trying his best, and you found that to be far more endearing than any suave gestures might’ve been.

“I know you have to go soon, so I was planning on not saying anything,” he said. “What would be the point? I figured this was just a summer fling for you. But then you had to go and be all sentimental, and I had to say something.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said. “It would’ve been worse if I had returned home without knowing at all. Where do we go from here, though?”

“Where do we go from here? Let me think. Well, I’ll ask you to be my girlfriend,” he said. “And you’ll say yes, because who would ever reject me? Then we’ll talk on the phone every day, and you can send me photos of things you find funny, and I’ll have a sixth sense for when you’re eating French fries and I’ll send you strongly worded texts in reprimand. You’ll fly over to watch my matches whenever possible, and when I’m on my next break, I’ll come visit you and meet your family and friends properly.”

“Getting a little presumptuous, aren’t we? What if I say no?” you said.

“Will you?” he said.

“Not sure. How about you ask and find out?” you said.

“If you’re going to say no, then I don’t want to,” he said. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I can’t be with a man who’s afraid of rejection. It was nice knowing you, Sae,” you said. “See you around. Hope you lose the Champions League.”

“Wait! I’m not afraid of rejection,” he said. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? Officially, I mean.”

“Yes, of course,” you said. “But you’re going to have to buy my plane tickets if you want me to watch you. Even with frequent flier miles, I doubt I can afford coming to see you that often.”

“Consider it done,” he said. You grinned at him.

“You know, if you’re my boyfriend, then you’re going to have to keep paying for our dates, as well. My mother said that’s the gentlemanly thing for you to do,” you said.

“Right, I was expecting that,” he said. “Don’t you think there’s a reason why I haven’t let you buy anything yet?”

“Then how am I ever supposed to apologize to you for the circumstances of our first meeting? I mean, I was pretty harsh,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said. “Let me think.”

“Mhm,” you said. “I know that that’s out of your comfort zone, so I’ll give you a minute.”

“I have an idea,” he said, though it was accompanied by a slight glare at your jab.

“What is it?” you said.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You obliged, squeezing them shut, though not without widening your feet into the defensive stance he had demonstrated to you on the day he had attempted to teach you basic soccer skills.

“What are you going to do, tackle me or something? I’m using the position you taught me, but please be gentle, you’re way more muscular than—!”

You were cut off by him pressing his lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, gentle and light, like feathers in the air or water against the sand, and he pulled away before you could really react or reciprocate. He had left you wanting, and you knew he knew that, because there was a smugness to his voice when he spoke next.

“Apology accepted,” he said as you blinked at him in shock, your mind still lagging well behind your body. “Now we’re even.”

“Hold on,” you said. “I’m suddenly feeling very repentant and remorseful. Are you quite sure you forgive me with just that?”

He laughed. It was such a lovely sound, his laugh, and you would’ve told him so if you weren’t afraid that he’d stop when you pointed it out.

“Maybe not,” he said. “You might have to apologize a bit more.”

“That sounds doable,” you said. “Yeah, I might be able to work that in. It’ll be agonizing, but a wise man once told me that that’s just the nature of apologizing, so it’s the least I can do, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, holding your face in his hands and leaning in. You did the same, your eyes closing all on their own as you sought out the connection he had deprived you of earlier.

As the sun set over the horizon and the seagulls settled in for the night, he kissed you again.

#sae x reader #sae x you #sae x y/n #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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frommybookbook · 3 months ago

Text

Earlier today, some friends and I were discussing one of those Star Trek captains memes. You know the ones I’m talking about, the ones that pit the captains against each other with pithy descriptions that glorify and champion the men and shit on Janeway. The ones where Picard is describe as the wise teacher and scholarly diplomat; Kirk is the brave trailblazer and lovable rogue; Sisko is the take-no-shit commander and more-than-human uniter; Archer is the quick thinking explorer and the avenging do-gooder; Pike is the empathetic Boy Scout and the quippy everyman…and Janeway is an irrational murderer and erratic loose canon. And, as usual, I went on a bit of a rant. They (looking at you @redsesame, @epersonae, and @emi--rose) told me to share it here so, if you trudge through this whole thing, blame them.

