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lalunanymph · 5 months ago

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𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏: 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇

after a scandal that rocks the entire nation, itadori 'ryomen' sukuna is forced to marry a girl chosen by his brother in order to straighten him out. but, what jin doesn't expect is how much he's willing to destroy everything he knows just to get his freedom back—even at the expense of breaking his wife's soul.

warnings: misogyny, talks of ageism, unrequited love, dubious cheating, gaslighting, mentions of a/nal, e/xplicit smut, mentions of w/eed, mentions of a/lcohol, substance a/buse, toxic family dynamics, class differences, sukuna is anti-noveau riche, sukuna is a walking red flag, jin itadori supremacy, hiromi and nanami duke it out in court, exposition, mentions of a m/urder, negligence, court cases, MDNI

masterlist | playlist

Treading the world of marriage as a woman past her prime in a judgemental upper class society was a dance that left you exhausted and skittish; wishing you could put an end to its haunting melody.

As you were ticking fast past the rotten age of twenty-seven, your family’s empire hung by a thread as nervous investors and stakeholders started to ask the golden question: When will your only daughter get married, Jiro?

Suitors knocked on your door, only to be turned away by your snobbish mother and your equally weak-kneed father who tried to appease her. None of them good enough for you; handsome enough for you or rich enough to grow your family’s vaults.

That was until Itadori Jin reached out to your family with an offer your father could not refuse.

His older twin brother, Itadori Sukuna, has just been released from an investigation and needed a bride to save the family name.

They wanted to paint him in a good light to the press: partying bad boy turned a charming, married man who was now working towards building a family with another girl of his standing.

And, that was when you came into the picture.

The first time you saw Itadori “Ryomen” Sukuna was a moment you would never forget.

The tattoos swirling around his face should’ve given you pause; made you backtrack on the idea of marriage to the Itadori house the second it left your father’s lips—especially when it came to a man like him.

In his neatly pressed white button-down which strained over his (admittedly) impressive pecs, and pair of expensive Bottega slacks, he would’ve been the picture of sophisticated upper class if it weren’t for the tribal lines on his face and arms—the sight almost making you high tail it out of the cafe you were both seated in.

It was the first time you were meeting him without your parents to chaperone. Bodyguards stood by the doors, stationed close by in case the press got too nosy.

With this being the first time you were talking to him without your mother lingering in the background, you were free to eye him up and down, unsure of what to make of the disdain setting his mouth into a hard line.

He was different from the men you had encountered before. Tall in an imposing way and with his shock of pink hair, you could spot him from a mile away in the middle of a crowded room. Sukuna carried himself with an air of princely cruelty, often staring down the line of his nose; astride the white stead of his borned privilege and high position in society.

But, the one thing that stood out were his eyes.

The warmest brown dissolved into a shade of vermillion which shone blood-red under different lights.

You couldn’t quite keep your eyes off them or stare at them for too long, and you sensed rather than knew how much he enjoyed your discomfort.

He swivels his coffee, spilling some down the pristine white cup. Somewhere behind him, a guard stifles a yawn.

“So… what do you like to do for fun?”

You sit up straighter, practiced to perfection with your reply. “I love watching horse races, Itadori-san. On some days, I prefer pottery and painting. I’ve always wanted to open my own art gallery.”

He glances at his nails, looking almost bored. “And why didn’t you open your own gallery?”

It’s a cordial question at best, but you bristle as if he had just mocked your interests.

“I… don’t have the time,” you mutter meekly.

He looks up at you, and you think he might finally unleash the scathing remark he’s been holding back for the last few minutes.

“What does a prissy girl like you know about not having time? I thought you thrived on wasting your life away with hot pilates classes and private-jetting to islands?”

You bite back your fuming reply, masking your discomfort with a bright smile. “Itadori-san, you judge me so harshly. I only attend one hot pilates class per week.”

What you hoped was a light-hearted reply dissolves into a sour note when he sighs and sits back, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, sweetheart. I know this can’t be easy on you, too, but you don’t know what’s at stake here.” Sukuna leans forward, invading your space with the spicy sweetness of his cologne. “I have a reputation to change and you have daddy’s money to keep. We’re both each other’s salvation from the shit our family put us through so I need you to work with me here.”

You frown, unsure of what he was trying to get at. “But, I am trying to work with you. I’m here on this date, aren’t I?”

“You gotta look decent,” he doesn’t beat around the bush. Gesturing to your modest midi floral dress and neutral beige Mary Janes, the look of disgust on his face breaks something in your chest. “You’re dressed like a goddamn Mormon college girl. For someone very rich, you sure don’t have taste.”

Offended, you stared at him, unable to fathom what he had just said—how he had just insulted you unprompted and in broad daylight.

But, Sukuna doesn't give you time to revel in his words. He grabs a cigarette from his pocket, ignores your wrinkling nose as he smokes openly in this establishment. The waiters don’t dare to cross him, pretending the smell of tobacco doesn’t faze them.

You, however, were finding it harder to mask your disgust. For the sake of your mother’s excitement at finding you a suitable match, you tried to tame down the anger frothing in your veins, slapping on a sweet, yet sardonic smile.

“And what is your definition of ‘taste’, Itadori-san?”

He peers at you over the veil of smoke, taking his time to piece together his reply. “Plunging necklines. Satin. Bows. Thinner heels. I need a mature woman by my side, not some plain old maid playing dress up as a prepubescent girl.”

His words stung, and you leaned back, suddenly feeling too small. The cafe lights felt like a pair of microscopic lenses studying your every move, highlighting your discomfort and sudden unease. Your skin flashed hot and cold, the anger cresting and ebbing. Whenever you were upset, you didn’t lash out or cry, preferring to fall silent until the storm passed.

Despite a tiny voice in the back of your mind telling you it would be useless to try, you attempted another shot at winning his validation; hoping Sukuna would bestow it unto you readily and without mockery.

“Then, why don’t you come and shop with me? I’m sure a man of your taste would help my image.”

He stares at you for a long moment, unblinking. You’re reminded of a snake—its tongue scenting the air to determine whether to strike, unlidded eyes locking onto its target.

Sukuna thaws, tapping off the excess ash onto the floor. You try not to cringe at how the poor waiters would have to sweep all of that up once he had left.

“Fine. I’ll help,” he says like it's the biggest feat in his life to perform. “But, on one condition.”

Eager, you nod, not wanting to turn him off or jeopardize a moment with such a handsome man who wouldn’t look twice at you if it weren’t for your last name.

“We push the wedding back by a month.”

Flashback: One week ago

Tensions were running high in the courtroom.

Rows of judges and the impassive jury hollows out in shades of gray, fading into the white buzz of his mind as Sukuna glances at his brother’s ashen face. Outside, the hungry press waits, sharks roaming in deathly waters waiting for the first drop of blood.

Itadori Jin clenches his pen in his white-knuckled grip. Their defense attorney, Hiromi Higuruma leans close to him, whispering something under his breath.

Sukuna can’t hear him from his vantage point on the testimonial seat, but he can venture a guess when his younger twin nods, pushing his glasses up the sweaty bridge of his nose.

“Higuruma-san, please take the floor,” the judge intones, allowing for their docketed defense to play out.

The ruthless, cold lawyer clears his throat, and stands.

He turns to face the jury, those soulless eyes sparking with a passion Sukuna has never seen before in all his twenty eight years of knowing the old lawyer.

“Your honor—Judge Itachi. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. How many of us have often mistaken goodwill for evil? We don’t bite the hand that feeds us and yet, we have every right to question when something isn’t as sanctimonious as it seems.” He turns his dark gaze to the rows of people.

“Itadori Sukuna has devoted half of his life to the bolstering of young athletes. Football is one of his biggest passions and he often pays meticulous attention to the facilities that nurture the talent of our future sportsmen. The sole person to be blamed for the murder of young Masamichi Ryota isn’t the man sitting on that podium—it’s to be found in the coach who pushed him beyond his capabilities and forced him to play even with a ruptured spleen—”

“Objection, your honor.” Nanami Kento, an unctuous piece of shit in a neatly-pressed suit who thrives on taking cases pro-bono to bolster his spotless reputation, stands. He adjusts his tie, looking at the plaintiff’s family—the coach’s great mustache trembling as he holds back his anger.

“The post-mortem report submitted shows that Coach Tanaka has explicitly asked for a leave of rest for the star player. But, the rejection letter—traced from Itadori Sukuna’s hand, I might add—explicitly denied that request on grounds of the millions of yen he has betted on that poor boy’s success.”

The crowd moves, a great sea snake whispering, scales rustling. Unsure of whether to attack or stand down.

“Your Honor, that is a stretch,” Hiromi drones. “The young man was known to have a history of smoking and a regrettable habit of shooting ecstasy. A fact, we found out later on, that was unearthed in the same autopsy reports you had just shared, Nanami-san.”

This time, the two attorneys stare each other down.

Sukuna fights back a smirk at the blonde man’s narrowed eyes. Beside him, Tanaka, the coach, hangs his head.

“While his death is very regrettable and a horror to his family and loved ones, Masamichi was not known for reigning in his… impulses. He has a weak will and a fondness for abusing substances.”

“Objection,” Nanami raised his voice. “Defaming the deceased’s name is a violation of—”

“Order, order,” Judge Itachi bangs his gavel, shaking his jowls as he glares down from the stand. The room quietens. Nanami takes a deep breath while Hiromi glances at his watch.

“Nanami-san, the Defamation Act 2013 does not apply to this situation as Masamichi is not a minor. A lawyer of your caliber should know this.” Nodding towards Higuruma, he says, “Continue.”

This time, Sukuna can’t help the chuckle slipping from his mouth.

Hearing him, Jin shakes his head with a glare, hazel eyes drilling Now’s not the time, asshole deep into his skull.

Higuruma, having heard his slip, also narrows his eyes.

Nanami uses this moment to pounce on Sukuna’s perceived indifference.

“He openly mocks the death of one of Japan’s brightest football stars, and yet, we’re supposed to believe in his goodwill? If you were to speak of my client’s dead prodigy, you should take into account what kind of man Itadori Sukuna truly is.”

Commanding the floor, the sharply-dressed blonde man takes center stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Judge and jury. Itadori Sukuna hails from an affluent family, but do not let that distract you from how he uses his position in society to silence those lower than him.” Looking straight into Sukuna’s eye with that infuriating, righteous stare these bootlickers always had, Kento seethes.

“He is a drug-addled playboy who spends his time exploiting young talent for his own gain. These young men under his program are little more than betting fodder for him and his other rich friends. Wouldn’t you say that is correct? How many times have we seen him in the news because of his drunk folly? If he were an actor, we would’ve banned him from screens, and yet, because of his standing in society, we commend him for exploiting our sporting talents—and ultimately, playing in the negligence to cause someone’s death.”

Higuruma bristles, not expecting his opponent to pull out his client’s reputation and smear it across the courtroom floors.

“You claim defamation is uncouth, and yet, you’re doing the same thing to my client, Nanami-san—”

“Order,” Judge Itachi bangs his gavel again, this time looking irritated at how this case had turned.

Sukuna suddenly catches sight of a woman from across the room. She’s glaring at him with unabashed hatred, her dark eyes swollen and red-rimmed, lower lip wobbling. Beside her, the man he assumes is her husband wears a stony mask, his gaze locked on the floor, completely still except for the rapid rising and falling of his erratic breaths.

They were both clad in a dress, shirt and slacks that looked like they belonged to the 90s—neat and clean, but shabby in a way that only these lower class scum could pull off if the dress code given to them was business casual.

These must be Ryota’s good-for-nothing power hungry parents who threw him into the harsh pits of Japanese football in hopes of improving their standing in society. How plain and old they look. Sukuna fights back the urge to sneer at them, keeping his expression neutral.

It’s like Jin’s voice is in his ear: Do not misbehave. Do not give them more reason to already hate you. Remember—Jin’s infuriatingly kind eyes were unflinching and serious. They’ve just lost their son. Have some compassion and remorse.

“Attorneys, return to your seat. The jury has already made their decision and I, for one, can vouch for it.”

Sukuna feels his palms going clammy, and suddenly, the idea of investing in sports from Ino’s advice was making his stomach turn.

I’m going to kill that bastard once I’m out of here.

Removing the slip of paper from the white envelope of justice, Judge Itachi clears his throat.

Higuruma sits back down, his viper-like eyes locked on the judge’s face. Trying to predict the outcome.

“The court today has deemed the case Itadori v Japan’s Football League a negligence in duty of care concerning Masamichi Ryota’s untimely death.”

No one is breathing, all attention on the judge with his pockmarked face.

Sukuna is fixated on Jin, whose head is bowed, eyes closed. If this blew up in their faces, a case like this would cause Itadori Enterprises to suffer a major investor fallout.

And once again, the blame of their family’s bad fortune would be on him.

Sukuna swears the last time he was this nervous, he was waiting for Este’s pregnancy test results to come back negative.

It was one time, ‘Kuna! She had tears in her eyes, the stupid white stick clenched in her hand. Can you lay off of me and take responsibility for once in your goddamn life?

He should call her after this—apologize to her. God knows it would be his last fuck before he has to spend half of his life behind bars for the death of some schmuck kid whose name he had already forgotten.

Judge Itachi speaks again, knocking him out of his reverie.

“Therefore, the jury and I have come to the conclusion. In the case of Itadori Itadori-san, we find him—”

The clock ticks. Every lung is constricted—jury, attorneys, a few press members who had managed to bribe their way in. Sukuna recognizes them with their obnoxious yellow press tags; thinks how many of these leeches would get a raise once they broke the scoop on him.

Oh, the irony, he muses. His downfall being their salvation to fighting back against the rising cost of living.

“—not guilty.”

…

Sukuna is unsure if he’s heard it right.

Not guilty.

He doesn’t react immediately, blinking slowly like a fish caught out of water. The oldest son of Itadori Wasuke tries to meet his twin’s eye, but Jin is as shocked as he was, frozen with his laser-sharp focus trailed on the stand—trying to digest this turn of events.

Higuruma is the one who finally breaks the ice, standing and bowing to Judge Itachi. On cue, the rest of the room follows suit, getting to their feet and showing the retreating judge their begrudging respect.

Sukuna bows jerkily, unused to such a humble gesture he had almost forgotten how to do it.

