nightmareluinor

Latest Posts by nightmareluinor

Early bird gets the worm!

Pairing: Kyoya Ootori x reader Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut with fluff, creampie, morning sex, hints of overstimulation, praise.

It had been known upon Kyoya's friends and family that he was not, by any means, an early riser. Whenever bothered in the early morning, or any time before he had wanted to wake up (even if it's 4pm in the afternoon), Kyoya was always grouchy. Spouting cynical and rude comments, glowering and mumbling at whoever even thought of disturbing his sleep. Everyone had taken note to never bother him in bed.

However, in his second year of college, something started to shift.

Mori and Haruhi had taken note of it first- Kyoya had gotten progressively more polite. You could even go as far to say he had become an early bird, his second semester of classes mainly consisted of 8 or 9 am lectures compared to his 2 to 3 pm classes.

Kyoya had claimed it was because of the length of the classes- and it was better to go to one long class in the morning twice a week rather than five short ones in the afternoon. It had convinced most of the group- knowing he always had an efficient strategy in order to maximize anything for his benefit. In typical Ootori fashion, Kyoya had a logical reason for everything.

Tamaki had wondered what it was. A newfound maturity? He started going to bed earlier maybe. What if he started to become an insomniac and was actually never sleeping in the first place, and he started becoming kind as a result of his delirium?

Haruhi had crossed off the last option, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous assumption. She didn't really care why, but Tamaki never leaves things alone. Rejecting Tamaki's idea of watching his every move, Haruhi had opted to just ask Kyoya in order to settle Tamaki's nerves.

"Kyoya-kun, I've noticed you've been more of an early riser, is there any reason as to why?"

Kyoya tilts his head, looking up in contemplation before smiling to the side. "I've had more to look forward to in the mornings than I did before." His gaze follows you, observing your face as you animatedly tell the twins a story. Your eyes meet his for a split second, smiling sweetly at him before turning your attention back to the twins.

Haruhi immediately understands and looks at Kyoya as he admires you softly, a small smile gracing his lips as you laugh at the twins' responses. Tamaki, however, cannot accept the answer, and can't help but press more.

"What could've possibly transformed your nasty attitude into such a morning person?"

Kyoya pushes his adjusts his glasses before looking to the side, pausing as he stirs his tea to think about the answer. There were a couple of reasons, really.

You had started small. Giving him sleepy teas at around 8 pm, offering him a massage or inviting him to watch a movie with you. Goading him into sleeping earlier in the night. Slowly helping him loosen his tie and removing his shirt as he typed away at his laptop, peppering kisses along his neck. He could feel you practically smirk as his typing slows, more and more typos progressively pop up on his screen before he finally shuts the laptop shut to give you his full attention.

You'd tire him out before he could open his computer again, panting heavily against him as you bounced on his lap, his hands digging into the plush of your ass as he slightly guided you back and forth. A filthy combination of your slick and his pre making a mess on his lap, the lewd sound of skin slapping echoing in his room every time you sank further on his cock.

"m' close," He whispers, gripping you harder as he moves you faster. His lips latch onto your neck, his left hand moving to circle your clit in tight circles, earning a pathetic whimper from you in return.

"Come on, pretty girl, I know you have one more in you."

"Kyo- I can't, s'too much-" Your hips stutter against his, head falling into his neck as you try catching your breath. Kyoya is unrelenting, however, quickly speeding up his work on your clit while thrusting up into you as you gasp in pleasure. The heat in your gut turning into a tight coil as you spasm around him, kissing him through the overstimulation of him thrusting into you through your orgasm.

Kyoya returns the kiss deeply, his hands now gently rubbing your sides as he cums inside of you. His thumbs circle your hips, soft lips muttering praise as you both come down from your high. You groan slightly in response, glancing to the side to see a bright green "9:51" back at you, smiling softly before turning back to him.

"You have me beat. Let's take a shower in the morning together, yeah?"

Kyoya can't help but agree as he cleans you up with a warm rag, fighting the fatigue so that he can savor the moment of you in his arms before nodding off.

You'd work your magic until he'd slowly, but surely, started waking up earlier and earlier. His mood, however, had yet to change. A snappy mumble and slight glare still ever present as you slightly shook him awake.

Mornings were a lot slower, instead of shaking him awake, you'd started to wake up slightly earlier, lightly massaging his head to ease him out of sleep before getting up to start your own routine. You brush your teeth and get dressed and cook a simple breakfast, bringing the plate back to his room before resuming his head massage, sweetly cooing at him to wake up.

"Kyoya, it's time to get up. I made you breakfast."

His brows furrow before shaking his head slightly, pulling up the covers to his chin before turning towards his pillow.

You roll your eyes, leaning down to kiss his cheek, 1, 2, 3. The smile on his face slowly grows for every smooch you pepper on his face. How could he be mad when his sweet girlfriend is waking him up so kindly?

The blanket suddenly shifts, his bare torso revealed as he gets up to kiss you back. He rubs his nose against yours affectionately as he looks you in the eye.

"I know what you're trying to do."

You don't seem to feel guilty, instead landing another kiss on his lips with a dramatic "mwah!". A teasing smile on your face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Kyoya indulges nonetheless, and now he finds himself waking up earlier than you do. Admiring your figure in the soft morning sunlight as your chest rises and falls with your breathing. His arm lazily hands around your waist as he caresses your back, appreciating the glow that highlights the tip of your eyelashes to the cupids bow of your lips.

When you do wake up, you cling closer to Kyoya, muttering a soft "g'morning." as you kiss his shoulder, slowly trailing down his torso to his briefs. You lightly palm his bulge before affectionately leaning on it, hot breath ghosting over the fabric, making his breath hitch as he lightly grasps the sheets.

Nimble fingers yank the band of his briefs down as you kiss the tip affectionately, looking up at him as you kitten lick his shaft before taking him in your mouth.

Kyoya sighs, hand finding purchase in your hair as you bob your head along his length, slowly going up before slamming your head down. His tip bruising the back of your sensitive through as your tongue flattens against the vein on the underside of his dick.

He's whiny in the morning, you note. Slight sleepiness making him more sensitive to your touch. His breathe hitches and small moans escaping through his praise as he throws his head back in pleasure.