Does Janeway make some questionable decisions throughout VOY (Prodigy!Janeway is a different conversation for another time)? Yes, absolutely. But here’s the thing: every captain does. What I still love about her though and will champion until I'm blue in the face is that Janeway owns her decisions more than I think any other captain does.

Picard and Kirk hide behind the Prime Directive a lot. That's the reasoning Picard gives for not interfering in the drug running in “Symbiosis” and leaving the Ornarans trapped in dependence on the abusive Brekkans. His line, “Beverly, the Prime Directive is not just a set of rules. It is a philosophy, and a very correct one. History has proved again and again that whenever mankind interferes with a less developed civilization, no matter how well-intentioned that interference may be, the results are invariably disastrous." is a cop-out we hear from him time and time again, especially to Dr. Crusher, as she is the one who most often calls him on his bullshit.

Kirk does the same thing. We still this when he leaves Shanna and the other thralls behind in "The Gamesters of Triskelion" and when he forces Elaan of Troyius into a marriage she clearly doesn't want because it's "for a greater good." And all the while, he's got Spock at his side giving him confirmation bias that he's following regulations.

And Sisko, Sisko makes some of the most horrific and destructive decisions of any captain and uses not only the Prime Directive to fall back on, but he's got the Dominion War to blame. He poisons an entire planet to get back at one man he feels betrayed him in "For the Uniform" and don't even get me started on his actions in "In the Pale Moonlight".

Enterprise is so unjustly shat on by the fandom that I almost hate to bring some of Archer's questionable choices into this conversation but I'm going to do it anyway. Similar to Sisko and the Dominion War, Archer has the threat of the Xindi in his back pocket to excuse some of his worst behavior. If Tuvix is the worst thing people can point to for Janeway, then we have to talk about Archer and Sim, the simbiont created solely to be a living tissue donor for an injured Trip, a procedure that will kill the living, breathing, sentient Sim. Archer orders Sim created against the arguments made by Dr. Phlox. He rationalizes his decision with the same argument for the greater good that we see from all the others. He says to T'Pol before Sim is created "…we've got to complete this mission. Earth needs Enterprise. Enterprise needs Trip. It's as simple as that." And it doesn't end there. When Sim is grown enough for the procedure and has figured out what's going to happen to him, he challenges Archer himself, arguing for his own right to live, and Archer sticks to his guns. This exchange directly between Archer and Sim is haunting.

Archer: I must complete this mission; and to do that, I need Trip. Trip! I'll take whatever steps necessary to save him. Sim: Even if it means killing me? Archer: Even if it means killing you. Sim: You're not a murderer. Archer: Don't make me one.

Not only do all of these captains (except Archer, who arguably writes the damn thing himself at the end of the series) have the Prime Directive to fall back on, they also have Starfleet/the Federation/Vulcan High Council right there on speed dial to validate their choices and hear their excuses and give them another commendation. They all know that ultimately, they can turn to someone higher in command to turn to for help.

Janeway is alone. She is alone with her crew 70,000 lightyears from home with only her training and her own moral compass to guide her. Yes, she claims the Prime Directive a lot but she also goes with what she feels is right and she is clear about that with her crew. When she makes the decision to split Tuvix, despite what everyone else says, she sticks to it and more importantly, does the procedure herself. Picard would have forced Beverly to do it, saying Doctor I gave you an order, your conscience be damned, and Archer does the same to Phlox with Sim, but Janeway takes the tool out of the Doctor's hand and says it's my call, I'll do it. When everyone is angry and mad about her destroying the Caretaker's array, she stands up for her decision and says yes, I did it, because it's what my Starfleet training said to do AND because I think it was the right thing and it's on me to make the hard choices.