In front of him, the brat’s mother starts to bawl, her husband’s arms coming to wrap around her as they both shuffle out of the courtroom, looking older and grayer than when they had entered.

Sukuna doesn’t have much time to force a lick of sympathy for them, not when this farce of a trial was over and he was late for Ino’s party.

He hops down the stand, ambling easily to his younger brother who was whispering in low tones with their lawyer. A few feet away, Nanami Kento reassures the coach and his family, painting a picture of trying to achieve righteous justice for that good name—a feat Sukuna knew he would never achieve.

After all, the Itadori empire wasn’t built on rainbows on sunshine but pure, hard grit. And a little bit of blood and here and there to get what they want.

Jin looks up, frowns. “Let’s catch the sedan and have a smoke. You and I have a lot to discuss about.”

The way he said it made Sukuna feel like a kid again, about to be chastised for peeing the bed or killing off the pet goldfish.

Higuruma packed up his briefcase of documents, and a pack of bodyguards stationed around the different points of the courtroom swarmed to the middle, shielding the two brothers and their lawyers the second the doors opened and the press descended on them.

Flashing lights went off in a wave of clicks, the vultures with their cameras snapping his humiliation at every angle for their publications; boldly throwing their questions at him without fear now that the great Itadori “Ryomen” Sukuna was knocked down a peg or two.

Itadori-san, can you comment about Masamichi-san’s death at length?

One woman with a silver bob shoved a mic in his face. The guard on his right quickly elbowed her out of the way, throwing his arm up to hide Sukuna’s visage from the bug-like chittering click of these press leeches and their expensive cameras.

Itadori-san, this news must come as a shock. What does this mean for the future of Itadori Enterprise?

Will this affect any future mergers, particularly a rumor circulating about a potential collaboration with Nara Corp?

Itadori-san, do you ever regret investing in football?

A few sport reporters were also seen trying to push their way through the crowd, recorders in hand to glean some golden nuggets for their pathetic column.

Itadori-san, what does your verdict mean for the future of the Japan Football League?

Itadori-san, did you know that Masamichi-san was about to prepare for his university entrance exams? How does his death make you feel?

“No comment,” Higuruma intones, taking Jin and Sukuna both by the elbow to steer them towards their waiting car like they were teenagers again; back when he had to bring the twins straight into Wasuke’s study to discuss their future inheritance.

A fresh-faced rookie Sukuna had never seen before stumbles in front of their entourage, and he’s mortified to see a pink lipstick print on the front of the intern’s tag.

Royale News' first appearance in such a serious case.

“Itadori-san, you’re already approaching the ripe age of thirty," the dim-wit says. “Do you have your eye on a woman who can domesticate you? Can you ever be tamed?”

Amidst the overlapping voices and chaos, that question sticks to Sukuna like sweat on skin during an unbearable summer heat, unsettling him until he sinks into the sedan with Jin beside him and Higuruma on the opposite seat.

The door closes shut, bodyguards standing in front of the heavily tinted side windows to keep the press from clamoring after them.

Once the chaos was left behind on the freeway in a cloud of smoke and ashes, did Jin lean forward to raise the privacy screen. With the driver unable to hear them, his younger twin reaches for his packet of Montecristos, lighting three of them up and passing one to each man.

Higuruma accepts his offer with a nod, while Sukuna grabs the nicotine-laced vice from him with a ferocity that takes his brother aback. He inhales deeply, exhaling rings of smoke which fogs up the car, tasting cherries, cedarwood, tobacco and his freedom.

“Easy, ‘Kuna,” Jin mumbles tersely. Sukuna resists the urge to flip him off.

Instead, he drags his gaze to the lawyer smoking quietly in front of him, smiling sleazily in triumph. “You did a good job, Higuruma. If I were you, I’d ask for a raise.”

The Itadori scion expects his brother to join in the jest meekly, like he always does. Not glare at him with pure vitriol in his eyes, the kind Sukuna had never seen Jin harbor for him.

“You scumbag,” Jin mutters hotly. His brother half expects him to throw a curse word or two with how riled up he was. “You were supposed to dump this stupid hobby. I gave you the money to start a foundation for good press. Not throw it all into some useless human betting ring. Are you an imbecile?”

That was a new insult. Jin rarely ever threw him a good verbal uppercut, and Sukuna must’ve really fucked up to earn this side of his younger twin brother.

He plasters on a sleazy smile, giving his otouto a once over.

“Well, aren’t you a fucking ray of sunshine? You should be glad Higuruma managed to avert the crisis and get me out of it. Or, are you going to piss in these blessings?”

“I would rather you didn’t embroil yourself in such a shit show in the first place.”

Jin sighs, sags into the seat and massages his temple. “One day, Sukuna, you’re going to give me a heart attack and you’ll have to take over oto-san’s company. Then, you will know true responsibility. True suffering.”

Sukuna hums, staring outside at the scenery flying by.

“Neither the company nor its investors would last a day with me at the helm. So, for your sake and mine, I’m going to ask the doctor to keep the life support machine going even if you’re hanging onto your last breath, dear brother.”

“Good luck with that,” Jin refutes with a slight snarl. “I would explicitly mention it in my will to refute your efforts at reviving me.”

“Then, I will rebuke your will.”

“You can’t because I actually have a son to execute it.”

“Yuuji is two. He can’t even hold a pencil.”

Any insult towards his beloved son would never be tolerated by the famed Itadori family man. Jin puffs out his chest, about to berate his older brother, when Higuruma stops them both with a sigh.

“If only your parents could see the both of you now. How disappointed they would be in you, Sukuna.”

Hiromi sucks in a deep breath of the sweet cigar, turning his head and exhaling lightly out of politeness for smoking in his employer’s car.

Despite his hulking muscles and blase attitude, Sukuna can’t help but glower in petulance at any mention of Wasuke and Kasumi’s disappointment in him. Growing up as the black sheep has casted a permanent cloud over him—his best efforts were seen as second tier in comparison with his perfect, golden brother. And Sukuna resents any mention of it.

Their family lawyer continues on, as if he hadn’t made two of them heel to an uneasy stop.

“At your age, you should be taking over Jin’s part. But, your brother is too nice. He took up the burden so you could do what, exactly? Party every night? Sleep with models? Get involved in scandals?”

Hiromi sighs, and Sukuna turns his glare outside the window, unwilling to take such a personal beat down.

“Your mother had hoped you would snap out of your selfish streak. She even thought you would settle down and give her some grandchildren by the time you turned twenty five. But, you had to be pictured… fucking… the mayor’s daughter during a gala. How crude.”

“Stop talking down to me like you’re even at my level, Higuruma.” Sukuna snaps and something in his tone catches the other two men off guard. “You think just because we employ you in our good graces, you have the fucking right—”

“What Hiromi is trying to say is this,” Jin interjects before this could escalate into a full fist fight. “Both of us have come up with the best way for our family to get past this scandal.”

Sukuna has heard this a thousand times before. The Itadori pockets were bottomless when it came to preserving their good name.

“How?” He sneers, dismissive and mildly insulted that the two of them had made a decision for him without his input. “Don’t tell me you’re going to flush out more money to keep the press quiet. We can’t keep using the same strategy over and over again.”

In answer, Hiromi and Jin share a look. Sukuna suddenly feels like the car seat he’s on is about to be pulled from under him.

Wilted ash drips from the tip of his neglected cigar. He tenses, darts his vermillion eyes between his two conspirators and wardens.

“Hiromi and I have come up with a better idea,” Jin begins his pitches like he always does—with a little smile and a sniffle. “The idea is—”

“Marriage,” Hiromi intones, taking one brother aback and the other on a guilt trip.

Jin grimaces. Sukuna stumbles with the words stuttering out like a reckless oil spill.

So, the only thing he could spout was, “M-marriage?! What kind of trickery is this? Jin—” He looks to his otouto, hoping against hope his ears are just fucked up and he didn’t actually hear Hiromi saying the tragic, forbidden ‘M’ word.

“—this has to be a mistake.”

“No, it’s not,” Hiromi steps in to cover Jin’s ass, placing himself at the front to take the bullets of rage that would no doubt rain down on him once the whole plan was laid bare to the older, hot-headed twin.

“We believe that with your souring reputation and increasing questions surrounding your perpetual bachelorhood, settling down with someone would be in the interest of the family business. And of course, your inheritance.”

Hiromi makes sure to dangle the most effective carrot in front of him; that sadistic bastard.

Sukuna seethes—confusion, anger, disappointment and fear coalescing to overtake his first instinct to run. Numbing him with his inaction of thoughts and body.

Hiromi lifts his heavy-bagged eyes, pinning him right to the spot. The knife slices deeper, cutting him from the inside out; hammering in this decision he absolutely had no say in unless he would want to kiss his lavish lifestyle goodbye.

“We need to get you married off by the end of the year.” A death sentence knells right into his chest; Hiromi digs the pain deeper.

“In fact, the sooner, the better.”

Sukuna remembers the very first time he had seen you in your wedding dress.

It was a chance encounter as he passed by a Morinaga boutique in downtown Shibuya; his brother having orchestrated the entire meeting so Sukuna would catch a glance of his future bride trying on her custom-made dress.

With her head bowed, and shoulders bare under the light, the older Itadori twin thought her figure was appeasing and pleasing to the eyes. That is, until she turned around with her naked face and he had to physically stop himself from recoiling.

“Is that her?” he demands, unwilling to believe Jin would sell him out like this. Shades of disgust lines his tone, and he tries not to put his stupid twin in a headlock and break his neck.

Jin notices his reluctance and makes a face. “She’s unlike the girls you whore yourself out to, that’s for sure.”

The more he looks at you, the more Sukuna is starting to think this was a mistake.

“She’s so… boring. Vanilla. Are you sure this is what you think is best for me?”

Since their father passed on and the business went to his younger twin, Sukuna was often painted in their society and by the media as the irresponsible Itadori—the audacious older brother, the partier.

The playboy.

Often having a gaggle of girls at his mercy, he was not exempted from warming beautiful model’s beds, and having flings with other trust fund babes—bad habits his younger brother was desperately trying to get him to shrug off to take on more of the family business mantle.

“You’re almost thirty, ‘Kuna. It’s time to act like it.”

Jin sighs, removes his glasses. The action reminds him so much of their father that Sukuna pauses for a second, blinking away the mirage of that senile, old man.

Sukuna hadn’t noticed just how old his younger brother had gotten.

Dressed in a sleek trench coat costing four times more than a McDonald workers’ monthly salary, Itadori Jin was quiet and unassuming, yet only his twin brother knew that still waters ran the deepest.

An inch shorter than him and with a kid from his old, dead wife, Itadori Jin was the antithesis of Sukuna’s recklessness. Where the older twin was all hulking machismo and a massive ego, his brother was soft-spoken and with a sharp mind that was always one step ahead of his, bringing their father’s company back from the brink of bankruptcy and launching it into international waters from his sheer will.

Sukuna respects the guy, and as much as he wants to rile Jin up and pop a vein on his younger brother’s temple, he tempers down his sarcasm, preferring to roll his eyes.

“Whatever. So, her daddy wants the merger money and you want me to settle down with some ugly chick?”

Jin winces, wishing his brother wasn’t being this curt and lewd.

“Her father wants an heir. And he wants 40% of our shares. That’s a whole different game.”

“He can’t have those.” Sukuna was irresponsible as they came, but even he understood the basic math of divesting half of your company’s assets to a party other than your stipulated stakeholders. “The Nara family already holds 22% of our board and the Ikina’s are up close with 15%. If those vultures take 40, how’re we gonna break even in the next quarter? We’ll be bleeding red if we give into their whims.”

In answer, the corners of his brother’s mouth twitches. “I see you’ve been doing your homework. Impressive.”

They both have stopped in their tracks, standing a little ways on the sidewalk where prying ears couldn’t hear their discussion.

Jin suddenly turns serious. “L/N-san has struck gold with new fintech models. We need to curry his favor if he wants to reduce the patent price for us to move on with Project Armstrong. I hope you understand the gravity of this situation.”

Usually, Sukuna prefers not talking business with his brother in such broad daylight without a drink in hand. But, seeing as how Jin has left him no choice, he relents to this impromptu exchange, feeling more and more like some wild stock being sold in a farm the longer he speaks to his brother.

“And she’s nicknamed the Wisteria Woman because her entire family latches onto fame and power like leeches,” he bristles, catching Jin by surprise.

See? Even a useless ass like him could bother with basic research. And the rumors were nastier than he imagined.

“I already don’t like the sound of that—of her.”

The younger Itadori cocks his head. “Then, I think you should be honest with her if that is how you feel. That this is a business arrangement and nothing else.”

Sukuna flicks a cigarette from his leather coat’s pocket, sticking it between his teeth.

“Say I agree to this plan. What’s in it for me?”

Without a beat of hesitation, Jin replies:

“110% of the profit.”

Sukuna nearly spits out his stick.

The amount yawns before him, looming zeros and zeros staring him in the face.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Jin teases, though there’s tension crinkling in the corner of his eyes.

Switching gears, Sukuna turns mellow; even slaps on a smile. “I see. Interesting.”

“So. Are you on board with this?”

In the distance, he sees your silhouette exiting the bridal shop, bags in hand with your maids or girlfriends following behind. The sunlight does little to bring any depth to your expression or features, but he appreciates that you look semi-decent from his vantage point.

“Fine,” he says, clicking open his vintage Dupont to light the tip of his cigarette. “Count me in.”

He supposes that even with such an embarrassing family background that will drag the Itadori name through the mud, the high stakes more than made up for such a lackluster wife.

His favorite whore sighs right into his shoulder, the smell of his cum, sweat and her expensive perfume strong on her skin.

After ejaculating right onto her tits and smearing it everywhere down her belly, Sukuna was exhausted and in a need for something stronger than nicotine. Rolling over, he picks up a joint Ino had passed to him as congratulations for making it out of that nasty as fuck trial, lighting it up and inhaling with a tremendous sigh.

Este’s lips are right on his shoulder, kissing a path from his deltoid to collarbone. Sukuna wraps a hand in her soft, brown hair, holding her firmly in place as he makes a move like he was about to kiss her; her lips parting and smoke pouring into her waiting mouth, her hitched inhale pulling a cruel smile across his own lips.

She turns her face away, eyes watering and fighting back a coughing fit. “Asshole.”

“An invitation for anal? Gladly, baby.” He turns her onto her belly, peals of laughter muffled by the pillow, strong arms holding her down as he positions her on her hands and knees, joint stuck in between his teeth.