"Fuck, feel so good around me. Love waking up like this." His hand in your hair grips tighter as he quickens the pace, reveling in the way you gag around his length. His harsh pace was a stark contrast to his hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing your shoulder as he roughly fucks your face.

You moan around him as you play with your tits, one hand pinching your nipple as you look back up at him, his normally icy glare gazing at you with adoration. His cock twitches at the eye contact before his spills into your mouth. You take it all, swallowing before disconnecting with a small "Pop!", a string of saliva connecting from his tip to your mouth.

His breathing is heavy before he brings your face to his, gently kissing you as he catches his breath between kisses. He pays you back, gently fucking you from behind in the shower. Goosebumps scatter your skin as he presses you harshly against the cold glass, watching as the water splashes around his hips with each thrust.

One would think it's greed. His never-ending greed to have you prettily whimpering in his room every time he wakes up, face buried against the base of his cock, or when he slowly cuddle fucks you as you whine against his soft satin pillows (a purchase he made just for you). He can't help it- it's hard to resist when you look so gorgeous in the early mornings. He feels rejuvenated after seeing you breathless and panting with his cum seeping out of you, whining at the loss of feeling full.

Soon enough, you'd successfully gotten Kyoya's sleep schedule on track. A healthy balance of cardio and rest, and Kyoya had never worked so efficiently. He almost wonders how he was able to acheive so much without you there.

The specific reason was far too intimate to share- especially to someone as dramatic as Tamaki. So instead, he shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.

"I got a better alarm clock."

the accidental one-night stand | i. hajime.

summary ⇢ the consequences of sleeping with your best friend while drunk include waking up with no memory of how you ended up in his bed and the awkward realisation that your friendship is irreparably damaged. but avoiding it only works for so long—especially when feelings you’ve both been hiding begin to bubble to the surface.

pairing ⇢ iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader contains ⇢ fluff, mild angst, best friends to lovers!au, college!au, idiots in love, implied sexual content, nudity, profanity, alcohol consumption—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! word count ⇢ 10.0k

There were many things that you expected would happen after you and your friends went out drinking to celebrate the end of the semester.

Waking up next to a naked Iwaizumi Hajime was not one of them.

The first thing you notice is the sunlight. It filters through the cheap blinds, casting uneven slats of light across the room. The scent of stale beer and leftover pizza lingers faintly in the air. Normally, you would’ve groaned, turned over, and buried yourself in your blanket to fend off the cruel reminder that mornings exist. For a moment, you’re convinced you’re back in your own bed, with nothing more pressing than to decide whether you should get breakfast or sleep in till noon.

The second thing you notice is the peculiar warmth of someone pressed against you. A shoulder brushes your arm; a leg, bent at an awkward angle, leans uncomfortably into your thigh. When you squint, you see a pink piece of fabric hanging off one of the blades of the ceiling fan. That’s new.

Your eyes widen. When you turn your head, you are subject to the horrifying revelation that your best friend is lying in bed next to you—Iwaizumi Hajime, sleeping on his stomach, bare back exposed to the world like it’s a perfectly normal occurrence in the three years you’ve known him.

You must be dreaming. But then you see his glasses, folded neatly on the nightstand and placed on top of your phone. Oh no.

“Oh no,” you say aloud, because, apparently, merely thinking it isn’t enough.

Hajime stirs at the sound, a soft groan escaping his lips. His head turns slightly on the pillow, and you freeze, praying to every deity you can think of that he doesn’t wake up. Unfortunately for you, whoever is in charge of karma seems to be in a particularly spiteful mood.

“Mm?” His voice is groggy, muffled by the pillow. His eyes flutter open. It takes him a second to focus on you. When he does, his brows furrow. “Why are you in my bed?”

Silence. You blink at him. He blinks at you.

What can you say? There is no eloquent explanation for waking up in your best friend’s bed—especially when he’s naked and you’re one hasty movement away from unraveling whatever fragile composure you’re clinging to.

“I, uh— I was hoping you could tell me that,” you croak out.

He shifts, the sheets slipping lower on his body, and you immediately avert your eyes. “Are we—” Hajime pauses, glancing down at himself, then back at you. His face flushes a deep pink. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, pulling the sheets tighter around you. “Oh.”

“Are you…?” He starts, then clears his throat awkwardly. “You’re not… y’know…”

“Naked?” you supply, struggling to maintain whatever shreds of dignity you have left. “No. Thank God. I think I’m, uh, wearing your shirt, actually. But my, um, bra is hanging off of your fan.”

If a pair of eyes happens to wander up there, neither of you acknowledges it.

There’s another long pause, filled only with the sound of your combined breathing and the hum of traffic outside. You can feel him staring at you; it takes all your willpower not to bury yourself into the mattress.

Hajime blinks at you again, his hair mussed and sticking out in every possible direction, a faint sleep line on his cheek from where the pillow was pressed into it. It would almost be endearing were you not teetering on the edge of an existential crisis.

“Do you remember anything?” he finally asks.

You consider lying, but what good would that do, anyway? You shake your head. “Um, not a lot. Do you?”

He hesitates, and somehow, it’s worse than an outright no. “I remember… karaoke,” he says slowly. “And shots. A lot of shots.”

“Karaoke?” you repeat, horrified.

“Yeah.” Hajime looks faintly amused despite the whole situation. “You sang ABBA. Badly.”

“I always sing ABBA badly,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I don’t know either,” he says, sounding genuinely baffled, which is both a relief and a disappointment for reasons you refuse to examine. “Do you think—”

“What?” you prompt, though you already know the question.

Your best friend gestures vaguely between the both of you, the tips of his ears turning red. “Do you think we—?”

“Oh, my God, don’t say it,” you hiss, feeling your own face heat up.

“Well, something happened! You’re in my bed, and I’m—”

“Naked,” you finish for him, grimacing.

Hajime clears his throat again, suddenly very interested in the ceiling—though he pointedly avoids staring at the fan above your heads. “Yes. That.”

“Maybe we should just… not talk about it.” Your voice sounds weak to your own ears. You pick at your cuticles underneath the covers.

Hajime snorts. You stare at him.

“What?” you demand.