She also can admit when she made the wrong decision, which isn't something we see from the other captains. In the season 5 opener, "Night", we see her in a depressive state because she's questioning her decision to effectively strand her crew in the Delta quadrant but she comes out of it when she's reminded by her senior staff that the crew believes in her and trusts her, she should do the same for herself. When the Doctor has a mental crisis in "Latent Image" after questioning his own choice to save the life of Harry Kim over that of another crew member, Janeway admits she did the wrong thing by first deleting his memories of it so he could get back to work and then sits with him for days while he works through it because that's what captains do.

And she does all of this without the backup and support of Starfleet. She doesn't have anyone higher on the chain of command. She's 70,000 miles away from the admiralty and her support system. There's no one higher than her to give her a break from making every decision.

To quote my fellow Missourian Harry Truman, for Janeway the buck stops with her in a way it doesn't for any other captain and she is painfully aware of that and owns that and that is why I love her and she's my captain.

#captain janeway #star trek #this got real long #i'm aware #but janeway is my captain #and i will defend her to my death #because so much of the criticism she gets is because she's a woman #we all know this

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b1ravenclaw · 6 months ago

Note

Azriel has a mate and when he starts spending time with Elain. She becomes distant.

She sees the almost kiss with Rhys and she leaves and Rhys doesn’t say anything for her.

She eventually comes back and is in “fuck him. I’m a bad bitch” era and Azriel has to grovel hard cause she isn’t taking any shit.

You can end it however you want.

Relief

note: I hope I did it justice :)

warnings: unedited, angst

The almost kiss was just the cherry on top of the fucking cake.

It started slow, of course, but it went at a slow steady pace. Always there to nag at my insides, something so silly and small I could not complain, really. So what if he was befriending the High Lady’s sister, it was expected she made some friends considering her abrupt start at fae life. What was not expected was Azriel would altogether stop making time for you. His mate. His fucking mate.

The lingering glances he once shared with you were now hers, his attention once solely yours was now solely hers. And you did not want to believe, when you clinged to hope on those cold nights alone that he may only be distracted because of his harsh work. You supposed he avoided your touch because his insecurities of not being enough may have crawled and found its way inside him again.

But, alas, it was not it. It was just her. Fucking Elain, and she was not to blame. He was. How could he neglect his mate? His other half. How could he be so vile and cruel, not only to you, but to himself as well. He did not expect you to forgive him, did he? Or to never find out?

You did not know what was worse. That, until you saw the look on Rhysand’s face, when his violet eyes left anger daggers at Azriel, to you they only emanated pity. Pure pathetic pity. His mouth opened and closed a few times, the High Lord of Night at a loss of words, congratu-fucking-lations Azriel.

The walk to your room was shameful, glamouring yourself as to not be seen by no one, not wanting to wait for him, to hear what Rhys had in store for him. You just wanted to go away, your things were quick to be packed, and Kallias and Vivienne were not alarmed to see you at their palace doors unannounced. However they were alarmed by the sad glimmer in your eyes, tears refusing to be dropped and, instead, freezing. Your lashes starting to become white with the cold.

“Oh Dear.” Was all Vivienne, your cousin, said. Your only family member alive. The family you would have now that Azriel fucked everything up. Your hopes of having a family crushed right before you, and you let it happen. Had you fighted him would it have changed anything? Would his interest in Elain have died down or grown further more? You felt your heart growing colder. Vivienne had asked if you wanted company sleeping tonight, but you refused. You did not want her to see how much you could cry about it, and when you thought it was over you felt it. Over the bond you felt it, his feelings, and it wasn’t remorse, it wasn’t sadness or even anger. He felt nothing, almost as if he was feeling contemptment. As if he was fucking relieved you left.

You cried until sunrise, shame sent you to sleep and hunger woke you up the next morning.

Your stomach was empty and growling, and you were in desperate need of a shower. But the first thing you did that morning was neither bathe or eat. You looked in the mirror at your disheveled image, at your red puffy eyes you focused on your feeling of emptiness and hopelessness and sent that perfectly destroyed image down the golden thread connecting you to the winged male, and closed it. You looked your heart and mind at seven keys, never to be opened again, never to be toyed with.

That morning after bathing and brushing your long hair you cut it at shoulder length, you found your best dress, one that had a high detailed neckline and went past your feet.