Este turns her face to the side, catching his eye. Mascara smudges around her eyes, her red lipstick feathering at the corners of her impishly smiling mouth.

“What’re you doing, ‘Kuna?”

“Y’know what I’m doing,” he murmurs, cock stirring at her wiggling hips and devilish grin.

“Are you really going to take my ass?”

He sucks in another inhale of the joint, feeling the high slowly unlocking his muscles and turning his brain fuzzy. “Scared? Afraid daddy might find out his daughter is going around offering her virgin hole to any rich man who’s on the marriage market?”

Condescension drips in poisonous tendrils, and she bristles. “Fuck you, ‘Kuna.”

In one swift motion, he’s sheathed inside of her, feeling her walls choke down on his cock. His head tosses back, sweat glistening off the tribal tattoos on his chest, hips drawing back and snapping forward in languid thrusts.

The moon shines strong. Cheap Southern alcohol pumps in his blood, his sweat soaks through her skin and hair, damp skin illuminated by the ember tip of his joint.

“Isn’t that what I’m already doing to you?” He drawls, and her body starts to shake.

“We still—mhm—h-haven’t talked about your m-marriage…”

Her voice fades; cracks on the reality of him no longer sharing a bed with her.

Jesus. Does everyone know about this?

Sukuna doesn’t do anything to comfort her, except for slipping a hand between her legs to rub soft circles on her clit as a flimsy apology.

She keens, white-knuckled grip fisting the soft blankets. Her mediterranean mix shows under the weak light, tan skin stretching over defined back muscles, dark roots growing past the brown dye job she gets done once every two weeks.

In another life, Sukuna thinks he could’ve been in love with her.

Este screams his name as she shatters around him. Sukuna tosses the half-smoked joint back on the side table, not caring if it would catch on something and burn her room down. He’d just fuck her through the flames until she asphyxiates and succumbs to both the lack of oxygen and her orgasm.

She clings onto him, a second layer of skin he wants nothing to do with.

Sukuna pushes her away not so gently, grabbing his joint and snuffing it out with the heel of his palm.

“I gotta go,” he mumbles, reaching for his shirt, pants. She watches as he dresses, still dazed and starry-eyed from her release.

“Are you going back to her? To Y/N?”

Sukuna crinkles his nose, as if the mention of your name was enough to make him lose his appetite. “Don’t be stupid. No. I’m going back to my place for a shower and a nightcap. I’ll see you around.”

Tossing her a nonchalant wave, Sukuna leaves Este’s sheets, knowing that in a few more days, he would be back here again.

That’s the thing he likes about Este Nara—she’s easy. Not just to get in bed, but to get away from. She doesn’t bitch or moan about him being distant and aloof. She takes his cruelty without much flinching, seeing the dangerous man lurking under his tattoos and barely thinking anything of it.

If she even had half a brain to think.

He revs the engine of his Ducati Superleggera, hightails it past her condominium with his helmet buckled haphazardly around his neck; not slowing down, wishing he could leave his problems in the dust being kicked up by his tires.

“What do you mean he’s trying to push the marriage to a month later?” your mother seethes over her coffee, glaring at you.

You shrink from her anger, pushing around a soggy banana with your fork tines. “It’s what he told me,” you argue back weakly. “What was I going to say?”

“What about actually standing up for yourself and doing what is best for our agreement?”

She arches a perfectly groomed brow, waiting for you to respond. You cast a despairing look to your father who picks up his glass of bourbon, sipping on it while he listlessly scrolls through his iPad.

“Listen to your mother, my little light.”

“I did,” you tried again, willing them both to understand. Bunching your fists over your lap, you take a deep breath, hoping they would listen. “I did everything you asked me to: not interrupt him. Let him talk. Laugh at his jokes. Everything,” you emphasize. “And yet he asked me to consider pushing the marriage back by a few weeks. What else could I say?”

You reiterate your question, growing hotter in the cheeks. Finally understanding why some people could have a heart attack in the middle of dinner when the entire situation was spun around to paint you as a villain when you had tried your best to be as cooperative as you could.

A grimace stretches across her plastic-filled cheeks. People often said your mother could win a beauty pageant on her worst days; rising above other beautiful women with her wit, charm and charisma. Of course, she was also the daughter of a department store king, so the money graciously ‘donated’ to these glittery showcases put her many steps forward compared to other contestants.

“I don’t know where I went wrong in raising you,” she sighs, dramatic as always. “Jiro, please. Can you speak to Itadori Jin-san and tell him what our daughter told us? There is no way his brother can resist this offer.”

Offer. Like you were a cow to be traded in the market.

“Lia, I told you, Itadori Jin-san has no control over Itadori-san. That’s his nii-san. It would be a perversion of authority if he forces Sukana-san’s hand in any way.”

Her expression sours. “Well, isn’t there some way we can orchestrate a reunion, perhaps? A dinner or getaway to officially welcome them to the family?”

You blanch at the idea of seeing Sukuna again, stewing in your mortification and humiliation when he had already made it clear how distasteful he finds you.

You’re about to say you don’t mind going with Sukuna’s timeline when he sets his glass down with a pensive look on his face.

Ten years older than your mother and with a brilliant mind born from the best business school in Tokyo, your father was not a man to be played with; his word was law, and that was how he spearheaded the tech scene at the tender age of twenty-five with nothing but a dream and his gritty determination.

Knowing he had to prove himself to your grandfather—your mother’s father, on his capabilities to build a home and a better life for a woman who already had everything—made you wonder how he did it.

From nobody to somebody. It’s why no matter how he treated you, he would always have your respect.

“A getaway?” Jiro murmurs, an idea darkening his thoughts. “That could be interesting. Very interesting indeed. I’ll make some plans and we’ll play it by ear.”

He went back to scrolling, ignoring his smugly beaming wife.

Pacified that she had gotten what she wanted, your mother turns nurturing once more, cooing and touching your shoulder.

“We should get you a spa treatment and a light makeover before Itadori-san sees you. Do you have something to wear in mind?”

As if you were a doll whose only purpose was to be dressed up, this was the reality you were living in for the past twenty-seven years of your life. If Itadori-san didn’t want to marry you fast enough and get you out of your childhood home, you were sure a swift bullet to the head would be the best alternative.

Plastering on a smile, you ponder for a second on your choice.

“I want to try something new,” you decide. A furrow appears in her brow.

“What do you mean by new, my dear?”

“Something Itadori-san would like,” you try to curry her approval, feeling lighter and happier when her solemn face breaks into a knowing smile.

“He says he loves dresses with satin and plunging necklines. Thinner heels. I think Okuta-san would understand.”

Referring to your personal stylist, your mother nods her approval.

“That’s perfect. I’ll get her to do some digging on some of Itadori-san’s past girlfriends and see what they wore.”

Unruffled by how audacious that statement was, you were truly reminded that this marriage was a cruelty of convenience when her smile deepens.

“I’m proud of you for taking this step, my dear,” your mother’s voice warms, though the implications of them make you freeze.

“You’re finally proving your worth to the L/N family.”

a.n. OKAY WE'RE SO BACK. ive deleted the first chapter due to low interaction and decided to give this series a second chance by starting with y/n's pov !! this series will rely heavily on feedback and reblogs (my adhd ass cant work on something if i and other people dont care for it) or else it'll be scraped and we keep things moving (i sincerely hope u loved this <3)

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, change the sentence structures, translate across any other platforms

#🦢 writes #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna angst #sukuna smut #series: hopelessly devoted

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sxswriter · 1 month ago

Text

Not Safe for Work

Summary: Maybe agreeing to work on a project with Mr. Sylus, CEO of a billionaire company, wasn't the greatest idea you had

WC: 2.4k

CW: Mature content (mdni), fingering, smut

As a fresh graduate, securing a position with Onychinus Corporation’s strategy and business development department was almost a dream come true. Over your first two years with the company, you poured your heart into your work, and your dedication paid off as you consistently delivered impressive results. You quickly rose to become one of the top performers in your department.

So, when the CEO, Mr. Sylus, sought someone from your department to collaborate on a pivotal project for a stakeholders’ meeting, it was no surprise to anyone that your supervisor personally recommended you. This was the breakthrough you had been waiting for—a chance to prove you were ready for a bigger role.

However, your enthusiasm soon began to fade as you encountered the harsh reality of working one-on-one with Mr. Sylus. The infamous rumors about his ruthless reputation proved all too accurate. In the first few weeks, you found yourself increasingly frustrated as he dismissed every idea you proposed without hesitation, dragging you back to square one repeatedly.

Working closely with him, you slowly began to understand the rationale behind his madness. To ensure his company remained a leader in the industry, every decision needed to be calculated and precise–there was no room for mistakes. Although the progress was slow, you quickly learned everything he taught and were able to finally gain his acknowledgment.

As the months passed, another challenge emerged: your growing attraction to him. He was undeniably attractive, and the constant proximity in his office made it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. You still cursed yourself for wearing new heels that one day, which led to a slight stumble and a coffee spill all over his expensive shirt. When you instinctively reached to wipe the stain, you felt his muscles tense as he grasped your wrist, his voice smooth as he reassured you not to worry. But when he turned his back to change into a spare shirt, you couldn’t help but stare, captivated by the way his back muscles flexed. The image would linger in your mind throughout the day.

Or that one time he had asked you to retrieve something from his bookshelf. Even with your heels, you struggled to reach it, your fingertips barely grazing the item. Just then, you felt his warm presence behind you, his body pressing against your back as he effortlessly grabbed the item you were straining for. You turned your head slightly, catching his smirk as he leaned in closer. With a low, teasing whisper, he said, “Whenever you find yourself struggling to reach anything, just call me. I’d be happy to help.” The heat of his breath sent a shiver down your spine that lingered long after he stepped away

Perhaps the most distracting incident came on the day you quickly grabbed a muffin for breakfast at the first-floor bakery. Waking up late left you with only five minutes to meet him outside the conference room for an important meeting. As he asked you to wait before entering, the atmosphere changed as he stood right in front of you. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lips as he gently wiped away the crumbs. “You had something on your lips,” he said, his gaze lingering on your mouth. The warmth of his touch sent a rush of heat through you, and when he held the door open for you, your mind was still reeling. Inside the conference room, you struggled to focus on the meeting as thoughts of that brief, intimate moment consumed you.

You also began to see a different side of Mr. Sylus. Beneath the stern facade of the ruthless CEO, he was surprisingly human. He would occasionally play melodic tunes on the record player in his office, which meant enduring his comically off-key humming. One day, you playfully teased him about how horrible he sounded, and he shot back with a critique of your taste in music, making you laugh. He opened up about mentoring two young men named Luke and Kieran, recognizing their potential and taking them under his wing. He shared his calendar with you, encouraging you to drop by his office whenever he had free time, and gave you his number for any needs that might arise.

As time passed, you couldn’t ignore the feelings developing for him. You tried to rationalize it, convincing yourself it was simply a result of working closely together. But deep down, you knew it was because you saw him for who he truly was, not just the CEO but a passionate, driven man with a vulnerable side.

And you knew it was wrong. You had agreed to take on this project for the opportunity, but now you found yourself distracted. A part of you understood the potential consequences of continuing down this path. After all, he was the CEO—there were more important things on his mind.

That morning, you sat at your desk in the strategy and business department, tapping your nails against the surface as you pondered the best way to distance yourself from him and bow out of the project. After a moment of hesitation, you slowly typed up your email:

Dear Mr. Sylus,

I hope this email finds you well. I want to express my gratitude for the opportunity to work under your leadership for the past few months. Learning from you has truly been an enlightening experience. However, due to personal reasons, I would like to be removed from this project. Although I am saddened to come to this decision, I am confident that many talented individuals within the strategy and business department can pick up where I left off and deliver promising results. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Y/N

With a sigh, you hit send, feeling a mix of relief and dread. You knew this was the right choice for your sanity before you fell in too deep. As you stared at the screen, anxiety churned in your stomach, unsure of how he would respond.

An hour later, you saw his reply:

Stop by my office at 12 PM.

Fuck, well that backfired.

Nervously, you entered his office at the designated time, your heart pounding as you approached him. He leaned against his desk, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with a black pen. The intensity of his gaze made you feel as if you were his prey, walking into a trap.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you managed to say, trying to keep your voice steady.

His gaze was heavy, almost piercing. “You’re avoiding me,” he said, getting straight to the point. “Why?”

“I’m no—“

“Don’t lie to me.” He interrupted, his eyes narrowing slightly, a hint of frustration evident.

What was his deal? you thought, a mix of annoyance and confusion bubbling within you. You straightened your posture, defiance rising. “Mr. Sylus, I am not avoiding you. I just have too much on my plate and can’t balance this project on top of my other responsibilities.”

In a swift movement, Sylus grabbed your wrist, and lifted you, positioning you atop his desk, his legs between yours, you could feel the heat radiating from him. His hands were planted firmly on the desk, one on either side of you, effectively caging you in. As he leaned in slightly forward, the proximity made your heart race, a mixture of frustration and undeniable attraction coursing through you. “I said don’t lie to me.”

You glared at him, pushing against his solid frame, but he didn’t budge. “Sylus, what the hell?!”

Frustration bubbled within you, and you finally relented. “Fine! I…” You started, refusing to meet his gaze. “I’ve developed feelings that shouldn’t exist. As a result, working with you now… feels inappropriate and is starting to affect my work.” The admission hung in the air, heavy and raw, as you fought to keep your voice steady, feeling both vulnerable and exposed.

You pushed against him again, desperate for some distance from him. “Anyway, If you have a problem with me no longer wanting to be around you, you could easily find someone to replace me! I’m pretty sure there’s plenty of employees who would jump at the offer.” Your frustration was mounting, “Now, can you please move?”

Sylus gently cupped your chin, drawing your gaze to his intense eyes. “You seem to misunderstand, so let me clarify: I have no intention of replacing you. Do you know why?” He leaned in closer, the space between your lips almost nonexistent. “Because I adore you.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, and you stammered, “W-what?”