“You think we can just pretend?” The smile tugging on his lips is humourless. “Yeah, okay, good luck with that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mattsun was there last night,” he says grimly.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no,” you say again, because there’s really nothing else to say.

You thought you were successful in avoiding Iwaizumi Hajime and Matsukawa Issei. You were not, and this must be the universe’s idea of a cosmic joke, because you’re currently crouched behind a dumpster while your two best friends are having a frantic, hushed conversation a few feet away from you.

The smell is an assault on every sense you possess—a vile concoction of rotting leftovers, moldy cardboard, and something acidic you can’t begin to identify. You shift uncomfortably, regretting everything that possessed you to follow Hajime and Mattsun to this cold, putrid place. Your sneakers sink into what you pray is just old soda.

“...I didn’t tell her because she looked so freaked out,” Hajime says, voice tight. He doesn’t sound angry, exactly—more like he’s restraining his frustration, the kind of tone that demands silence from anyone with half a brain.

Except Mattsun doesn’t have half a brain. “You didn’t mention to her that you remember everything? That’s… kind of a big deal.”

“Of course I remember,” your best friend mutters. “I was drunk, yes, and extremely stupid, but it’s her. I remember everything about her.”

You instinctively press a hand to your mouth, breath catching in your throat. He remembers? All this time, you’d convinced yourself that the foggy gaps in your memory extended to him too—that’s what he’d said, hadn’t he? You were convinced that the awkward morning after was borne out of shared ignorance. Evidently not.

Mattsun snickers. “You? Stupid? Sure, and I’m fucking Albert Einstein.”

“Can you be serious for once? It isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” You can practically hear Mattsun’s grin, though his face remains elusive. “I mean, come on. You’re usually so—I don’t know—emotionless and now look at you. This is gold.”

You want to throttle him. You’re pretty sure Hajime wants to throttle him too. He settles for a long, exasperated sigh instead. “I’m not emotionless. I’m just… worried.”

“Worried?” Matsukawa echoes, curious. “About what?”

“About her.” Hajime’s voice softens; the change is so startling that you lean forward without thinking, the damp ground squelching underneath you. “She looked so freaked out, Mattsun. Like she couldn’t get out of my bedroom fast enough. How was I supposed to bring it up?”

You should leave. You need to leave, but your legs stay rooted in place, a strange combination of morbid curiosity and pure panic keeping you locked in place. 

“Fair enough,” your other friend acquiesces. “She was kind of a mess when I saw her that morning.”

“Exactly. So I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“But now you’re making it worse by not saying anything,” Matsukawa points out. “Come on, Iwaizumi. You’ve liked her for years. You finally get her alone and you don’t even—”

“Don’t,” Hajime cuts him off, the word laced with quiet steel. “I didn’t plan for any of that to happen. You think I wanted to wake up next to her and realise it was all just… an accident to her?”

Your stomach twists painfully. There’s no way this is real. There’s absolutely no way you’re hearing this conversation right now.

“I left ‘cause I thought you would finally grow a pair of balls and confess,” Mattsun says defensively.

Hajime scoffs. “Congratulations. Now it’s a fucking disaster.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” his companion chides gently. “She’s your best friend. She’ll understand if you talk to her.”

“She doesn’t feel the same,” Hajime says, so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat.

“You don’t know that,” counters Mattsun.

“I do.” The resignation in Hajime’s voice carves something hollow in your chest. “She wouldn’t have been so freaked out if she did. That night—it wouldn’t have been an accident to her.”

Is this how Hajime saw it? Is this how you made him feel? The words linger in the air, heavy and unforgiving, until they slip through the gaps in your rib cage and squeeze your heart tightly.

“...I think you’re wrong,” Matsukawa says slowly. “You should give her more credit than that.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond immediately. You hear the sounds of footsteps shuffling on gravel and hold your breath, waiting for their voices to fade before daring to move. Your muscles scream in protest when you stand up. Your legs wobble, and you don’t move the hand clamped over your nose and mouth. 

Hajime remembers. He likes you. He thinks you don’t feel the same. Standing in the shadow of a dumpster and reeking of garbage and despair, you’re faced with one inescapable truth: you have no idea what to do next. 

The coffee shop is too bright, but it’s the only place where the owner gives out a free chocolate chip cookie with every purchase. You nibble at the cookie, brushing away the crumbs that fall onto your lap. Your cup of coffee is untouched, steam curling out of it in lazy spirals. Hanamaki Takahiro sits opposite you, occasionally stirring his tea. The spoon clinks against the ceramic; it’s a little bit annoying, but you can’t tell him that when he’s almost certainly called you over to interrogate you.

You can’t remember why you agreed to meet Hanamaki. You can barely remember how you even got here, your legs on autopilot while your brain went through a series of catastrophes all involving Iwaizumi Hajime. Makki’s eyes bore into you, quietly observing. He doesn’t say anything, but he always seems to be one step ahead of you—always knows things before you’re ready to admit them, which is why you’ve been avoiding him, as well. 

Yet here you are, because Hanamaki’s persistence is a force of nature. Finally, you break. “What?”

“You tell me.” Makki’s reply is immediate. He leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other with the sort of poise that makes you feel like a feral raccoon in comparison. “You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

He merely narrows his eyes at you.

“Okay, fine.” You sigh and lean back, dropping your half-eaten cookie next to your coffee. “What do you think is so weird?”

“The fact that you’ve been avoiding everyone like the plague. The fact that your good mood about our finals ending lasted for, like, thirty seconds. The fact that you look like you’ve seen a ghost whenever someone mentions Iwaizumi.”

You wince. “I don’t look like that.”

“You do,” he says.

“I don’t. I’m just tired.”

“Sure,” Hanamaki drawls, “and I’m the Pope.”

You glare at him, but he merely smiles at you, like he’s sitting on a cloud of smug superiority and you’re some lowlife staring up at him. He continues, “Do you want to tell me why I had to hear about your night with Iwaizumi through six degrees of separation?”

“What— Huh? What are you talking about?” you flounder helplessly.

“Iwaizumi told Mattsun,” he explains without missing a beat, “who told his roommate Yahaba, who told his girlfriend Sana, who told her best friend Sakura, who told her roommate Miwa, who told her boyfriend Sawauchi—who just so happens to be my roommate, as you’re aware. And now I know.”