“Y/n.” Said Kallias, surprised, “Good morrow.”

“Good morrow, my lord.” You said with a courtesy. “My lady.”

“Y/n, your hair… it’s different.”

“And so am I, I thought it would be fitting. Don’t you?”

“Of course.” Her voice was soft, as if she was scared if she spoke too strongly you would break. But you could not be broken, not anymore.

“I was…”

“You don’t need to say what happened if you do not wish to y/n, you are always welcome at our home. Your home.” Kallias said, ever the High Lord.

“Thank you, Kallias. But I wish to, just to clear things up. As I suppose they will want to contact me.”

“Rhysand may have sent word, as well as your mate.”

“I would appreciate it if you called him by his name, as he is no longer my mate.” They both inhaled sharply, the food at the table left untouched. “I supposed I saw it coming, he… Well, he took interest in another female. It has been quite sometime. The final straw was, well, his lack of respect for me and self control.”

“Oh, y/n.” Vivienne was at my side, but it was Kallias voice that made my heart warm.

“Do you want me to end him?”

“As much as I would appreciate it, I know it would not be good, politically speaking.”

“We can find our way around it.” “I’m sure you can. But… part of me wants him to live with it, see if he will suffer even if it’s a little.”

“Your call, Vivienne’ family is my family. You know it.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

It was a week later the day you left, that Rhysand’s letter arrived. It was sealed and it smelled of the home you once cared for, one you did not wish to be in anymore.

Dear y/n,

I can not begin to imagine how you are feeling, I am writing to you to make sure you are safe and well, as well as one can be in your situation. Kallias sent word you are with him and Vivienne, but alas please tell me if you need anything I can help with.

We all miss you dearly, unfortunately word got out faster than I could contain, we are all mad at him, and I forbade him to contact you.

He would like to speak to you, but you owe him nothing.

I hope to see you soon.

Your dear friend, High Lord of Night, Rhysand.

You answered the letter a few days later, letting him know Azriel was not to contact you, or else he would die. You didn’t think they believed it, you could never kill Azriel, even now. It was a month after that you saw Feyre and Rhysand, and how you missed them. All of them, they were your family once too and as if sensing your insecurity Feyre whispered in your ear as she left that you were still family, and as much as you would like to believe it, you knew they would never turn on Azriel.

Eight months later you felt strong enough to return to the night court, Vivienne and Kallias held you as much as possible, but when you were strongly inclined to retrieve the rest of your belongings yourself they hugged you goodbye. And when the inevitable happened, when you crossed his path despite Rhysand telling you he made sure Azriel had left before you arrived. When you looked into his almond eyes, that once gave you immense joy, you felt nothing, almost contempt. You felt relieved, that he could not affect you anymore, would not affect you anymore.

“My love…” “Azriel, it’s Y/n to you. Or Winter Court emissary.”

“Y/n, please, don’t do this, let’s talk.”

“I will do as I please, Spymaster. Just like you did all those months ago.”

“I made a mistake.”

“And I hope it was worth, I hope you at least got to fuck her.”

“I didn’t. I lo-”

“Oh, that’s a shame. So you did really throw it all away, over what? A silly kiss? It truly is pathetic, Azriel.”

“Y/n, I should never have allowed myself to be lured away from my mate, I see that now.” “Lured away?” You scoffed, you could hear heavy footsteps approaching the room, probably Cassian’s. But you did not care for it. “Is that what you call it? Did she poison you?” “No?”

“Did she give you a love potion?”

“No, she didn’t.” “Did she enchant you with a spell?”

“No, and it does not matter, I shouldn’t-” “Then you were not lured Spymaster, maybe by your own lust and desire, but it was nothing you were physically weak against. She did not force you. You chose to betray me the moment you chose to spend time with her over me. “

“And I am so sorry.” His voice was broken, but you couldn't care less. You wished for him to hurt. “As you should be, and I hope Elain ends up being happier with Lucien than I ever was with you.” And as he tried to call you, tried to tug at the bond you once cherished with all your heart, it was much too easy to drown it all out, to distract yourself catching up with his family, your friends. You slept peacefully, the weight lifted off of your shoulders. The next morning it was much easier to put on the Winter Court colors and behold the tasks ahead of you, to serve your new High Lord. Your new court.