“I’ve been aware of how inappropriate it would be to voice those feelings, so I stayed silent,” he continued, his tone steady and serious. “I didn’t want to put you in a compromising position or make you feel pressured to reciprocate because of our roles. I wanted you to come to your feelings for me in your own time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, shifting everything between you.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. It took your breath away to know that he felt the same way you did. A whirlwind of emotions surged through you—relief, joy, and a lingering frustration. The vulnerability of the moment wrapped around you like a warm embrace, making you feel both exposed and cherished. Your heart swelled, the weight of uncertainty lifting as you realized you weren’t alone in your feelings.

Before Sylus could continue talking, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a sudden, electrifying kiss. He responded instantly, a fire igniting between you, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as much, if not more, than you. He pressed you down until your back was flat against his desk. Kicking your heels off, you wrapped your legs around him, drawing him even closer, determined to eliminate any space that remained between you both.

Leaving your lips, he trailed kisses down your neck, and you couldn’t help the soft, sweet sounds that fell from your lips. The warmth of his touch sent shivers coursing through your body, and the ache inside you deepened. You felt a heat rising within you, the desire for him growing stronger, turning into a palpable longing that was impossible to ignore. He carefully lifted your blouse over your head and removed your bra, his intense gaze fixed on you, a fire burning in his eyes. As you lay exposed, you welcomed the coolness of his desk against your skin, a refreshing contrast to the heat igniting between you.

Your nipples hardened as if yearning for his attention—and who was he to deny them? He took one of your sensitive buds into his mouth, while his fingers skillfully teased and tugged at the other. Your body instinctively leaned into his touch, a silent testament to the effect he had on you. You lifted your hip, signaling the area where you craved him the most.

Lifting himself, he gently pulled your pencil skirt off and underwear, leaving you fully exposed. With one hand planted on the table, the other began teasingly rubbing against your core. He watched as you whimpered in delight, the sounds spilling from your lips were music to his ears. Gently, he inserted one finger into your entrance. He smirked in satisfaction feeling how wet you were. “You’re so eager for me, kitten,” he said while inserting another finger, establishing a slow and steady pace inside you.

He lowered his face to your lips again, sharing a slow kiss while his fingers quickened their speed. “Such a good girl.” He whispered into your ear. Maintaining the steady rhythm he set, you sensed your climax quickly approaching.

Just as you felt yourself about to unravel, a voice you recognized as the receptionist crackled through the speaker: “Mr. Sylus, the consultant company you asked for is on line 1.”

No! you thought desperately.

You were so close.

“Make sure to stay quiet; we wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea,” he said. You were confused by what he meant by that.

It wasn’t until he accepted the call while still working fingers inside you that the realization hit you—he had no intention of stopping. Meeting his gaze, you saw him lift his unoccupied hand and press a finger to his lips, urging you to be quiet

As Sylus engaged in the call, his eyes remained fixed on you. You could see the playful glimmer in his gaze as he entered a third finger, making it hard to contain yourself. You slapped your hand against your lips to stay silent.

“I trust that this is something you can handle,” he said in response to something the man on the line mentioned, but the way he looked at you made it clear the message was for you.

“Thanks for your time Mr. Sylus, I’ll follow up with any updates next week.” The voice on the speaker faded, followed by the sharp click that marked the end of the cell.

“Sy—ahh—,” you whined, your thoughts a jumbled mess, unable to form a coherent sentence as pleasure coursed through you. All you could focus on was the sweet finish ahead and the man who would take you there. Desperate for some stability, you pulled Sylus closer, seeking his warmth as a way to ground yourself. His breath was warm against your skin, making it harder to think straight, but you needed him there, anchoring you in the moment.

When you finally came undone, your eyes rolled back, engulfed by the overwhelming rush that consumed you. You hadn’t expected for it to feel this intense, leaving you breathless.

As you struggled to catch your breath, you watched as Sylus finally removed his fingers, your face was practically burning as you watched him lick the fingers which brought you to an indescribable high.

You noticed him press a button on the phone at his desk.

“Yes, boss?” his receptionist answered.

With a slow, purposeful motion, he unbuckled his belt, his eyes locked onto you with an intense desire. “Cancel the rest of my meetings for today. I have more urgent matters to attend to.”

You gulped as you realized, the fingers he had in you not too long ago were just a small taste of what he had in store for you.

#love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus #sylus x mc #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepsace smut #office au #had to get this out of my system

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animeomegas · 11 months ago

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The Quest for a Second Life - Part 7 - 50 Shades of Audacity (3)

KAKASHI X ALPHA!READER

Summary: The Autumn Company Party. It had been the centre of the storyline for reasons unknown, and now it was upon you. Whatever happened though, this was sure to be your last night in Kakashi's pocket universe, and a difficult decision was right around the corner. At least you had one final attempt to get your dick wet. GN!Dom!Alpha!Reader x Multiple

Word count: 10k

Warnings: N-sfw content, talks of collaring, alcohol consumption, Kakashi's abandonment issues. All alpha have dicks, fyi.

A/N: The final major part is done!!! Gosh, it's been such a journey and it's bittersweet to see it coming to an end. Happy holidays to everyone and I hope you enjoy this final part. @omeganronpa has a tough choice for the epilogue, which will be released on Christmas day :D Direct all arguments, begging and bribery here! May the best omega win! <3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Epilogue

Despite your best attempts, you never did get an explanation of Kakashi’s strange behaviour during that phone call. Kakashi had remained tight-lipped in the face of every strategy you used to weasel the information out of him. You fully believed that, if you had been given the appropriate amount of time, you would have eventually extracted the information, but unfortunately, time had been something of a rarity over the last few weeks.

The Autumn Company Party had approached like a speeding train, and you had been forced against your will to do your job and aid in the planning. You had lost track of how many times the importance of the event had been explained to you at this point, mainly to justify your massive and ever-growing workload.

“Every important investor and stakeholder will be in attendance!” You didn’t care.

“The board of directors will be there!” You really didn’t care.

“This will be your debut as the CEO’s secretary, if you don’t make a good impression, you could be fired and blacklisted!” You especially didn’t care about that one. Don’t threaten people with a good time.

No, the part itself wasn’t something you particularly cared about. It was going to be a boring work party, like every other one you’d attended in your life, that would be partially saved by the fact that you got to be the one to design the menu with the catering company.

No, you cared about whatever the other ‘thing’ at the party would be. This was the climax of the story, and that was putting you on edge. Even James didn’t know what would happen, but she seemed completely convinced that something would.

And so, it was with a weird combination of foreboding, fatigue, and excitement that you were putting together the finishing touches of your outfit, ten minutes before Kakashi was scheduled to pick you up and take you to the party.

It felt weird, standing in a still unfamiliar flat, looking in an unfamiliar mirror, to see a done-up version of yourself that you didn’t recognise. Because really, that had been the only thing you had carried with you from your real life. You had always been you, in body and mind, even as reality melted and reformed around you.

And you still were you, of course, just a version of you that was wearing more expensive clothes, had styled hair, and donned with more jewellery than you normally would. It just made you feel strange.

You straightened, brushing down imaginary creases in your outfit, and pointed at your own reflection accusatorily. “Get over yourself. You’re wearing nice clothes, stop being dramatic.”

There, that should fix it. You were just nervous about the unknown ‘thing’ that would be happening tonight, and it was bleeding into everything else.

Your phone buzzed on your desk, almost certainly a text from Kakashi telling you that he was outside. With one final glance in the mirror, you left the flat, wondering vaguely if you’d be back to see it before the demo ended. If this party was indeed the climax of this story, then you might never return.

You gave the flat a little goodbye wave, just in case.

As you exited the building, the chill of the Autumn wind caught you off guard. You wrapped your arms around yourself, already regretting the decision not to bring a coat, and hurried towards the sleek, black car that was waiting for you.

Kakashi stepped out of the car as you approached and held open the door for you.

You grinned, “What a gentleman, thank you.”

“Of course.” He followed you back into the car and shut the door behind him, leaving you enclosed in the glorious warmth of Kakashi’s heated car and its heated seats. “You look beautiful.”

You knew it was a standard thing to say in a situation like this, but Kakashi just had a way of making compliments sound so genuine. Maybe because he wasn’t the type to keep his negative opinions to himself. Either way, you were flattered.

“Thanks, Kakashi, I appreciate that. And you paying for the outfit, of course.” You took a moment to study him, in turn. He was wearing a well tailored suit like he always was, but to match the celebratory feel, he’d gone for a dark green colour scheme as opposed to his usual monochrome. Although the lighting inside the car was dim, it was easy to see how well the colour suited him. “You’re looking incredibly handsome, yourself. What a pair we make.”

“A very attractive pair indeed,” Kakashi agreed, taking one of your hands in his. He gave it a squeeze, so you gave one back.

Silence fell, and for a moment, you focused on the way Kakashi’s thumb was rubbing on the back of your hand. This was the first time you’d been properly alone for a while now, and you found your mind drifting back to that weird phone call. You decided to ask him about it again now, seeing as he had nowhere to run.

“Kakashi—”

“I—”

You had both started to speak at once.

“Sorry, I didn’t—” You started to apologise.

“No, I’m sorry, what were you going to say?”

“Oh, it was nothing, you go first.”

Kakashi looked like he was going to argue, but he clearly decided against it and said what was on his mind.

“At the party, we can’t behave as we’d normally do at the office,” he said. “Our relationship isn’t compatible with our jobs, and while the people in my office are friendly and mostly discreet, stakeholders and board members have a track record for being less so.”

Kakashi looked guilty, so you gave his hand another squeeze to show that you didn’t hold this against him. It made sense that an important work party wasn’t the right place for making out, but you wondered if he thought that you thought he was ashamed of your relationship or something.

“I understand. Old, rich people are terrible at keeping their noses out of other people’s business.”

“That’s certainly putting it lightly,” Kakashi muttered. He seemed more frustrated that you’d expected for what was objectively a minor issue.

Granted, you had kind of been expecting some kind of action at this party, this being the climax of a porn universe narrative, but you’d live if it turned out that the ‘thing’ was something non-horny. Honestly, you’d be happy if you got through the night without any more spontaneous stripping.

“Hey, it’s only one night, right? We can manage.” Kakashi looked at you consideringly, before a small smile bloomed on his face.

“One night,” he repeated, voice soft. “I can do that.”

“We’re five minutes away, sir.”

You took a deep breath. No matter what this party threw at you, you could handle it!

…

Apparently, what this party was throwing at you was extreme boredom.

Admittedly, it wasn’t an entirely lost cause. The venue was dazzling and incredibly fancy, and you knew you’d never stepped foot in a hotel so expensive before. Walking through the front doors with Kakashi, dressed to perfection… well, it had felt a little like you were royalty. It was incredibly good for the old self-esteem.

Once you had actually entered the party though, it was a whole different story.

While your coworkers were quick to compliment you, which was lovely, it was clear that they were too on edge to be having fun. The music was quiet, which was better for talking and networking, but didn’t exactly encourage dancing. And whenever you did try to speak to new people, they wanted to ask about your professional qualifications and experiences working under Kakashi. The cherry on top of this awful cake was that the only alcohol offered was champagne, which wasn’t your favourite, nor did it numb the boredom of the party very well.

You had barely even seen Kakashi, bar a few quick flashes in passing as he schmoozed his way through the hall like a pro. His serious warning about not behaving like a couple seemed a bit dramatic now, seeing as you hadn’t even had the chance to make eye contact.

‘Are you sure it was just a warning, human?’

You jumped at James’ sudden interjection. You furtively glanced around you to make sure that none of your coworkers had noticed your seemingly out of place reaction. Thankfully, people seemed too busy to care.

‘What do you mean? What else could it have been?’

‘…’

‘James?’

‘Perhaps it was an explanation, human.’

‘An explanation? An explanation for what? Surely that means the same thing as a warning in this context.’

James didn’t respond. How bizarre. You didn’t much care for having a riddle added on top of your evening. Honestly, if it were just a boring party, you would have found someway to have fun, but you knew that some kind of event would be unfolding here, which was putting you on edge. Every second that ticked by completely normally felt like it was building to something big. And James’ riddles weren’t helping assuage the anxiety that sensation was creating.

Between the stress, the lack of alcohol, and the enforced networking, it was an exceptionally mid party, even if it was pretty.

The only saving grace was the buffet table, that you were slowly weaving your way back towards for probably the tenth time that night. This time, you decided to just remain lingering by the food in the hopes that it would stop people from asking questions about a degree you didn’t actually do.

You loaded up your plate was as much as you could and then found an empty section of wall to lean on. You popped one of the mac and cheese balls in your mouth and almost moaned at the flavour sensation that followed. They were heavenly, salty and creamy, and the breadcrumbs around the outside had just the right amount of crispiness. Like everything else on the buffet, it had an impressive depth of flavour. You weren’t ashamed to admit that having access to this catering company was on the pros column for staying in this world.

Consumed in your world of cheesy goodness, you almost didn’t notice when what you thought was a member of waitstaff leant against the wall next to you. He was carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres, and you wondered if he was just taking a break or if you were somehow in his way.

“How are you holding up?” Hearing a familiar voice come from what you thought was a stranger had you doing a double take. You were met with Iruka’s charming grin. He was dressed in a standard black suit that obviously wasn’t tailored the way Kakashi’s were, but somehow, he pulled off the ‘slightly too big’ look with a level of a scampish charm.

What you had originally thought was a tray of hors d’oeuvres was in fact a plate that Iruka had stacked full of shot glasses, each one filled with a mini ramen. As he waited for your response, he grabbed one of the glasses and poured the ramen into his mouth with a satisfied hum.

Ah, you thought, amused, he’d wasted no time finding them.

“As well as can be,” you said, answering his original question. “How about you? Enjoying the food?”

Iruka, who was in the middle of eating a second ramen shot, paused for a second, his ears going slightly red. You snorted, averting your eyes for a second to allow him to finish the ramen shot in peace.

“Thanks,” he muttered, referring to your insistence that the catering team create a ramen hors d’oeuvre. “Makes this ridiculous party worth it.”

“No, thank you,” you countered, referring to his substantial help with the planning and paperwork for this event when your duties got a bit overwhelming. “I couldn’t have got everything finished without your help.”

“Too busy running around with Kakashi?” When you didn’t defend yourself, he rolled his eyes fondly. “You two are menaces. Actually, speaking of Kakashi, shouldn’t you be getting ready with him to go on stage about now?”

“What?” That was the first you’d heard about any obligation to go on stage. If this turned into a cheesy scene where you had to do something ridiculous like sing a duet with Kakashi, you were going to riot, possible retaliations from porn logic be damned. You did not sign up for High School Musical shenanigans. “Why would I have to go on stage?”