You stare at him, utterly aghast. “What a small fucking world.”

“It is,” Makki agrees, nodding sagely. “Don’t worry too much about it. They all mean well.”

You pick up your cookie and shove the whole thing into your mouth, before burying your face in your hands. “Kill me. Just do it. Right here. Please end my misery.”

“I’d consider it,” he says, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear your side of the story.”

“There is no story,” you say, voice muffled by your palms.

“Interesting,” your friend muses. “But according to all six of my sources, there’s quite a story. Something about you waking up next to Iwaizumi? Naked?”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

Groaning, you drop your hands onto the table. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Enlighten me.” Hanamaki’s smile widens in the way it does whenever he’s truly intrigued by something.

You resign yourself to the sad fate of telling your friend about what happened that fateful night. “We went out to celebrate the end of the semester. There was drinking. A lot of drinking—” you hesitate, voice catching in your throat— “and then I woke up next to him.”

“Naked,” Makki supplies.

“I was wearing a shirt!” you say a little too loudly. A few heads turn in your direction, and you lower your voice, cheeks burning. “Okay, yes, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or anything else. But nothing happened!”

“Mm.” His noncommittal hum feels worse than outright disbelief.

“I mean it,” you insist. “We talked about it. Sort of. And he said he didn’t remember anything, so—”

You swallow, remembering the conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. It sits in the depths of your stomach, hot and heavy and gnarly. You don’t want to bring it up. You really don’t.

Hanamaki arches a brow. “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Not remember anything.”

You swallow again, the aftertaste of your freebie dessert turning from sweet to bitter. “Why would he lie?”

“Why does anyone lie?” Makki shrugs. “To spare someone’s feelings. To avoid awkward conversations. To hide the fact that they’ve been hopelessly in love with their best friend for years.”

“That’s not true,” you say, far too quickly. “That’s not… It can’t be true. If he’s liked me for years then—then remember when he had a girlfriend in our freshman year? He really liked her.”

You would know. You’d been there when he broke up with her, when you had to haul him to the nearest soju tent and let him get batshit drunk while you sipped on water and tried not to let your heart crack. Hajime had been heartbroken about it—enough for you to think that he’d loved her, and if his heart could have so much love bursting out of its seams, then what would it be like if you were given even a fraction of it? You’d squashed the thought immediately afterwards; he was here crying about his ex-girlfriend and you were a truly selfish person if you wanted to acknowledge your crush on him.

Makki’s sharp gaze turns sympathetic. “I remember. But did you ever ask him about why they broke up?”

“No, I—I didn’t,” you admit. “He was crying his lungs out the day they broke up. I wasn’t gonna be insensitive. We never spoke about it afterwards.”

“So that’s why you think he can’t have feelings for you?”

“He’s Hajime. He’s not… He can’t— He isn’t—” Your words crumble under Makki’s knowing smile.

“He is,” Hanamaki says, quiet but certain. “You’re just too busy panicking.”

“I am not panicking,” you say, panicking.

“Right,” your friend says drily, “and this is you at your most composed. Are you going to talk to him?”

“No,” you say immediately.

Hanamaki blinks, finally taking a sip of his nearly-cooled tea. “No?”

“No,” you repeat, crossing your arms. “I’m going to avoid him until graduation and then pretend this never happened.”

“That’s a terrible plan,” he deadpans. “It’s a great plan,” you counter. “Completely foolproof.”

“It’s cowardly.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Just drink your damn coffee. I’m paying for it.”

“Thank you, Makki.” You smile gratefully at him. “I knew you would understand.”

Hanamaki Takahiro clearly did not understand.

It starts with him, obviously, because who else would take your very serious declaration to avoid Hajime until graduation and turn it into prime gossip material? By the time it reaches you again, it’s mutated beyond recognition. Sana texts you, asking if you’re okay because she heard you and Iwaizumi had a “tragic lover’s quarrel.”

You stare at her message, then at your coffee, briefly debating the merits of deleting every single app on your phone. Then you sigh, and type back who told you that? and steel yourself for whatever reply you’re going to get. Her response is almost instant: Mattsun said Makki said you’re avoiding Iwaizumi for dramatic reasons?? idk, call me.

You do not call her.

Instead, you stew in mild indignation until she finally ropes you into Taco Bell plans for the afternoon, promising that the food is on her. But the second you walk in, you know it’s a trap. Sana’s sitting by the window, her expression brighter than the fluorescent lights. She waves you over. You feel like you’re walking into a very elaborate sting operation.

“Hey!” she greets you, grinning. “Come sit! I already ordered drinks for us.”

“What’s gotten you so happy?” you ask warily, already exhausted.

“Nothing,” she says cheerfully. “I’m just so glad to see you.”

“Hm.” You eye her suspiciously. “And you picked Taco Bell because…?”

“Because it’s delicious, affordable, and deeply underrated,” she says in one breath. You want to scoff—everything she just spouted out about Taco Bell is false—but she continues, “Also, Yuda’s coming. He said he was starving, and I thought, why not make it a group thing?”

“Right. Because I love being the third wheel.”

“Can’t you let me admit that I enjoy your company for once?”

Your response is immediate. “No.”

Sana’s face brightens when she glances behind you at the door. Yuda walks in—but he’s not alone.

Iwaizumi Hajime is with him.

You feel your stomach flip in that terrible, rollercoaster-drops-out-from-under-you way. Yuda, for his part, looks completely unbothered as he scans the restaurant, but when you glance at Sana, you find her trying and failing to hide her triumphant smirk.

“Oh, my gosh,” she says in the fakest tone of surprise you’ve ever heard. “Iwaizumi! What are you doing here?”

You glare at her, and she has the audacity to look innocent. Hajime, meanwhile, approaches the table with slow, deliberate steps; his hands are stuffed in his jacket pockets and his mouth is set in a thin line.

“Hi,” he says, glancing at you briefly before looking anywhere else.

“Hi,” you echo, willing your voice to stay normal. Yuda takes the seat across from you, shoving Hajime into the booth next to you. The space feels smaller than it is, like Hajime’s presence is some sort of gravitational force you can’t ignore.