#azriel x reader #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #angst #azriel angst #elain archeron #winter court

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cillivnz · 1 year ago

Text

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑨𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻

[𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪]

PAIRING — PRIEST!NANAMI KENTO x NUN!READER

SYNOPSIS — you shift across continents hoping to leave all behind that drifted you apart from the Lord, only to catch the sole reason of your departure waiting for you patiently, with a rosary in one hand and his cock in the other.

WORD COUNT — 2878

WARNINGS — NSFW. MODERN AU. OOC!KENTO (kinda). RELIGIOUS IMAGERY, THEMES & RELIGION IN GENERAL. BLASPHEMY, sacrilege, impure thoughts, cursing, sins & sinning, sex in a church, indecent use of the confessional, DUBCON. oral (m! receiving), fingering, clit-play, biting, nipple/breast-play, unprotected and penetrative sex (p! in v!), overstimulation, against a wall (?), voyeurism, degrading. NANAMI HAS A GOD COMPLEX. there is repetitive mentions of religious themes throughout the smut, from praying to other things.

A/N — GOOD GOD. i’m asking you all for forgiveness, but i needed to do this. i intended it for leon kennedy but something in me snapped and i changed it to a nanami kento fiction, WHICH IS WHY THERE IS MENTION OF A CHRIS REDFIELD, i was too lazy to change it and also i didn’t want to incorporate too much from the JJKverse, so we’ll just leave Redfield at that.

i am NOT anti-religion, this is a common fantasy and i just wished to try my hand at this sinister trope. please refer to the warnings and DO NOT PROCEED if anything mentioned makes you uncomfortable. apologies in advance for any inaccurate detail written. not proofread.

art credits — unknown [pinterest]

LISTENING TO: ‘THE SACRAMENT’ — HIM

[therefore the title].

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘, but you knew the Lord only wanted what was best for you, and so a new chapter in your life had begun.

A woman above materialism, you leave with only your bible and habit, but of course, you carried the last memory of your past life— a photograph your Sisters took of you and Father Redfield from your hometown, the church you had sworn celibacy to, near the Arklay Mountains.

You loved Chris— Father Redfield, the way you’d love the angels of the almighty, but at times this love prevented you from preaching, causing you to often ponder on your style of living, and the fact that doubt settled in your god-driven mind became the primary reason why you decided to move away, all the way to Tokyo.

Your feelings for Father Redfield made you question your vows to chastity, and you knew at once you needed to get away. So, you left the mountainous foliage at once and settled for the noisy city.

Upon arriving, you were welcomed by a ‘Sister Nobara”, with a soft face and piercing gaze, but none that lingered.

She walked you through the large and lonely halls of the massive church. The infrastructure of your hometown’s place of worship couldn’t compare to Tokyo’s, perhaps the difference in population was the reason why.

Throughout the walk to the nave, you felt an ominous sense of being watched— no, preyed upon, but you and your naïveté blamed it on your nerves. It worsened while you said your prayers, seeking forgiveness for the note on which you left: that doubt and urgency to succumb to hellish pleasures with the priest that couldn’t even reciprocate a smile back to you.

“Ah, there comes Father Kento,” Sister Nobara interrupted the last of your calls to the Lord, the one where you beseeched to attain enough strength to never succumb to lust. You quickly muttered a, “Amen”, and turned to Nobara. You looked at her for a brief moment, before your gaze followed hers and landed on the most devilishly handsome man you had ever seen.

Hell, you had to leave your home over a man who, now, you realise, isn’t even half as attractive as the man towering over you.

You backed away when the sudden proximity hit you, your subconscious mind immediately associating that eerie feeling in your gut with the presence of this man.

“Hello,” his deep voice broke the silence. “Greetings, Father,” you quickly averted your lingering stare onto the wooden floor. There was a stroke of amusement tainted in his tone, “Sister Nobara tells me you come from the Arklay Mountains.”