“Oh, you don’t know? Sorry, I thought Kakashi would have explained it to you.”

“Okay, fine, but he obviously didn’t, so could you please tell me why I have to go on stage?” Was this what James meant by the big ‘thing’ that would be happening at the Autumn Company Party?

“Of course.” Despite his positive response, Iruka then proceeded to eat another one of his ramen shots, and only after he was done, did he continue with the explanation. “Every year, Kakashi gives a speech around halfway through the party. Normal stuff, just summarising the last year, talking about new projects, thanking all the generation donators and stakeholders. The CIO of the company, Tsunade, stands by him for the speech, and for the first few years, his personal assistant stood behind him too. He hasn’t had one for a while, but now you’re here, you’ll need to stand behind him with Tsunade.”

You squinted your eyes suspiciously. “And I won’t have to speak?”

“Nope,” Iruka said, brightly. “You just have to stand there.”

Huh, that wasn’t so bad. It was slightly annoying that you were being taken away from the buffet table, but you would live.

‘You are being very brave, human.’

‘Thanks, James.’ Again, you had no idea if she didn’t know what the concept of sarcasm was, or she deployed it with skill on a never-before-seen scale. It was definitely either or, but which one, you would never know.

“Wait,” you said, suddenly remembering what Kakashi had told you about your interview with him. “Kakashi used to have a personal assistant? He said he didn’t want one because he worked better alone.”

Iruka hesitated. He looked left, then right, and when he saw that you were as alone as you could be, he leant in close and whispered.

“His old personal assistant is why he didn’t want a new one,” he explained. “At first, it didn’t seem like anything was wrong with him, but it turned out he had been placed there by the board to spy on Kakashi and relay information back. Kakashi fired him as soon as he found out, but he never accepted a personal assistant again, until the board forced him to hold interviews, and he hired you.”

“Seriously?” Iruka nodded, lips tight. “That’s crazy.” You wondered briefly how many of the people you were sitting with in the waiting room were plants from the board.

“We don’t talk about it, but everyone who was working there at the time this went down knows about it. That’s one of the reasons we were so surprised, not only when you were hired, but when you and Kakashi seemed to be having a personal relationship outside of work. I’m surprised he trusted you at all.”

Goodness. You leant against the wall as you considered what Iruka was saying. It was wild to think about how much resistance and betrayal Kakashi had faced from within his own company. You’d bet that they hadn’t been too happy when Kakashi turned 18 and decided he wanted to lead his company, and when they couldn’t take it from him, they kept tabs and put pressure on him as much as possible.

This information also contextualised your interview differently. Kakashi had claimed that he hired you because you were funny. You had theorised that you had awoken his submissive side, this being an erotica and all. And maybe both of those were true to some extent, but you now believed that it was far more likely that Kakashi had decided you were too rowdy, rude, and unprofessional to have been a plant from the board of directors.

It clicked his initial suspicions about your motivations into place, too. He hadn’t trusted your reasons for asking him to dinner, not at first. When you had demanded to spend time with him, you’d bet he was wandering if you were there to spy on him.

“Poor Kakashi…”

Iruka nodded solemnly, and then downed another ramen shot. You scanned the room while he did, hoping to catch Kakashi’s eye, wherever he was. It took you a moment, but then you found him, standing at the base of the stage, standing next to Tsunade. Ah fuck.

“I think I have to go, thanks for keeping me company, Iruka.”

Iruka waved his hand, “Good luck. I can look after your plate for you if you want—”

“No need.” You shoved the last handful of mac and cheese balls into your mouth, dumped the plate on the table, and then chewed furiously as you worked your way to the stage.

“There you are,” Tsunade said, two glasses of champagne in hand. She quickly downed them both and then shoved them into the hands of a poor waiter as he passed by. “Let’s get this over with.”

You tried to catch Kakashi’s eye, but he was too focused on walking to the stage. You and Tsunade followed after him, and you resolved to talk to him after the speech was finished.

Kakashi went up to the mic and you and Tsunade stood at his side, a few paces back. You spotted a few board members in the crowd, and you felt the urge to stick your tongue out at them. You just about managed to resist.

Kakashi used the knife against the champagne glass he was holding, and a sharp ting echoed through the microphone and around the room. The spotlight on the stage turned on, and suddenly you were bathed in a bright, white light. Everyone quieted and turned to face the stage.

The lights were hurting your eyes and making your skin feel hot, but at least your only job was to stand there and look pretty. You were good at that.

“Good evening, everyone,” Kakashi said, sounding effortlessly comfortable speaking in front of so many people. “Thank you all for coming tonight, and I hope you’ve been enjoying yourselves thus far.”

It was weird to hear him speak like this; he sounded very different when you two were alone. That was to be expected, you supposed, but it didn’t make it feel any less jarring.

“I won’t keep you long, but I thought it prudent to take a moment to thank everyone who has made this last year as successful as it was. To our staff, to our stake holders, and to our board members, I say thank you.” He raised his glass in a toast. “We would not have a company without you.”

This was an incredibly boring and generic speech. You had been sure that the ‘thing’ that was supposed to happen would happen now, but all that was happening was you struggling not to fall asleep in front of everyone.

“The past year has been a year of perfecting, of tweaking that which was already in place to make it perfect. Among other things, the building work on the new cafeteria was completed this year, and the debut of our first international branch went smoothly and successfully.”

Ugh, as Kakashi’s personal assistant, you knew all this stuff already. You just wanted to go back to the buffet, was that too much to ask?

“However, following the stage of perfection will always be a stage of change. We must now introduce new projects that will grow and be perfected over time, like the projects that came before them. And there is one major change that will take effect going forward.”

Confused whispers spread across the hall. You noticed a few members of the board looking specifically irritated, and you’d bet that Kakashi had not informed anyone in advance of whatever this big change was.

Even Tsunade was watching him warily from the corner of her eye.

“I’m resigning,” Kakashi announced, paired with his signature eye smile.

The room was silent enough that you could have heard a pin drop.

What?

Chaos erupted. People were shouting questions, making exclamations of disbelief, and loudly assuming this was a prank that wasn’t very funny.

Kakashi ignored the noise and leant back into the mic. “I nominate Tsunade as my successor.”

Tsunade sputtered, “Eh?! Like hell you are, brat!”

He had resigned. Kakashi had resigned as CEO of the company he had been a part of his entire life. James had said that whatever happened at the party would be a direct consequence of how you had acted in this demo. So, presumably, this was your fault, but how?

Our relationship isn’t compatible with our jobs, that’s what he’d said to you in the car. You had thought he was warning you to tone things down for the evening, but James had suggested that it wasn’t a warning, but an explanation. You hadn’t understood what she’d meant, but now you did. He was explaining to you, in his own way, why he was about to resign.

The strange phone call fit, too. He had mentioned thinking about the Autumn Company Party, and whatever was on his mind had made him seek your number for comfort, but he refused to tell what he was thinking about. He was likely thinking about whether he should resign.

While you put the pieces together, the room around you was still very much in a state of chaos. Kakashi, however looked completely calm. He put the microphone back in the stand, handed his champagne and knife to a raging Tsunade, and then turned to you.

You watched as he approached you. You could feel how wide your eyes were. You thought he was going to say something, but he got closer and closer until he was right in your personal space, where he looped an arm around your waist, pulled you tight against him, and kissed you.

He was kissing you. Kakashi was kissing you in front of his whole company. You had kissed Kakashi before, many times, but there was something about this kiss that overshadowed all the others. It took a moment for your brain to catch up to what was happening and remember to how to kiss, but you eventually found your footing.

Your lips and tongues danced together serenely, driving out the chaos of the background noise until you two were the only people that mattered. You could feel and taste the longing pouring out of Kakashi, begging you to understand him and stay by his side. You wound your hands around his neck to reassure him, and in return, he squeezed your waist affectionately.

You were quickly running out of air, but you didn’t want this moment to end.

Regardless of your wishes, however, the kiss did end. As Kakashi pulled away slowly, the bubble burst and the noise from the party came rushing back in. Questions were still being shouted, and while some people were displeased by Kakashi’s display, others cheered.

You felt like you were trapped in a daze. You half expected to topple over when Kakashi let go of you to lean back to the microphone.

“We have paid for the venue until 1am, so please enjoy the rest of the party. Goodnight!”

And with that, he grabbed you by the hand and pulled you through a stage door and out of the party. You let him, still completely stunned at what had just happened.

You walked out of the venue in silence, through a back exit for somewhat obvious reasons, and Kakashi’s car was already waiting for you both. You both slid into the warmth of the car, and the second the seatbelts were on, the car pulled away from the hotel and into the city. The bright lights filtered into the car as you drove, but the outside world had never felt so far away.

“Are you… okay?” Kakashi asked, voice nervous.

You wanted to answer him properly, really you did, but your mouth and brain weren’t quite in agreement yet, so the only thing that came out was, “I was going to fill the Tupperware in my bag with more mac and cheese bites.”

Kakashi blinked at you for a moment, before he sent you nervous smile. “I’ll order you some more, as many as you want, I promise.”

Through your embarrassment at you lacking filter, you nodded, and silence fell in the car again. Unlike the normal, comfortable silence that you shared with Kakashi, the awkwardness was palpable. You wanted to break it, but you didn’t quite know how, after everything that had just happened. When your phone buzzed, you grabbed for it desperately as an escape from the weird silence. It was a text from Kurenai.

‘Sorry for not warning you in advance what Kakashi was planning. I feel pretty guilty now, Asuma too. He says the apology is from him too.’

Right, so some people did know in advance. Honestly, you were a bit annoyed that no one had warned you. You were halfway through writing a slightly snarky text back, when she sent another message.

‘We were planning on telling you, but we had to focus on convincing Kakashi out of his idea to propose to you this evening.’

You immediately forgave them both, deleted the previous message, and instead thanked them profusely for saving you from a very awkward conversation. Oh, Kakashi.

Speaking of Kakashi, he was sitting awkwardly in his seat, staring out the window. His shoulders were incredibly tense. You couldn’t just leave him sitting there.

“So, are you really resigning?”

Kakashi swallowed heavily, “Yes… I was thinking about what you said, about having my own dreams, and I still don’t know what those dreams are yet, but I know they aren’t in that company, not anymore.”

You nodded slowly. Kakashi was watching your reaction like a hawk.

“I’m not going to leave completely, I don’t think I could,” he hastened to add. “I can’t abandon my father’s company completely, but… I need time.”

“I understand, Kakashi, it’s okay.”

“You do?” He sounded so vulnerable and lost. You undid your seatbelt and slid into the middle seat instead, before clicking the belt back on. From there, you were able to wrap your arms around Kakashi.

It was slightly awkward in the car, but you didn’t let that stop you. Kakashi fell into your arms gratefully and braced his head against your shoulder.

“I do, darling. You’ve been working your entire life at that company, Kakashi, you deserve a break. I’m already tired of working, so I can’t imagine how you feel. I’ll support whatever pathway you choose to take.”

Kakashi sagged onto you, breathing harshly and clinging onto you with desperate hands. You shushed him, and gently ran your fingers through his hair.

Poor Kakashi, you thought, holding him tightly. You could tell that he was so incredibly burnt out, but he hadn’t even noticed until someone had forced him to see that other choices existed. And once you had pulled the curtain back and showed him reality, he couldn’t bare to continue the way he had been for even a second longer.

Now that the shock had subsided, you were filled with pride for him. It wasn’t easy to leave something life-defining behind, even if you wanted to. But he had done it, and now you were going to be here to make sure he could handle the emotional backlash.

You pressed a kiss to Kakashi’s gravity-defying hair and gave him an affectionate nuzzle. If you chose this world, and your fictional family became real, you were dragging Kakashi into it.

“I want to do up my childhood home properly,” he said, pulling away and rubbing at his eyes. “I want to modernise it again, fill it with new photos and unrestrained laughter. I want to walk my dogs; I don’t want to hire a dog walker anymore. And…”

“And?” you pressed your forehead against his.

“And I hope you’ll be there with me. Because that’s one thing I do know. I love you, and I want you with me wherever I go.”

“Oh, Kakashi,” you cooed softly, pecking him on the lips. “I love you too, and I’ll follow you wherever you go, my darling.”

He sighed, relieved, “And you aren’t angry at me for not telling you that I was resigning?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. I would have appreciated a heads up, I won’t lie.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He dropped his head onto your shoulder. “Maybe… maybe you should punish me…”

It took a moment for his unexpected words to sink in, but when they did, heat rushed downwards.

Oh.

…

You had expected to end up at Kakashi’s penthouse, but his chauffeur had pulled up in front of your flat instead. It had given more credence to your theory that Kakashi preferred your flat to his. You didn’t mind, so you didn’t comment on it.

You could have done without the flat look Kakashi’s chauffeur had given you both when he said that he wouldn’t be needing a lift home until tomorrow though.

The warmth of your flat was a welcome change from the Autumn chill, but it was the hot, electric tension fizzling through air that really captured your attention. You both kicked off your shoes and put down your bags, but the second you were done, the tension snapped, and you slammed Kakashi against the door with your body, pressing your lips against his in an aggressive kiss.

Kakashi met your sudden kiss with no hesitation and just as much aggression. You could feel the clack of your teeth knocking together, but you couldn’t hear it over the door shaking in the frame. You sent a half-hearted apology to your neighbours for the kind of noises they were about to hear.

You kissed with urgency. Kakashi moaned into your mouth and his hands pawed at your waist. There weren’t any undertones of dominance or submissive yet, only passion. Your lips tangled with his as you pushed through the burning need for oxygen.

When you could hold out no longer, you pulled away and instead took the opportunity to nuzzle at Kakashi’s neck, inhaling his heady scent, and undo the buttons on Kakashi’s shirt.

“Your shirts still have too many buttons,” you panted against Kakashi’s skin. “I think we should burn them all.”

“If you want me naked, you just have to ask,” he said, chest heaving.

“Maybe I will.” You finished the last button, leaving Kakashi’s shirt to hang open. He was still wearing his tie and suit jacket, which framed the newly revealed sliver of skin. “Now that you’re not a big, fancy CEO, I can keep you as my naked butler.”

Kakashi snorted. “Of course, you’re into that.”

You pulled away from his neck and grinned, “How do you feel about cat ears?”