“What’s everyone in the mood for?” Yuda asks, leaning back in his seat like a bizarre talk show host.

“Tacos,” you say immediately. “And to leave.”

Yuda ignores the last part, turning to face his girlfriend. “Want to help me order for everyone?”

“Absolutely.” Sana is already standing, grabbing Yuda’s hand. “We’ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait—” You try not to sound desperate. “Why can’t we all just go and order together?”

“No need! We know what you guys like.”

With that, they disappear, leaving you alone with Iwaizumi Hajime.

The silence is instant and crushing. Your fingers pick at the edge of a napkin like it’s some kind of lifeline, the paper shredding under your nails. Next to you, Hajime shifts slightly, the sound of his jacket brushing against the booth unnervingly loud.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, then stops. “The napkin. You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you reply automatically, still shredding the paper to bits.

He sighs. “You’re going to tear it apart.”

Your hands still for a moment, then resume. “If Taco Bell runs out of napkins, I’ll buy them new ones,” you say, only a little sarcastic.

Hajime doesn’t say anything to that, but out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift again, squaring his shoulders. Something in your chest tightens, wound up like a spring.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he says finally.

You laugh, short and humourless. “What gave it away?”

He doesn’t reply. You glance at him, but he’s staring down at the table, fingers tapping idly on the edge. You take a deep breath, gaze dropping back down to your hands. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” you offer tentatively—though it sounds unconvincing even as you say it.

“I agree. But you’re kind of making it weird.”

Your head snaps up. “...Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking at you now. “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, days? That’s not exactly normal behaviour.”

“...I wasn’t avoiding you.” Heat crawls up your neck.

Hajime raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. I was avoiding you,” you admit, voice dropping into a mutter. “But I, um, had a good reason for it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. “What was it?”

You stare at him, throat tightening. How are you supposed to put it into words? That you’ve been avoiding him because every time you see him, your brain replays that morning and his conversation with Matsukawa in painstaking detail, and it makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t understand? That you don’t know how to act around him anymore, and it’s easier to run than to face him?

“I don’t know,” you say slowly, shrugging. It’s a lie, and it feels thin and flimsy, but you can’t manage anything else. “It just felt… easier.”

Hajime’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment? Understanding? You can’t tell.

“Easier,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. “Do you think it’s easier now?”

“Not really,” you admit quietly.

“Exactly.” He leans back again, running a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. That night was—it was a lot. But I don’t want to lose our friendship because of it.”

There’s a lump in your throat now. You swallow hard, trying to push it down. You want to tell him that it’s not that simple, that every time you think about him, you feel like you’re standing on a cliff’s edge, terrified of falling. But the words stick to your tongue, and all you can manage is a small, “I don’t want that either.”

Hajime nods. “Okay. Good. That’s—that’s good.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you focus on the napkin in your hands—or what’s left of it, at least. Your thoughts spiral. You think about the way he looked at you that morning, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he resigned himself to the fact that you wouldn’t like him back. The way everything feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something permanent and irreversible.

Now, sitting here with him, you wonder if you’re still on that edge—or if you’ve already fallen.

“I just—” Your voice cracks slightly; you clear your throat. “I don’t know how to go back to being normal with you.”

Hajime doesn’t hesitate. “That’s okay. I don’t know, either. We can work it out.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it cuts through the static in your head. You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you see not just the calm front he’s putting up, but the uncertainty that bleeds through—the way his fingers fidget against the table, the way his gaze flickers briefly before meeting yours again.

You exhale slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more to yourself than him. “Okay.”

His lips twitch into the faintest smile, until it is immediately obliterated by Sana’s shriek as the four Baja Blasts she was balancing in her arms plummet to the floor in a tragic display of carbonation and crushed dreams. 

The walk back from Taco Bell is stiffer than it needs to be. Hajime had offered to walk you home—mostly because both of you weren’t keen on intruding between Yuda and Sana—but you’re acutely aware of the distance between you and Hajime, an awkward, invisible chasm neither of you seems eager to cross. You fiddle with the crumpled receipt in your pocket, sneaking glances at him every few steps. Each time, you catch him doing the same, though you don’t acknowledge it.

You didn’t think your awkwardness with Hajime would fade away immediately, though you have to give him credit for trying. It still clings to the space between you like stubborn static. Even the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustling of leaves doesn’t drown it out.

“My cousin is graduating high school the day after tomorrow,” he says finally, breaking the long stretch of silence between you both.

“No way,” you reply, kicking a loose pebble on the ground. You watch it skitter away from you, and say, “They grow up so fast.”

“Yeah. It’s insane. I’m going back to Miyagi tonight.”

“Really? I bet your aunt will be happy to see you.”

He smiles. “She’s going to screw me for not eating enough homemade food,” he says, and for a moment, it feels normal—but silence falls again, heavy and stilted.

It isn’t until you hear a soft, high-pitched cry that the spell finally breaks.

At first, you think you imagined it, a stray sound swallowed up by the evening breeze. But when you hear it again, clearer this time, you stop dead in your tracks, your head swiveling towards the source.

“Did you hear that?” you ask.

Hajime comes to a halt beside you. “Hear what?”

“That!” you exclaim as the sound repeats, urgent and mournful. You point towards the trees lining the edge of the parking lot. “There’s something over there.”

He squints. “Probably just a bird or something.”

“That’s not a bird,” you insist, already veering off the footpath. “It’s a kitten.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say, craning your neck to locate the source of the sound. Sure enough, a tiny ball of fur is clinging to a branch halfway up one of the trees, its pitiful cries echoing through the still evening air. “It’s stuck.”

“It’s a cat,” Hajime says flatly.

“It’s a baby. Hajime, it’s going to fall!”

“It’s not going to fall. It’s a cat.”

“Look at it!” you counter, gesturing wildly. “It’s hanging on for dear life. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He stares at the kitten, then back at you, shoulders sinking with impending responsibility. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, folding your arms.

“Fine,” he mutters, shrugging off his jacket. “Only ‘cause you asked.”

Hajime reaches for the lowest branch, testing its sturdiness before hoisting himself up. His movements are deliberate, cautious, and yet somehow still awkward—like someone who’s watched enough action movies to think he knows what he’s doing but has never actually climbed a tree in his life.