“She’s right,” you confirmed, still not eyeing him.

He nodded along, eyes still etched on your face.

“Father, if you could excuse me.” Sister Nobara suddenly spoke, causing you to look up at the departing woman. A “But—” was all you could mutter, before Kento put two-and-two-together and figured you sought out your quarters. “I don’t mind showing you around.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, Father.” You laughed, nervously, obvious to the subtle but definite bite of the Priest’s lower lip at the sound.

“No problem, follow me.”

The walk wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be; it was worse.

You couldn’t help but glance repeatedly at the seemingly older, definitely taller and the most handsome man you had ever dreamt of, and the fact that he hadn’t turned to look at you, nonetheless utter a single word, aggravated you.

He gracefully halted, and you knew you’d reached your quarters.

“There we are,” he announced, opening the door to let you in before him.

“It’s not much but—”

“It’s perfect.” You interrupted him with a warm smile, genuinely pleased with where you were to be stationed. Father Kento seemed pleased with your response, the small smile that broke out gave it away.

You instantly got to settling in, not that you had many things to place. Just your clothes, holy books and—

“Who is that?” Asked Father Kento the minute your hand reached for the framed memory.

“Father Redfield from the Arklay Church.” You spoke in monotone.

“Is he why you left?”

You didn’t have to answer.

The way you clutched the photograph tighter gave Nanami Kento all the answers he needed.

“Confessional is always open.”

“𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍.” The words rang in your ears, floating in the whirlpool of your disturbed mind throughout supper, and the fact that Father Kento was nowhere in sight was no solace. You decided to say, “Fuck it,” in a god-abiding way, and made your way over to the said confessional.

You step inside the wooden booth, steadying your breath you heard movement on the other side.

“Good evening, Sister.”

“I’m glad you obeyed me.” He said, seemingly in nonchalance, but you could picture a cocky smirk on his handsome face.

“Yes, father,” was all you could muster up.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” He said so casually, yet compelling enough to get you to open up.

“You were right, Father Kento,” you sighed.

“It’s Chris—Father Redfield.”

“He’s, uh, the reason why I left.”

“Why would a man of the Lord drive you to that limit, Sister?” You heard that raspy voice of Father Kento’s inquire.

All you could muster up was a sigh. Talking about your feelings was something you’ve always struggled with, never there being a crucial need to do so, to redeem, like tonight.

“Because I would find myself thinking about him.”

“In what way?” Father Kento asked almost immediately, not wasting a breath.

“In impurity, lust, and love.”

The sigh on the other wooden end of the booth was almost unheard by you. “Describe them.” Father Kento broke the silence after a moment of halting. “W-what?”

“Describe your thoughts. What did you want to do with him?” You heard fiddling, but chose to ignore it.

“I would— would think about him and I, romantically. If and how things would’ve been different had we not chosen this life. Then, it was natural for excitement to settle in when he’d gently brush past me,” you oddly found yourself at ease, tranquil and nostalgic as you reminisce over the past.

“What about lust?” He interrupted in a tight voice.

“Uh,”

“I thought of his large, aged and veiny hands: grabbin—grabbing me, groping my… breasts…”

The ruffling on the other side silenced you, and when Father Kento noticed, he spoke in a stern tone, “Sister,”

“I need you to let it all out.”

So, you took a deep breath, and did exactly that.

You tell the priest how badly you’d grown accustomed to that ache between your thighs, how damp you would feel while merely observing the older man casually interact with the churchgoers; the tinge of bitterness that coursed through your veins, replacing the electricity that he’d often ignite, but now that you see him caressing the arm of another woman, much like the way he’d do to you, you’d find yourself unravelled in the sin of envy.

“I would find myself wanting to start a family with Father Redfield— by any means necessary. I would’ve wanted nothing more than to feel him inside me, carry his load inside me each night, sleeping in the warmth of his arms while his cum leaks out of me, still puffy and sore but in the need of more—”

You heard him groan.