Kakashi didn’t seem to find your idea as amusing as you did. “You wish.”

You hummed in amusement, loosening his tie and throwing it behind you somewhere. His jacket quickly followed, crumpling on the ground at the base of the front door, leaving Kakashi in only his open shirt and trousers.

Kakashi, sensing the unfair differences in dress, attempted to liberate you from your shirt, but you caught both of his wrists in your hands and pinned them against the door.

“I can’t touch you? That’s hardly fair,” he pouted, playfully tugging at your restraint.

You slipped a knee in between his legs and ground it up against his crotch. Kakashi gave a hoarse gasp and folded forward slightly. “This isn’t supposed to be fair, Kakashi. Was it fair that you didn’t tell me of your resignation in advance? This is a punishment, darling.”

Kakashi growled lightly. You knew how much he loved to touch you, which is exactly why you denied him the honour. You growled back at him and to your delight, he immediately submitted, baring his neck. You nipped at the newly presented flesh, trying to keep yourself from getting too close to mating mark territory.

Maybe one day he would wear your mating mark, but today was not that day.

“Come on,” you said, pulling him forward by the belt. “I think it’s time we move to the bedroom before someone complains about the banging on the front door.”

“Do you have to tug me by my trousers?” Kakashi asked, although he didn’t do anything to stop you.

“Hmm, you’re right, this would be much easier with a lead, and a collar, of course.” You grinned at him with heavily lidded eyed. “Would you like me to get you your very own collar, ‘kashi?”

You were just testing the waters with that particular kink. It would be easy for him to write it off as a joke, like the cat ears, but if he liked it…

Kakashi’s pale skin lit up in a brilliant pink. Well, that answered that question.

“Figures. You’d look hot in a collar, puppy.”

“Shut up,” Kakashi mumbled weakly, still following you obediently.

On the way to the bedroom, Kakashi lost his shirt, his trousers, and his underwear, creating a trail of clothes to the bedroom like a strange R-rated version of Hansel and Gretel.

You entered your bedroom and flicked on the lights. Kakashi went to stand by the bed, seemingly waiting for your next instruction. Having a naked omega in your bedroom really was the best way to end a night.

Honestly, it was a shame you couldn’t have a naked Kakashi and naked Itachi here with you. That impossibility was far more tragic than your own untimely death.

“Now, what should I do for your punishment, Kakashi, hm?” you asked, tilting your head consideringly. “Should I replicate Makoto’s punishment? You seemed to enjoy that.”

You delicately rested your hands on his throat, teasing him with featherlight touches. Kakashi shuddered, and his eyes fluttered closed. You used both hands to complete the full collar effect around his neck, just as had been described in the Icha Icha book.

“It makes sense that you like collars, considering the amount of time you spend reading about Makoto wearing one. Is that why you like Icha Icha, Kakashi?”

“I told you, I read it for the story. It’s a masterpiece of—"

You gently applied a little more pressure to the sides of his neck and his weak argument went silent. You felt powerful watching him fold at your feet.

As much as asking him for his opinion on his punishment was a method of teasing him, you really did have to figure out what his punishment was going to be.

You hadn’t had much time to plan, and your flat was tragically empty of things like toys or bondage. You resolved to fix that if you ended up in this world, but that didn’t help you right now.

For anyone else, you might have considered just denying him pleasure while he pleasured you, but Kakashi was a service sub through and through. No, he wasn’t going to be allowed to touch you, but you weren’t going to touch him either. He needed to focus on his own pleasure, and just like that, the perfect idea sprang to mind.

“Get on the bed and present to me; I want to see that sopping hole of yours.”

You watched with rapt attention as Kakashi climbed onto your bed on all fours. He let his shoulders fall to the blanket and then, resting his weight on his shoulders, he reached behind him.

“That’s it,” you mumbled, almost drooling. “Show alpha that needy hole.”

Kakashi used his hands to bare his hole for you, holding it open for your scrutiny. And what pretty picture he made, just for you.

His hole was indeed sopping wet, glistening in the warm lighting as his fingers struggled to retain a grip on the slippery skin. His dick swung proudly downwards, framed by the A-line shape Kakashi had created with his thighs. It dribbled a few clear beads of precum onto your sheets, but the idea of having to grab a towel for your activities was quickly dismissed when you realised you couldn’t bare to take your eyes off your omega for even a second.

Kakashi’s muscles strained as he kept up the presenting position for you. Confidence practically oozed from every pore in his body, exemplified no better in the challenging grin he had on his face. Kakashi knew he was sexy, and he was willing to weaponize that against you as much as possible.

Once again, you were struck by how different he was from Itachi. Sex didn’t make Kakashi bashful, emotions did. Sex didn’t make him feel like a different person, it amplified his traits. Itachi had been the opposite in both.

Honestly, if an outsider had seen your two dimension choices, you wouldn’t have blamed them for assuming that two different people had been involved.

You sat on the edge of the bed and leant forward so that you face was eye height with his hole. It twitched under your scrutiny, and you couldn’t help but coo.

“What a pretty hole you have, omega.” You blew some cold air on it to watch it flinch. As it clenched, a drop of slick began to run down to his thighs. It was practically drooling for you, begging you to fill it with something.

Although the rest of Kakashi was very pretty indeed, his hole had to be one of his best features. Tragically, you hadn’t had much time to spend with it recently, with all the work you’d had to do. It was probably lonely without you, and that wouldn’t do.

Except… you studied it closely, noting the slight gape and softness that you didn’t expect. Maybe his hole hadn’t been as lonely as you’d thought, because he was far too stretched considering it had been more than a week.

Oh, you realised, smirking, big, bad, genius Kakashi had been touching himself. He had been lonely and horny as work kept you both apart, and he had decided to take matters into his own hands. You imagined him for a moment, splayed on the massive bed in his penthouse, one hand fucking himself and the other pressed over his mouth to keep himself from waking his dogs.

“Have you been lonely, Kakashi?” you asked, deciding to call him out on it.

“No?” You could hear the question in his voice; he didn’t know where you were going with this, and that made it sweeter.

“I only asked because, well,” -you paused for effect- “your hole is looking very ready right now. I wonder if perhaps you’ve been touching yourself without my permission.”

The pink flush crept down Kakashi’s back, and he turned to hide his face in your duvet; you’d caught him red handed.

“Ah, what a slutty puppy I have, hm?” Kakashi whined, and some more beads of pre cum splashed against the blanket. “Tell me, did you use a toy, or did you use your fingers?”

“Is that any of your business?”

“Kakashi…” you said, warning clear.

“…Fingers,” Kakashi said reluctantly, his voice muffled by your blanket. “I used my fingers.”

Perfect. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me how you fingered yourself, Kakashi. What position did you use? Show your alpha how you placated that slutty hole of yours.”

Hesitantly, Kakashi turned over so that he was laying on his back, legs splayed wide for your viewing pleasure. He then grabbed one of the decorative cushions and slotted it under his hips so that his hole was easier to reach. Kakashi held his lips between his teeth and brought a hand down so that his fingertips were resting on his hole.

“I did it like this…”

“I see,” you said, tilting your head at him. “And how many fingers did you use?”

“I started with one.”

You waved your hand at him to go ahead. “Show me how you did it.”

Kakashi slowly sunk his middle finger in, making an obscene squelching noise as he did. Clear fluid dripped out around his finger, and you were once again incredibly grateful for the immaculate horny imagery that the porn logic provided for you.

Idly, you wondered if he really had started with his middle finger, or if it was some kind of subtle ‘fuck you’. With Kakashi, you could never bee 100% sure.

He pumped the finger in a few times, obviously finding no resistance. His angry cock stood proudly, but Kakashi ignored it for the time being.

“But one finger didn’t satisfy you, did it? Your greedy hole needed more.”

Kakashi rolled his eyes but nodded, “I used two fingers next.” He didn’t need to be asked to show you this time, and his pointer finger soon joined his middle one.

Now he had two fingers, Kakashi picked up the pace and began periodically curling his fingers in search of that wonderful bundle of nerves. The wet noises increased, but Kakashi didn’t seem to be having much luck.

You watched as he got progressively more frustrated at his inability to find his prostate. He tried to hike his legs up further to get a better angle, but no luck. He tried switching hands, but it didn’t help at all. He even tried holding his breath at one point, just in case it had some kind of effect, but nothing.

His face scrunched up and he bared his teeth, but it wasn’t like his own body was going to somehow be intimidated into giving him what he wanted, so that didn’t work either.

You watched, baffled and slightly amused, as the wet patch underneath his hips grew larger and larger, completely soaking your decorative pillow, and yet Kakashi still couldn’t seem to get close to his orgasm.

For a moment, you wondered if something was wrong, before you realised what forces controlled the universe you were currently in. This was a punishment because Kakashi took an action without you. It only made narrative sense that he couldn’t find his own prostate and needed you to do it for him.

The lecherous grin that blossomed on your face would have likely scared more delicate omegas away.

You let him finger himself for almost ten minutes, at which point you could tell his hands were starting to cramp, and his face was bright red from exertion. His thighs were trembling, and he was sweating, but his release had escaped him the entire time.

You figured fifteen minutes of frustrating edging was enough punishment for now. You gently rested your hand on top on his, ceasing his frantic fingering. Carefully, you extracted his fingers with a wet plop. Kakashi whined, but you shushed him, putting his hand down on his stomach.

“It’s not going to happen on your own, darling, don’t you understand?” Kakashi peered up at you, panting. His eyes made it clear that he didn’t understand. “You need me to do it for you. I can make you feel so very good, but you need to learn to trust me. I know what you need, I can deliver what you need. You just” -you slipped two of your own fingers inside him- “need” -you pumped them slowly- “to trust” -you curled your fingers, immediately finding his swollen prostate with the power of porn logic- “me.” You pressed down on the bundle of nerves as hard as you could.

Kakashi gasped, his entire body lifting off the bed as he finally got a taste of the pleasure he had been desperately chasing. His cock was weeping, and you rolled his balls in your free hand, but stopped moving your fingers.

“Right there,” he panted, sounding close to tears. “Hit there again.”

You stared him down, pointedly not moving your fingers. “Why are you being punished, Kakashi?”

“What?!”

“Why are you being punished?” He glared at you, but you only raised an eyebrow at him, the same way he did to you so often when you first met.

“You’re playing this game now?” You refused to budge, and quickly, his desperation outweighed his pride. “Because I didn’t warn you that I was going to resign.”

“And why is that bad?”

Kakashi growled, “Because it concerned you and you deserved to know.”

“Apologise.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice desperate. He rocked his hips down on your fingers, muscles shaking. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, just please, get me off!”

It was hardly the most articulate or heartfelt of apologies, but you were happy to let it slide this time. You pumped your fingers in and out a few times and Kakashi relaxed. Now, you just had to curl your fingers just right, and— There!

You grinded your fingers into his prostate mercilessly. Kakashi’s eyes rolled backwards and the noise that escaped him was one of pure, toe curling, ecstasy.

“This feels better, doesn’t it, ‘kashi.” You didn’t phrase it as a question because you knew you were right. “That’s because I’m doing it. You’re so used to being the one in control, the one everyone comes to when they need help or advice, but deep down, you just want someone else to deal with everything, don’t you?”

Kakashi whined as you picked up the pace with your fingers. His prostate was so swollen that you caught it every time. When you used your other hand on his cock, his whine transitioned into an open-mouthed moan as Kakashi writhed on your bed.

You set a fast pace, but when you saw his balls tighten, you withdrew your hands completely. Kakashi thrashed in frustration, his swollen cock bobbing in the open air.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked, panting. His tongue was lolling out ever so slightly.

“Because you’re loose enough to take me now, Kakashi, why would I continue?” You maintained an innocent façade that Kakashi could obviously see through but couldn’t question. “Your punishment may be over, but my pleasure still outranks yours.”

Kakashi scoffed, but he was too far gone to successfully pretend that he was aching for your cock, so he remained quiet.

You decided it was time to strip. Your clothes were feeling a little tight in some key areas, and while the contrast between yours and Kakashi’s states of dress was sexy, you had had enough of wearing them.

Kakashi’s stare was red hot as it lingered on every piece of newly revealed skin, as your outfit was slowly shed. It was flattering how much pleasure he seemed to gain just from seeing you strip, and you couldn’t resist blowing him a little kiss as the final article of clothing fell to the floor. Like the utter dork he was, he mimed catching the kiss and then held that fist to his chest.

You crawled over him, giggling at his antics, as you settled in between his still splayed legs. You hummed, running your hands up and down his chest, your fingers catching on his pebbled nipples. “While this view is delectable, I was thinking about a slightly different position for the grand finale.”

“And what position would that be?”

With some difficultly, you pulled Kakashi up and slid yourself into his previous position, kicking the soaking cushion off the bed as you did. When you were finished, Kakashi was now the one hovering over you. You took advantage of your new position and stole a quick kiss from him.

“I think that it’s your turn to make me feel good,” you said, grabbing a hold of your cock and pumping it slowly. “How do you feel about riding me?”

You had a front row seat to the way Kakashi’s eyes dilated at your suggestion. He drew back, and his eyes flickered down to your dick. With obvious physical agreement, Kakashi straddled you, one knee either side of your hips, and replaced your hand with his own on your dick.

He sent you a sultry look, and then dragged the head of your dick back and forth against him, until the head caught of his loosened hole. Kakashi hovered there for a moment, until a drop of his slick ran down your dick.

“Tease me and I’ll edge you until you cry, Kakashi.”

He considered your challenge with a head tilt and eye smile. “If you say so.”

He slammed his hips down all at once, skin hitting skin with a wet slap. You choked at the sudden onslaught of sensations as his wet heat wrapped around you.

“Fuck, you are such a brat, you know that?”

“Me?” He put a hand against his chest in mock offence. “Never.” To emphasise his point, he drew his hips up until you almost slipped out, only to then drop his hips down all at once, again.

“Just get to it, pretty, before I go soft from boredom.” That was entirely a bluff, of course; you were incredibly hard and that wasn’t changing any time soon.

Kakashi did as you’d asked. At first, the pace of his hips was fast, but not particularly rhythmic. His thighs were incredibly muscular and had no trouble holding his weight as he bounced up and down, but you could tell that he had never done this before, so you settled your hands on his hips to help him.

“You don’t have to go all the way off every time,” you explained, holding him still. “Here, try moving your hips backwards and forwards for a bit, like you’re grinding.”