“Careful,” you call out, wincing as the branch creaks under his weight.

“Really? That’s the advice you’re giving me right now?”

“I could’ve said, don’t fall,” you point out.

The kitten, meanwhile, is less than thrilled about the rescue operation. It hisses and fluffs up its fur as Hajime inches closer, its tiny claws digging into the bark.

“You’ve got this,” you say.

“Oh, do I?” He grunts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

With a final, determined stretch, he manages to grab the kitten by the scruff of its neck, holding it up triumphantly. It lets out one last indignant yowl before going limp in his grip, big, yellow eyes blinking up at him.

“Got it,” he says, holding it up like a trophy.

“You’re a hero,” you deadpan.

But before he can descend, the branch beneath him gives a menacing crack.

“Hajime—”

The sound is followed by a split-second of stillness, and then gravity takes over.

Hajime plummets to the ground with a thud. The kitten, miraculously unscathed, wriggles free from his grip and bolts towards the bushes, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”

He groans, propping himself up on his elbows. His glasses are somewhere on the ground next to him; you fumble for them and hand them to him. He puts them on and says, “No. I’m not okay.”

“You fell out of a tree,” you say, as though he might need reminding.

“Yeah, I noticed.” His voice is tight, laced with pain. When he tries to stand, he immediately winces, clutching his ankle.

“Don’t move,” you say, panic creeping into your tone. “You could’ve broken something.”

“It’s just a sprain,” Hajime mutters, though his face says otherwise.

“How do you know?”

“Because I can still feel my foot,” he replies, like that’s the definitive test for a sprain versus a fracture.

You hover uncertainly, hands flitting uselessly between him and his phone. “I’m calling for help.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine,” you snap, voice shaking. “You’re injured, and it’s my fault because I made you climb that stupid tree for that stupid kitten—”

Hajime interrupts by saying your name softly. “It’s not your fault. I could’ve said no.”

“But you didn’t,” you mutter, blinking back the ridiculous sting of tears.

He huffs a weak laugh, leaning back against the tree trunk. “Yeah, well. You’re really persuasive.”

“Just don’t—don’t move, okay?”

“Okay. I won’t. You… You will come with me to the hospital, right?” He is quieter now, as though the adrenaline is finally wearing off.

“Of course,” you say immediately.

When you drop down onto the ground next to him, waiting for Sana—who you’d called earlier—to come drive you both to the hospital, you catch a glimpse of the kitten peeking out from the bushes, its wide eyes reflecting the streetlights. You shake your head. “Ungrateful little thing.”

“Worth it,” Hajime says, surprising you.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It was worth it. You were worried about it.”

Oh. You don’t really know how to respond to that, but the words are sweet as honey, and despite the chill brought about by the setting sun and the rising moon, you feel warm throughout.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital flicker faintly while you wait for Hajime to finish his discharge paperwork. You stand a few feet apart in the waiting area, unsure of what to say. Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you rock back on your heels. Hajime leans on his crutches, shoulders hunched.

“I, uh, brought my car while Sana and Yuda were with you,” you say, not daring to meet his eyes. 

“You’re driving me to Miyagi?” he asks, sounding more resigned than questioning. “You don’t have to.”

You lick your lips. Half the reason Iwaizumi Hajime climbed up a tree and sprained his ankle badly is because you asked him to. The least you can do is drive him back to his hometown so he can attend his little cousin’s graduation ceremony.

“Yes,” you reply, a little too quickly. His eyebrows twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything. You shift from one foot to the other under his gaze, feeling self-conscious. “What, you think women are bad drivers?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think women are bad drivers. I think you’re a—” He pauses. “Wait, that’s a trick question. You’re going to kick my ass regardless.”

“Exactly. So you can just get comfortable in the passenger seat and think about the systemic oppression of women in the workforce while I drive.”

The lightheartedness helps, but only marginally. When his name is called, Hajime limps toward the discharge counter, his crutches squeaking against the polished tile floor. You follow, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets because you don’t know what to do with them. The nurse hands him a clipboard, and he scrawls his signature on the dotted line. 

You glance at his profile—the curve of his mouth, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose. It’s all so familiar, and you hate the fact that you feel like a stranger standing next to him. You know he likes you, and it’s eating you up inside, gnawing at your brain, because telling him you like him, too, would ruin everything.

Not that everything isn’t already hanging by a thread, but what if something happens that makes it impossible to fix? What if you break up, and the friendship you’ve been clinging to falls apart completely? What if everything changes even more than it already has, and you can’t stop it? What if you lose one of the most important people in your life, and no matter what you do, you can’t find your way back to him? What if, what if, what if—it’s a thought that echoes endlessly.

“You don’t have to look so worried,” Hajime says without looking up, startling you out of your thoughts. 

“I’m not worried,” you lie, chin jutting out defensively.

He glances at you, then. “You look worried.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Noted.” He hands the clipboard back to the nurse.

By the time you’re both outside in the parking lot, you’re back to being awkwardly polite, dancing around each other with all the grace of a baby giraffe. You watch as Hajime fumbles with his crutches, maneuvering them clumsily toward your car.

“I can carry those,” you offer, holding out a hand.

“I’ve got it.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything after, but his jaw tightens as he leans into the passenger seat. It takes some effort—his crutches clatter against the doorframe, and he winces, trying to angle his injured foot without bumping it. You pretend not to notice his struggle, letting him preserve what little dignity he has left.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you adjust the mirrors, stalling for time. Hajime doesn’t try to break the silence festering in between you both. The only sounds are the click of your seatbelt, and the soft hum of the engine.

The first few kilometres pass like this—with a quietness so thick, it’s suffocating. You grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, focusing on the road ahead as though it holds the answers to all your questions.

“So,” you begin after a while, when it becomes too uncomfortable to not speak, “your cousin’s graduation. Big family gathering?”

“Something like that,” Hajime says. “Everyone’s making a big deal out of it. She’s the youngest, so…”

“That’s nice.” You glance at him briefly, his face half-hidden in the shadows. “It’s good to celebrate milestones.”

He snorts. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to sit through hours of small talk about what you’re doing with your life.”