He fucking groaned.

Your sinful ramblings would’ve persisted had the feeling in your gut not begged for you to shut the fuck up that very instance.

“Tell me, Sister,”

“Was it Father Redfield you felt such vulgarity for, or perhaps, just the thought of a superior— One with the Lord— indulging in you?”

You were speechless. Surely there was no insinuation in his sultry tone, right?

“I— I don’t know, Father.” You cleared your throat, thighs involuntarily rubbing together. You raised your palm to bite the back of it, softly, but enough to distract you. A habit you thought you had rid yourself of, but it still lingers.

“Oh, I think you do.”

Before you could deny the blatant accusation, your eyes land on Father Kento through the open wooden network.

You had now realised that this was the first time throughout your confession that you looked up— at him, and the sight awaiting you had caused you to clutch your rosary and gasp the first profanities you’ve dared to say in decades.

Father Kento sat on a ruby, velvet sofa, while his robe lifted up to his stomach. The first thing your eyes trail to is the smug, sinister look on his face, his slicked-back, disheveled hair, his glimmering eyes and pink lips. Then, his broad neck lacking the amice that is supposed to adorn it. Between his thick thighs, stood tall and angry the most vicious thing you’ve seen.

What made it worse was that he had a hand wrapped around the leaking tip, and in that very hand, was his rosary.

“Like what you see, Sister?” He called you out, and you immediately averted your gaze.

You looked to the ceiling, folding your hands and dropping to your knees.

“No, none of that.” Father Kento ‘tsk’ed at the sound of your prayers, making his way over to your side of the confessional.

“As pretty as you look while begging for mercy,”

“ 𝑰 ’𝑴 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑮𝑶𝑫 𝑵𝑶𝑾. ”

He grabbed ahold of your joined hands, opening them just enough to wrap them around the girth of his cock.

“Pray,” he said, squeezing your cheeks together. When your mouth forcefully opened, he shoved his tip past your plump lips, and you instinctively allowed more inside.

“Good girl.” He groaned, motioning your hands back in forth on his cum-slick cock.

Blasphemy coursed through your blood and all thoughts and prayers left your mind, and you twirled your tongue around his cruel tip.

He growled, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” pushing back your veil and bandeau to let your hair out and grip it.

“Oh, you have no idea what a punishment the past few hours had been,”

“I’d been doing so good. ‘So good,” his voice was weak yet hoarse; he damn near lost his mind when he hit the back of your throat, biting back a whimper.

“I was on the path to salvation, but you,”

“You just had to show up and send me spiralling to hell.”

He plunged into your tight throat one last time, savouring the sight of your hollowed cheeks and plump lips wrapped around his shaft. You bat your long, thick lashes at him and his heart skips a beat when he looks into those doe eyes of yours.

“Get up,” he yanks you up by the arm.

“Strip.”

You were hesitant while bidding farewell to your attire, but there was unknown fervency in your movements.

Once bare, you couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“This is so wrong—”

“—But do you want it?” He asked, his was was stern and soft, his recollected breath made his velvety voice return.

“More than anything I’ve ever known.” You answered in all honesty; only truth came out of you in the home of the Lord.

There was a soft smirk on Father Kento’s face that widened into a genuine smile upon hearing your words. “Come here, then.” He motioned for you close the eternal gap between the two of you, and you nearly leaped into his arms, the distance growing unbearable.

Kissing you, tasting himself on you, Father Kento spoke in between kisses, “I don’t want a fucking word out of you, okay? You’re going to take cock quietly.”

“We want this to stay between us and God, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him corner you against the wooden box.

His eyes darted up to yours and then trailed down to your body. His frustration aggravated at the sight of you, and the fact that you’re the Lord— his master’s forbidden fruit heightens his senses with carnal instincts, making the Goddess in front of him even more insatiable.

“You know I’d have taken my time with you, right?” He nods, enchanting your dumb and dazed state to follow him.

“But you understand how badly I need to be inside you?” You nod, you need it, too.