Kakashi tried what you were explaining, and you could tell immediately that it felt better for him, because his face screwed up in pleasure as his slid backwards and forwards on your hips, painting them with his slick.

From that point onwards, he alternated between powerful up and down riding, and sensual rocking. He seemed to delight in avoiding a noticeable pattern, so you could never quite predict when he was going to switch between them.

His gooey insides were your favourite place to be regardless, so you let him play how he wanted to. To retain some of your power, you took to plucking at his nipples whenever his pace flagged. While it was probably incredibly rude to compare two omegas’ nipples, you couldn’t help it. Itachi did have cuter nipples, it had to be said, but Kakashi had better pecs, so it evened out.

Again, you desperately wished James would tell you who created these drop dead gorgeous omegas, but extracting information from her was worse than pulling teeth.

As Kakashi continued to ride you, the squelching was so loud that you were certain that at least one of your neighbours was cursing you right now. Or maybe they were into it; it was a porn world.

The rhythmic slapping felt like a countdown to your impending orgasm, as something burning bubbled underneath your skin. You loved being more sensitive in porn worlds, but it did make it harder to last.

Kakashi was getting more desperate, too. Although his thighs were starting to slow from exertion, he was relentless in his riding. He moaned unabashedly as your knot started to inflate and catch on his rim.

Your instincts screamed at you to knot him. You felt delirious with pleasure, and you needed this pretty omega to take your seed. You needed to mark him, so that no one else, no clients, no colleagues, and no board members, would ever even consider touching him again.

You looked up at Kakashi as he hovered above you. His skin shined in the light, although it had nothing on the way his slick shined against your skin. “Good boy, you’re such a good boy, Kakashi, my good boy.”

Kakashi seized, and with a cry, he shot white ropes of cum all over your stomach and chest, while clear liquid forced its way past your dick and out into the open air. With each shot, Kakashi’s insides tensed and pulsed, and you couldn’t hold on any longer.

You came too, knot locking into place inside him, as you painted his insides white. You came so hard that you almost blacked out. You were more used to the increased number of cum shots now, but it still felt insanely good to ride the high of a good 50 seconds of orgasm.

Kakashi slowly fell forward, breathing harshly, until his face was resting beside yours. He was making a valiant effort to keep the majority of his weight off you, but that wasn’t what you wanted.

“Come here,” you said, tugging him down until his entire weight was resting on you. “That’s it, I’ve got you, you don’t need to worry about stuff like that, remember?”

Kakashi chuckled tiredly, “If you insist.”

You pressed a loving kiss to the side of his head, basking in the after glow as you both waited for your knot to deflate.

“Thank you,” Kakashi muttered, pressing a kiss against your shoulder.

“For what?”

“For staying with me.”

Guilt spiked inside your chest as you remembered the choice you were to have to make.

And of course, right at that moment, your vision faded out from the edges, dousing your vision in black. When light bled back in, Kakashi was nowhere to be seen. James was there instead, and you were back to standing in the middle of the library. You swallowed heavily as your final moments with Kakashi swelled up inside you as grief and longing.

You felt pretty rough.

“Welcome back, human,” James said, sounding quieter than normal. Her voice wasn’t really soft, but it was what you imagined she believed that soft was.

“Thanks, James.” Wow, even your voice sounded rough.

Like last time, James reached out to tap you on the head, but unlike the relief that had followed when your emotions were supressed, this time only made you feel worse as all the emotions from Itachi’s pocket dimension came flooding back in too. It made you feel like you were wearing a head several sizes too small.

You took a deep breath and tried to compartmentalise as much of what you were feeling as you could.

“I know you must be feeling overwhelmed, human alpha, but I must remind you that you will kill us both, along with many others, if you do not make a fast decision on which pocket dimension you wish to use the rest of your life energy in.” She straightened out both books in front of you on the library table. ‘Potions and Magic and Sex, Oh My!’ was on your right, while ’50 Shades of Audacity’ sat on your left.

“Fuck, James, how am I supposed to choose?” You slumped into one of the library chairs and put your head in your hands.

“I know this must be a difficult choice human. You performed remarkably in both worlds, and I am certain that both omegas love you dearly.” Ugh, that did not make you feel any better. “However, one of them will feel right in a way that the other doesn’t. Use your instincts, human, I trust that they will not steer you wrong.”

Your instincts? It felt like they were in a mess. You felt conflicting messages flood through you as your instincts screamed at you for even considering leaving either omega. But you had to leave one of them.

You closed your eyes and allowed your instinctual reaction to guide you. It was a mess in your head, but you didn’t have time to untangle anything.

“When you’re ready, put your hand on the book that you wish to enter.”

“James?” You opened your eyes and stared down at the weird Curator that had been guiding you all this time.

“Yes, human alpha?”

“Thank you for everything,” you said earnestly, sending her a smile. “I’m going to miss you.”

James seemed taken aback, but she eventually returned your smile. “I will miss you too, human. I will request to be the Curator to meet you here after your life energy is gone, so that I may escort you onwards.”

“Thanks James.” You kind of felt like crying, but you couldn’t delay this anymore. “I think I’m ready.”

Quickly, so that you couldn’t agonise over changing your mind, you slapped your hand down on world that you wanted, and everything went dark.

Next chapter

#the quest for a second life #kakashi #kakashi hatake #reader #reader insert #kakashi x reader #a/b/o #omegaverse #omega kakashi #sub kakashi #omega!kakashi #sub!kakashi #dom reader #alpha reader #alpha!reader #dom!reader #n-sfw

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onecornerface · 3 months ago

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Accidentally agreeing with the strawman

Common phenomenon: People misunderstand a famous theory... and then agree with the misunderstood version of the theory.

Example 1: Misunderstand Karl Popper's theory of falsification (or his view of the "paradox of tolerance"), and then agree with the pseudo-Popper theory.

(Okay, that's two examples, but people do this to Popper in both ways. They misunderstand both of his theories, and then agree with stuff Popper never said.)

Example 2: Misunderstand Milton Friedman's "shareholder" theory, and then agree with the pseudo-Friedman theory. (For very interesting discussion of this, see Roderick Long's paper draft "Stakeholder Theory for Libertarians.")

The phenomenon also seems to come in some varieties. Sometimes people misunderstand the theory as better than it really is, and then agree with the better theory-- unintentionally improving on the original.

Other times, people misunderstand the theory as worse than it really is... and then agree with the worse theory. This latter version is weirdly similar to strawmanning-- followed by agreement with one's own strawman!

Sometimes people do both at once. My (very rough) impression is that the popular misunderstanding of Popper's theory of falsification is both better AND worse than Popper's actual theory.

This combination might not be uncommon when academic theories get co-opted by the public. Academic theories tend to be both sophisticated and weird-- situated within a fairly elaborate discursive context and strange theoretical assumptions and aims. Popular misunderstandings of them may well tend to be both less bizarre and less properly contextualized, thus resulting in new pop theories that are both better and worse.

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waytooinvested · 4 months ago

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Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 23

This and previous chapters are also on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lena laid her suitcase down on the thoughtfully provided stand and took in the space that would be her home for the next couple of nights.

The room was decorated in neutral shades of white and grey, with small pops of colour provided by a couple of throw pillows and a large arrangement of flowers on the desk. The entirely of one wall was made up of a window overlooking the city skyline, with a sliding panel door out onto a balcony that had been set with a table and chairs, so that guests could dine under the stars if they so wished. The over all impression was clean and uncluttered, a blank canvas to allow her the space to think without all the noise. Impersonal yes, but that just made it feel like home. After all, Lena had grown up in rooms like this one, and being here brought her back to the part of herself she had been neglecting of late.

This was the first stop on the long awaited launch tour for L-Corp’s about-to-be-released combustion emissions converter, which meant that she would be away from National City for a full week of press conferences, demonstrations, stakeholder events and corporate networking opportunities in various major cities across the country. It was the first time since Kara’s kidnapping that she had been out of town for more than a night or two, and it felt strange to be stepping away now, for all Project Atlantis was still stalled and she wouldn’t have been doing all that much on it even if she had been there.

Well... except seeing Kara. But Lena was long past the point of being able to convince herself that that had anything to do with ‘maintaining positive relations for the project’. If she had been there to spend time with Kara, it would just have been because she wanted to. And she would have wanted to. It was months since they had gone so long without at least a quick morning coffee catch up on the way to work.

But even so, there was something nice about stepping away for a while. Both she and Kara had been working through so many big feelings, and while Lena felt lighter for it, more complete than she had felt in years (possibly ever), it was exhausting. Having seven whole days where her only job was to do her actual job, without all the complicated emotions and Atlantis work on the side would be almost like a vacation (and alright, it was a vacation filled to the brim with press scrutiny, speech prep and making nice with very important, very stuffy business men, but she would take what she could get).

Besides, she was excited about the emissions converter she had worked so hard to build, and wanted to give it the attention it deserved. She had actually come up with the idea almost by accident, while trying to find a way to scrub the lead she had released from the atmosphere. Instead her research had taken her in a different direction, and the end result was a deceptively small device that could be paired with just about any type of combustion engine to effectively capture and neutralise 99.99% of carbon dioxide emissions, converting them harmlessly back into their component elements. It used a technique of Lena’s own devising to split CO2 that neatly avoided the usual high cost and/or energy intensive processes required by more traditional methods, as well as successfully producing pure carbon and oxygen rather than carbon monoxide. What was more, her device could also deal effectively with carbon monoxide, nitrogen oxides, benzene and a whole host of other pollutants, and would beat the efficiency of existing catalytic converters by several orders of magnitude.

Of course it was at best a stop gap measure in the fight against climate change, but if it could be adopted widely enough it could certainly buy the planet some time while humanity weaned off their reliance on fossil fuels. After her failure with the Q-wave generator and subsequent inability to find a way to armour Kara against the trauma of her memory barrier, it was nice to take some time to acknowledge her successes and take another step towards making the Luthor name stand for something good.

From tomorrow morning almost every minute of her time would be filled, but for the next few hours her schedule was clear, and Lena was free to celebrate in whatever way she chose. She considered going down to the bar, or even out to see the city sights, as it was still early, but she felt a strange reluctance to do so.

Honestly, she was just so tired.

Bone achingly, soul crushingly, painfully tired.

A quiet night in then.

She made use of the clothes press to get any wrinkles out of her outfit for the next day and hung it up in the closet, then went to investigate the bathroom. It did not disappoint.

The tub was frankly ridiculous, even by her standards. It was almost big enough to swim laps in if you really put your mind to it, and covered in little circular openings that hinted at jacuzzi jets, as well as boasting a vast selection of tiny shampoos, shower gels, bubble baths and moisturisers lined up on the tiled ledge behind it. She skimmed the labels, then dumped a bottle of Sisley Soir de Lune into the tub and filled it with water just on the right side of painfully hot.

As soon as it was full she stripped off and sank gratefully into the fragrant heat and mounds of silky bubbles, almost groaning as her travel-weary muscles relaxed into it.

God, she needed to take more baths.

Most days Lena settled for a quick shower, having more pressing demands on her time than lying about in warm water, but when she did she remembered just how much she enjoyed it. She felt all her nerves about the coming week melting out of her and evaporating away with the steam as she drifted, eyes closed and hair floating on the surface. She stayed there, doing nothing but experiencing the sensation of being wrapped up in a warm embrace (even if not that of another person), until finally the water began to cool and the bubbles had mostly popped. She considered topping it up for a second round, but her fingers and toes were pruning, and now that she had worked out her tension, her book was calling out its siren song from her travel bag.

She finished her ablutions quickly and then got out, opting to pull on one of the two fluffy robes that had been provided rather than bothering to get properly dried and dressed, then helped herself to some of the complimentary mixed nuts and a not-so-complimentary miniature bottle of Talisker-25 from the mini-bar. The super-king bed was obscenely comfortable, and Lena settled down amidst a heap of pillows to the serious business of reading, luxuriating in the feeling of having absolutely nowhere she needed to be and nothing she was supposed to be doing.

She was only a couple of chapters in and fully absorbed in the story when her phone buzzed on the night stand with a text. She tutted, annoyed at the intrusion into the her brief respite from the world. It would be another nudge from her Head of PR, ‘politely’ suggesting that she really ought to make an appearance at the bar because XYZ important person was there and it would be an oh-so-perfect opportunity for a bit of impromptu schmoozing; or else a panicked message from the product demo team with a last minute crisis they needed her to solve that would inevitably keep her up until the small hours of the morning.

So much for her early night.

However, when she unlocked her phone she found it wasn’t a work emergency at all, and her irritation evaporated immediately to be replaced by a little leap of gladness in her chest as she saw who the text was from.

Kara: you’ve been gone less than 12 hours and I already need you back

The short message made butterflies stir in Lena’s belly as she tried to work out exactly what it meant. If she was in some kind of trouble and actually did need her back she would have called rather than texting, or at least been more specific, so… what was she saying? Lena had time to consider all the possible-unlikely-wishful-thinking scenarios in which Kara had suddenly realised her feelings and couldn’t bear even one more night of not kissing Lena, when a second text followed the first.

Kara: Alex and Kelly are destroying me at game night

Ah. Well that made more sense. And was a much better answer given that she had resolved not to act on anything for as long as Kara didn’t know the truth of their history. Lena tried to tell herself the heat in her cheeks was just in response to the hot bath she had taken as she tapped out a reply.

Lena: How is that possible? You’ve trounced them the last two weeks in a row.

Kara: That’s only because I had you there. You’re like my perfect game night partner

Kara: we are unstoppable!

Kara: not so much when it’s just me. And Alex is being SO smug about it

Kara: I think she’s about 5 seconds away from doing a victory dance

Lena smiled to herself, picturing the scene even as she pressed her whiskey glass to her face to cool her still-burning cheeks.

Lena: Well that would be only fair after YOUR victory dance last week

Lena: And the winner song that went with it

Kara: hey! You’re meant to be on my side here!

Lena: I’m always on your side

Lena: Anyway, who was it that came up with half the rhymes for that song? I didn’t say I didn’t love it.

Lena: And we will make Alex pay when I’m back next week

Kara: DEAL!

Kara: How’s your night going so far? Are you still working?

Lena: Nope – I got all my prep for tomorrow out the way on the flight, so I am being 100% indolent tonight. I just had a bubble bath and now I’m curled up on my bed reading a book.