“Oh, I’ve been there. My relatives love to remind me of all the ways I’ve failed to meet their expectations.”

“And here I thought you were the golden child.”

You laugh dryly. “As if. My aunt still brings up the time I failed my learner’s permit test. Twice.”

“Twice?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “And you wonder why I think you suck at driving.”

“It was hard,” you defend, though your cheeks flush with heat.

The corners of his mouth lift, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him lately. It’s fleeting, but it stays with you, lingering between you both.

Conversation ebbs and flows after that, accompanied by long stretches of quiet. You focus on the road, stealing the occasional inconspicuous—or so you hope—glance at Hajime. At some point, his head leans back against the headrest and his eyes flutter shut. 

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, his features softening in his sleep. You glance at him more openly now, heart tugging at the sight. He looks younger like this. The lines of tension on his face have disappeared, leaving only the quiet rise and fall of his chest. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and you resist the urge to push them back up.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, an unexplainable warmth blooming in your chest. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily he manages to disarm you without even trying. 

But it’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this. The memory sneaks in, unbidden—the morning you woke up beside him, the sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting golden streaks across his skin; his hair mussed against the pillow; his face so close to yours. The disorientation, the rush of emotions you couldn’t name, the way your heart stuttered because of his proximity.

The warmth in your chest turns cold. You inhale shakily, tearing your eyes away from him.

Hajime stirs slightly, his head turning a fraction towards you. You glance at him again, your resolve faltering for a split second. You wonder if he would laugh if he knew what sort of thoughts are running through your head right now, or if he’d give you one of those infuriatingly expressionless looks of his—the kind that makes you want to simultaneously punch and hug him.

When Google Maps announces the next turn, you straighten in your seat, forcing yourself to focus. The road stretches ahead, long and winding, illuminated only by the yellow glow of your headlights and the streetlights on the sides.

It’s a long drive, you remind yourself. Plenty of time to figure out what you’re doing. Or avoid it entirely.

For now, you simply drive.

The moment you step foot into Hajime’s aunt’s house, a wave of warmth welcomes you—the aroma of something sweet baking in the kitchen, faint perfume, and the hum of cheerful conversation. Hajime limps slightly beside you, leaning more heavily on his crutches than he probably wants to admit, holding his duffel bag with his other arm.

You glance at him, frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk around like this?”

“I’m fine,” he replies. You eye the faint wobble in his step but let it go for now.

Before you can dwell on it further, his aunt sweeps into view, her face lighting up like fireworks. Her hair, pinned back with a colourful bandana, curls in ringlets around her heart-shaped face. “Hajime!” she exclaims, hurrying over. Her gaze quickly shifts to you, and she clasps her hands together. “Oh, and who’s this?”

“This is—” Iwaizumi begins, but his aunt isn’t waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, what a lovely young lady!” she gushes, stepping closer to you. “Are you two…?”

“No,” you blurt out, shaking your head vehemently. The tips of your ears burn as the word tumbles out of your lips. “We’re just friends.”

Hajime’s aunt looks mildly disappointed for a second before her smile reappears with renewed vigour. “Ah, well, it’s a shame,” she says. “You two would make such a beautiful couple.”

“Really, we’re just friends,” you repeat, your voice a little bit higher this time, as though saying it twice will make it truer.

Hajime shifts uncomfortably next to you, adjusting the crutch under his arm. His lips part like he’s about to add something, but he closes them again, opting for silence instead.

His aunt seems unconvinced, but thankfully doesn’t press further, instead ushering you both further inside. “Come in, come in! Everyone’s been waiting to see you, Hajime. And don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says to you with a pat on your arm, “you’ll fit right in.”

“Oh, actually, I—I think I should head back,” you say, lifting up your thumb and jerking it backwards.

“Don’t be silly,” Hajime says, unexpectedly. “It’s dark. You can’t drive back alone.”

“I—”

“He’s right, dear,” his aunt adds. “Stay for the weekend. I have a spare bedroom you can sleep in.”

You try to backtrack, shaking your head. “I didn’t— I don’t have any clothes, or toiletries. I didn’t pack anything.”

“That’s quite alright,” his aunt says. “We have extra toothbrushes, and I’m certain I have clothes that could fit you. Consider it a little vacation, if you will.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Hajime nudges your shoulder with his and gives you a pointed glare. Pressing your lips together, you—still a little unwilling—follow her into the living room. The sound of Hajime’s crutches tapping against the hardwood floor draws attention. A dozen pairs of eyes swivel towards you, curious but welcoming.

“Hajime’s here!” someone exclaims. His cousin bounds over to greet him, carefully navigating his crutches.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Language,” he chides, offering her a smile nonetheless. “And it’s just a sprain.”

But her attention quickly flicks to you. “And who’s this?”

Before you can answer, another voice cuts in. “Is this his girlfriend?”

You freeze. Hajime sighs.

“No,” you manage to say, laughing nervously. “I’m just a friend.”

Hajime nods in agreement, but it's too late. The murmurs have already begun.

“Really?” another middle-aged lady—another aunt, you suppose—asks, eyebrows raised. “Just friends? You two look so comfortable together.”

Hah. As if. You’ve spent the last few weeks avoiding Hajime so rigorously that your friends had to shove you both together into a Taco Bell booth for you to start talking to him again. Comfortable, your ass. Of course, you can’t say that aloud, so you turn to Hajime, silently pleading for him to step in, but he seems more focused on shifting his weight into his good leg. His family’s scrutiny, it seems, doesn’t faze him nearly as much as his sprained ankle does—which is understandable, to be fair. Just not for you at the moment.

“Seriously, we’re not—”

“But why not?” his cousin pipes up. “He’s handsome. You’re pretty—it’s like fate.”

Heat rises to your cheeks again, and you resist the urge to crawl into the nearest decorative vase and never come out. Hajime finally takes pity on you, clearing his throat.

“Can we all calm down? She’s here because I needed a ride,” he says measuredly.

“Sure,” his uncle mutters, and it’s followed by a smattering of chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” his aunt finally interjects. “Let the kids sit down before you lot grill them to death.”