“And you’ve sworn in celibacy?” He quirks an eyebrow, but the minute you felt the slightest touch of his fingertips along your velvety folds, you forgot all your vows at once.

“Answer me.” His voice carried a trace of humour, but stoic nonetheless, finding your clit and pressing his thumb onto it.

“Y-yes. Yes.” You bit down on your lip and the priest nearly lost it then and there. His free hand meets your face and tucks the pillowy lip out of your teeth’s grasp, stroking it back and forth.

His hand left your cunt, earning pathetic whimpers from you. It went back to his cock, jerking it a few times, leaving you mesmerised, before he gathered the slick that leaked out of the tip and smeared it onto your pussy.

“Prepping you.” He simply grunted, easing one finger into your tight hole. Your walls show hospitality and gladly accept the digit curling inside them.

You were a virgin, but masturbation wasn’t foreign to you.

“More,” you ached, and he obliged.

By the end of your aching heat, you had (barely) accustomed two of his long, slender yet thick fingers. The fervent circles of his thumb on your clit were torturous.

On the brink of your orgasm, spiralling into ecstasy, Father Kento pulled you out. Like a sinister saviour, he pulled you out of enlightenment.

“No! Please— Why?” You blabbered bullshit, too fucked out to care about anything but release.

“I told you I need to be inside you.” His voice was hoarse, the lust evident in his tone.

Watching you right on the edge of unravelling had him throbbing and twitching.

“I need to feel that tight cunt.” He was damn near hyperventilating. “Baby, I’ll go crazy.” He chokes out a sob when you grab his cock by the angry tip and align it with your hole.

He smiled at you, causing you to clench.

How was this blonde bastard so handsome?

Lifting you up with sheer ease, he let your legs wrap around his waist, your arms crossing over his neck, and his dick plunging into you, inch by inch.

You thanked God the tiny booth was tall, so you had enough space to let your head fall back without it touching the ceiling, courtesy of the man balls deep inside you, standing at 6’0.

The snug fit knocked the air out of both of you. Tears ran down your flushed cheeks like a hot spring, the passion with which he embraced you, devouring your warmth against the cold wood set every cell in your body ablaze.

“You’re so fucking— tight. ‘Hot, tight pussy squeezing so nicely around my cock.” Father Kento began pounding into you. Your legs had began to tremble already, but your vicelike grip on his waist and broad shoulders didn’t falter.

His fat cock fucked into you with desperation, the carnality of being wanted so much, so sinisterly by a man who had sworn chastity makes your soul quiver.

You’ll need to make one hell of an apology to the Lord.

As if reading your mind, the blonde priest spoke in a hoarse voice, “Pray.”

“For your sake and mine, you better fucking pray.”

So, you join your hands and close your eyes, bring Father Kento’s face closer to your chest. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of your soft breasts embracing his face like the pillowy clouds of heaven he’d never see.

With every thrust, your would slide up the wall, cunt gushing along his length. You said your prayers silently but couldn’t help letting out wanton cries when the tip of his cock would hit a certain spot inside you, and hit it repeatedly.

You were too far gone to hear him say, “Put it in my mouth,” not knowing what he referred to, until he hit the flesh right above your breast. You struggled to let go of his neck, but grabbed the supple flesh and lead it to his ravenous mouth, like a lamb being led to slaughter.

His hot mouth on your nipple; tugging, licking, circling, and nibbling. His cock inside you, fucking you at godspeed. Two of his fingers on your clit, rubbing maniacally; all had you coming undone in seconds.

“Oh, Kento!” You moaned pornographically, driving him to the point of release and insanity when the rhythmic contractions of your cunt pulsated around his twitching cock, and in mere seconds, Father Kento buried his seed deep inside you.

“Good god.” He groaned, parting with your nipple with a ‘pop’ and overstimulating you with slow, deep thrusts; his fingers never once leaving your clit.

“That—”

“—Needs another confession altogether.”

And so every night you’d find yourself cornered up in the confessional, apologising for same mistake you’ve been making every night, with the man whose forgiveness you beg for, on your knees, and repentance he delivers with a rosary in one hand and his cock in the other.

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