Lena: I’m not QUITE in my pajamas at 8.30pm, but I’m not sure if a fluffy hotel robe is actually any better?

Lena: I’m basically an old lady

Kara: psh, no way. You have to make the most of a night in a five star hotel or what’s even the point of paying for one? And I bet the bed is SO comfy.

Lena: It is. It’s also HUGE

She snapped a quick photo of herself sitting in the middle of the bed, one arm extended to show how far she was from being able to touch the edge, and sent it to Kara.

Lena: If you were here we could both spend the night stretched out without ever managing to meet in the middle

As soon as she hit send, she regretted it. She hadn’t even meant anything by it, but on a reread, and sent immediately following a photo of herself on said bed, all the important bits fully covered but still knowing full well that she was naked under the robe, it seemed imbued with subtext that she couldn’t allow herself to mean. She felt the tips of her ears getting as warm as her face as she tried to think of a way to minimise it or take it back without making things worse.

Before she could however Kara’s reply pinged in.

Kara: wow, it’s like an aquarium!

That was… not the response she had expected. Lena stared at her phone, brows furrowed as she tried to decode the meaning of the statement.

She gave up.

Lena: Sorry you’ve lost me. An aquarium? As in… fish?

Kara: Yes, because of how many starfish it could hold! [laughing face]

Kara: you know… like when you spread out your arms and legs in bed

Kara: so you look like a starfish

Kara: and because it’s a big bed you could fit multiple starfish on it

Kara: like at an aquarium

Lena couldn’t help laughing. Not because the joke itself was funny (it was terrible), but because it was so Kara, and made all the more so by the elaborate explanation she had given for it. She smiled fondly at the text chain, as if it was Kara herself she was holding in the palm of her hand.

Lena: you’re right, it is just like an aquarium

And then because this was Kara, and she was allowed to be a dork to Kara without feeling silly, she added:

Lena: You could say I’ll be sleeping with the fishes tonight.

Kara sent back a string of laughing-crying emojis, then a fish emoji, a sleepy face and a heart.

Kara: I’d better go back and join the others before they think I got lost on the way to J’onn’s kitchen

Kara: I was only meant to be fetching another bottle of wine, but I wanted to take a moment to lick my wounds and get a morale boost from my favourite gaming partner after my latest defeat.

Kara: sweet dreams, and good luck tomorrow, you’ll be amazing

Kara: I’m so proud of you <3

Lena: Thank you <3

Lena: Sweet dreams to you too, and I hope you manage to obliterate Alex and Kelly in your next game xxx

Kara: xxxxx

#Fair warning the plot of this chapter is basically Lena takes a bath and reads a book #she's very tired and needs a brief interlude of peace before the next problem appears...#supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp fanfic #my fic #multi chapter fic #Forgotten Not Forgiven #commenters you are delightful and I adore you <3

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alwaysonf1 · 11 months ago

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charles in his own way?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning: N/A

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: N/A

The occasional big deal Ferrari gala is fine for Charles. To a degree he enjoys these things, the chance to get out and talk to people who he needs to impress and who in turn want to impress him. But something about this season has meant a lot more events to go to. Mandatory ones that mean that even if he feels slightly off his game, he can’t avoid them. And they’re all so serious that he feels nervous in a way he hasn’t since the beginning of his career.

This one, the one that has him hiding out at a small bar in the corner of the massive ballroom, is one he wasn’t even briefed on. All Fred did was remind him it was happening, tell him where, and mentioned that some big investors and sponsors would be. He emphasized that there were several potential sponsors so he should be as charming as ever in their presence.

It wasn’t until Charles was walking to his car that he thought about how little he knew and called Carlos. A useless move since the Spaniard had as much information as he did.

Upon his arrival he was thrown into the lion's den as Fred and then a higher up woman from Ferrari guided him around the place. They tried their best to make it seem like he wasn’t on a very short leash, but he was sure that everyone he spoke to expected a little herding of the talent. Which is what one of them called him and while true, made him feel weird enough that he made his escape as soon as he could.

Thus, his hideout and the rum he was nursing. He’d already downed two and knew that was going to hit him hard enough without adding a third into the mix. That’s why there was also a glass of water in front of him. His second of the night. But he knows it won’t be enough. Charles ate before he came, but he needed more food in him. An added distraction for anyone who finds and wants to talk to him.

He takes a deep breath, downs the rest of the water, and with his rum in hand turns to find a waiter walking around. Just as he faces away from the bar a hand clamps down onto his shoulder. It startles him, but he maintains composure as he turns to look at to whom it’s attached.

Seeing Lando relaxes him. But it also confuses him.

“Mate, what are you doing here?” he asks as they shake hands.

Lando looks at him with a slightly confused expression.

“This is a McLaren event too. Actually, it’s for McLaren, Ferrari, Williams, and Aston Martin. Did you not see the signs?”

The inclination of Lando’s thumb has Charles looking around the room. Several seconds of scanning and then he notices the tasteful banner that holds all those logos. How he missed it and the other signs indicating what was going on was beyond him.

Charles shakes his head. “I was barely given time to breathe.”

There’s a look of understanding that dawns on the younger man’s face. Every driver knows what these things are like. How you’re so wrapped up in making the best impressions that you barely get time to think, let alone take in the space.

“Yeah, they’re like a pack of wild animals. All wanting a piece,” Lando whispers.

There’s a couple next to them that appear like the rich type and there is no need for them to hear and spread what either of them is saying. Feelings in this kind of place are much more fragile than any of them would be willing to admit. Though there have been many times Charles has endured them calling other people’s feelings soft when most of the time the response to their displeasing personalities are more than warranted.

With a tilt of his head Charles leads Lando away. He heads toward an area of the room that is largely just employees of one of the teams. Many of the potential stakeholders are speaking amongst themselves at this point in the evening.

“All of them act as if they’re going to attack. Every question I answer, they have another question before I’m finished. And they lack understanding of space.”

“One tried to breathe my air.”

They both laugh.

“One man was so focused on getting the chance to drive the car that he didn’t realize his father had been talking for five minutes. It was two of them at once and neither knew how to shut up. I’m sure the father kicked him seven times before he finally stopped,” Charles says.

“Oh, I had them too. I think I heard him getting yelled at. Something about being fired if he doesn’t get his act together.”

There was a mutual eye roll there. Though Charles could never remember the names of that particular family it was always the same thing and then they’d see the man again. He didn’t understand how someone ten years his senior still acted like a child.

“Have you seen any of the others?”

“Mate, I did not even know you were here until moments ago.”

Lando laughs. “I forgot about that. You should have checked your phone; we were all with Carlos and he texted you. We all did, even Iman.”

Charles' body went rigid and though he was already looking at the younger driver he turned his neck hard enough to induce whiplash.

“Iman is here?”

A sly smirk forms on Lando’s face and Charles curses himself for having such an obvious reaction. Lando, like many of the other pilots on the grid, like to tease Charles about his very obvious feelings for Iman. He refuses to call it a crush because they always do and it makes him feel like he’s back in grad school. Hell, he tries to ignore the feelings all together when he can help it. After all these years he thought they’d leave, but they stay firmly in place and have only grown since she joined the grid.

“Don’t.”

“I don’t know why you won’t ask her.”

“There is nothing to ask.”

“It’s not like she’d say no.”

“If there was something to ask, she’d laugh in my face.”

“You know that’s a lie, mate. Everyone knows she’d say yes if you just ask. Your banter is a bit gross and makes the feelings clearly mutual.”

Without a thought Charles throws back the rest of his rum and takes a long, deep breath. “You know it’s complicated.”

“How?”

“What?”

“How is it complicated?”

“We work together,” he pauses, holding up a finger as Lando opens his mouth. “I know we work for different teams, but it is too close. Plus, what happens with Lewis, I still look up to him. And Sargeant, he’s made it clear he would kill for her.”

Lando grimaces, looking off into the distance for a moment before coming back to the present. Charles is sure he’s remembering the time the American punched a man because he was less than respectful to Iman. The look in his eyes as he was held back made Charles a little scared of him.

“Yeah, he was definitely going to end up in jail if Oscar hadn’t stopped him. But you aren’t going to do anything to upset them. From what I hear you’ve liked her since that week. Logan noticed it and he was barely with you lot for twelve hours. And him and Lewis approve. So, what is it really?”

A number of excuses are on the tip of Charles’ tongue, but he knows they’re useless. All of them are a bit pathetic when he doesn’t actually believe what he’s saying. In all honesty he isn’t sure why he keeps fighting what he feels for Iman. At one point it was because those feelings hadn’t developed all that much and he had stronger ones for the women he was with, but as time went on and he got to spend more time with her and saw her passion for the sport and honestly everything she was passionate about things were harder to deny. He couldn’t claim not knowing her enough for things to be only superficial because he talked to her multiple times a week. They hung out as a group sometimes. They were definitely good friends.

Another sigh escapes Charles and he reaches for Lando’s drink, but he puts it out of reach and nods his head to the space behind Charles. Even without the mischievous grin Charles knows who is behind him.

With a smile he turns and watches Iman walk towards them. The soft smile that was never ingenuine grows as she looks at him, but then he notices her quick pace and the tension in her face. Concern washes over him, and he scans the space behind her. Most people are giving her just a passing glance or looking at the two drivers, but there is a man who seems to be following her but gets pulled into a conversation. He makes eye contact with Charles for a second and looks away almost immediately.

“Everything okay?” Charles asks the moment she’s in reach.

“Fine. Just dodging a man who believes we’re meant to dance together, and I need one of you to dance with me so he gets the hint without me doing something that James will have to smooth over later.”

A hand on Charles’ shoulders stills him and he realizes he was walking toward the man in question. It hadn’t been a conscious thought, but it also wasn’t one he disagreed with. His eyes move to the hand and Lando takes the cup he’s holding and lightly pushes him toward Iman.

“I’ll run interference,” Lando says.

Then without another word he heads toward where the man in question is talking, and he engages with the group in an animated conversation. He makes sure that the creep is involved in the conversation, leaving no room for him to leave without appearing rude.

“I owe him,” Iman says.

“So do I.”

Charles was sure he said that under his breath, but the raised brow from Iman tells him that isn't the case. He shakes his head and holds out a hand.

“I think I owe you a dance.”

The confusion leaves Iman’s face and she puts her hand in his. There’s a momentary shock when they touch, but to Charles it’s nothing compared to the warmth he feels as he leads her toward the dance floor. Once there his hand moves to her back and they begin what is a simple variation of the waltz, matching the others scattered across the floor.

Minute one of it is a comfortable silence and Charles finds that he’s never felt more at peace dancing in this way. He also notes the ease in which they fall into the dance despite never having done it together before.

“I owe you too.” Iman breaks the silence.

“Huh?”

“For saving me.”

“You would never owe me that.”

“Which I appreciate, but I still owe you.”

There’s an urge to make it very clear how serious Charles is about her never owing him for helping her out because he would do it a million times over. That he would jump if she said so. That helping her makes him feel like he’s doing what he should be. But he’s still fighting himself and this isn’t the right moment. Nor is it the right setting.

He’s also a little scared of her response if he bears his heart a little, even if he can admit that Lando wasn’t wrong.

So, instead he dawns what Iman calls his cocky little smirk.

“I’ll have to think about what I want then. Would be a shame to not get the favor in full.”

Iman rolls her eyes and softly hits him.

“Ugh, you can’t stop being a cocky little shit for more than a minute, huh?”

Charles scoffs, faux offense coloring his face.

“How am I being cocky? You offered me something and I plan to use what you’ve offered me. It would be rude of me to leave you unsatisfied.”

The double meaning was clear.

“You sure that’s why? I have it under good authority that you’re not used to leaving someone unsatisfied.”

Now he’s a little offended.

“I have never. You could ask and everyone would say I’m very good at keeping satisfaction high.”

“Sure.”

“I am!” he softly shouts.

Iman throws her head back and laughs. The sound is music to Charles’ ears, but it doesn’t stop the slight pout from what she’s implying. He tries his best to not be insecure about that and she isn’t poking at that insecurity, but it does call out some of the compatibility things he’d gone over before in his attempt to get rid of how he feels about her. Another failure on his part.

It takes a few seconds, but Iman stops laughing and meets Charles’ eyes with her own. They’re a little watery due to her laughter, but the threat to her make-up doesn’t change how beautiful she is. Her hair is in its naturally curly state and framing her face in a way that makes her look angelic. Charles tries to focus on that and not the way her deep brown dress compliments the brown of her skin and the curves of her body.

“Haha,” he says sarcastically.

“Oh, Charlie, I’m sure you’re good at what you do. I mean how else could you have pulled girls from similar circles so often. They must speak of you fondly.”

That one doesn’t land. It’s something he’d seen on the internet and is a joke among his friends and on the grid. His intentions have never been that and he knows that to a degree it makes him appear as a walking red flag, but it rolls off his back. And he’s smart enough to know that if Iman had an actual fear of that she wouldn’t also have a thing for him. Even if Charles thinks it’s different from his thing.

Goodness, he is an idiot. But that doesn’t matter now.

“Haha, very funny.”

“Aw, you know I don’t mean it, Charlie. I think you’re more of a yellow flag than anything.”

That one gets him to laugh, and he knows they both are drawing attention with how loud their amusement is, but he doesn’t have it in him to care. All that matters to him is this moment because it feels so good. How being with Iman always feels.

“At least, I’m not the one dating weirdos. How long did that thing with Dennis last? Before or after the weird kink incident,” Charles says.

“You promised to never speak of it!”

“I know, but he really thought that you’d never find out about his Lew…”

A tap on the shoulder stops Charles and his attention shifts to Carlos, who looks a little sorry to be interrupting, but also has a glint in his eyes that Charles isn’t fond of.

“Sorry to interrupt. Fred has someone we must speak to and Iman, James is looking for you,” Carlos says.

Iman nods and slowly pulls away, which feels almost painful on Charles’ end.

She gives Carlos a side hug. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Without a word to Charles, she turns to leave, but then she turns back and looks at him with narrowed eyes and her hands firmly planted on her hips.

“You and I will not be picking up this conversation where we left off.”

“Yes, we will.”

And with one last eye roll she leaves. Which means Charles and Carlos are standing in the middle of the dance floor and that glint is still in the Spaniard’s eye.

“Don’t say it.”

Carlos smirks but holds his hands up in surrender.

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