Reluctantly, everyone’s attention shifts to the basketball match playing on the television. Hajime hobbles toward the nearest loveseat, and you instinctively reach out to steady him when he wobbles a little. He doesn’t say thank you, but the way he lets your hand linger on his arm feels like silent acknowledgement.

“You’re not going to make me carry you if this gets worse, are you?” you murmur, settling into the seat next to him, careful not to jostle his injured leg.

“Not unless you want to,” he deadpans.

You roll your eyes—but the moment your knees accidentally bump, the room feels a touch too small, too warm.

Conversations begin again, and occasionally, someone makes another comment about how “nice” you two look together, and you muster up a strained smile each time. Hajime, meanwhile, remains utterly unfazed, answering questions about college and his injury like he isn’t the centre of his family’s romantic speculation.

“Your family is… nice,” you whisper, when the room quietens finally.

“They’re just excited to see someone new,” he says.

“Excited to marry you off, you mean.”

He hums. “Maybe.”

His aunt hands out warm plates of brownies topped with ice cream, and you gratefully dig in. You’re mid-chew when his uncle asks, “How did you two meet?”

You groan inwardly, resting your spoon on your plate and barely restraining yourself from banging your head on the coffee table. Hajime’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. He shrugs and says, “We met through a mutual friend. Simple enough.”

“Very simple,” you echo, nodding your head prudently, hoping to end the conversation there.

“But was it love at first sight?”

Hajime tilts his head slightly, as though he’s genuinely considering the question. You elbow him hard, ignoring his startled oof. “No,” you answer quickly. “We didn’t even like each other at first.”

“Didn’t we?” Hajime asks, lips curving upwards.

“No,” you say firmly. “You were too quiet, and I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

“Maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough,” he quips.

You gape at him. “That’s—”

“Adorable!” someone cuts in, and everyone—except you—bursts into laughter.

You bury your face in your hands, utterly defeated. Hajime, on the other hand, seems entirely too pleased with himself, his soft laugh barely audible over everyone else’s.

You glance at him once again, dropping your hands and letting them rest on your lap. He’s resting back in his seat, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. The tiniest furrow creases his brow, a sign he’s not as comfortable as he’d like everyone to believe.

“You should’ve stayed off your feet,” you say softly, leaning closer.

“And miss all this fun?” he says, smiling softly. He’s quieter, now, seemingly tired of all the socialising, but he watches his relatives bicker over something stupid with fondness.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile.

It’s only later, as everyone disperses to their rooms, that silence befalls upon you both yet again—though not quite as awkward as before. Standing outside the guest room, you turn around to face Hajime, who leans heavily on his crutch now, fatigue evident in his every movement.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods, face impassive. “You?”

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

His lips quirk upwards for the smallest of moments before he nods towards his door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you say, slipping into your room and closing the door behind you.

Sleep, that night, is a stubbornly elusive thing. You toss and turn, unable to close your eyes for more than a few minutes. Each time your mind refuses to quiet, you assign a new reason for your restlessness—the bed is too firm, the covers are unnaturally warm, the pillow is too lumpy. But you know, deep down, that the true culprit lies just down the hallway.

Iwaizumi Hajime.

The thought of him—his silent steadiness, the way his mouth twitches up slightly when he finds something amusing, the fact that you’re in the same house as him—makes your pulse flutter in ways that you’re sure aren’t good for your heart.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The faint creak of a floorboard breaks the stillness, and your heart jumps before logic catches up. It’s an old house; it makes noises. Then, there’s another creak, a softer one, like when someone is careful and doesn’t want to disturb anyone else.

Curiosity—and the undeniable urge to see him—wins over your hesitation. You slide out of bed, the floor cool against your bare feet, and pad to the door. When you open it, you nearly collide with Hajime in the dimly-lit hallway.

“Oh,” you whisper, startled. “What are you doing here?”

Hajime shifts his weight to his better foot, leaning against his crutch. He’s dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweats, hair slightly mussed. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs. “You?”

“Same,” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Your room’s closer,” he says.

You step aside, holding the door open for him. “Come in.”

Once inside, he maneuvers carefully to the bed, his movements slow to avoid jostling his injured foot. He sits down on the edge of the mattress with a soft groan, stretching his leg out.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, hovering awkwardly near the desk chair.

“I’m fine,” he replies, leaning back on his palms. “Don’t hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” you mutter, sinking into the chair opposite him.

The quiet stretches, each second feeling longer than the last. You wonder if this is how it’s going to be for a long time—awkward, but unavoidable, because not being by each other’s sides isn’t an option. You fiddle with the hem of your sweatshirt, glancing at him and then quickly looking away when his eyes meet yours.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your fingers still. “Talk about what?”

Hajime tilts his head. “Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

You chew on your lip. Maybe it’s because it’s so silent that nothing seems intimidating anymore, or maybe it’s everything you’ve pushed down so far finally reaching a tipping point, or—and perhaps the most likely reason—maybe you’re just incredibly, terribly, immensely stupid, but the words spill out faster than your mind reacts.

“I heard you,” you blurt out.

He straightens a little. “Heard me?”

“The other day,” you clarify, voice wavering. “In the alley by the dumpster. With Mattsun.”

The shift in his demeanour is subtle, but you notice it—his shoulders tense, his fingers curl around the covers on the mattress. “Oh.”

You take a deep breath and force yourself to continue. “You told him you remembered. That night. The… you know.”

Hajime doesn’t immediately respond, his gaze fixed somewhere near the desk lamp.

“I’m not mad,” you add quickly, feeling the need to fill the silence. “I was a little confused, but—but I get why you lied. I just—” You hesitate, wringing your hands. “I feel stupid. You remember everything, and I… don’t.”

His eyes snap to yours. “You’re not stupid. We were drunk. It’s only natural that you don’t remember.”

“I don’t even know what I said to you,” you say, barking out a short, bitter laugh. “Or what I did. I’ve been over analyzing it for days, and you’ve just… known.”

“Because it was important,” he says, voice low.

Your heart stutters. “Important?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

The air feels too thick, like the walls of the room are closing in on you. You swallow hard and muster up a weak smile. “You didn’t think to, um, bring it up?”

“I thought about it,” he admits. “A lot. But I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“Hajime,” you say, “we’ve already messed things up.”

“Fair point.” He gives you a small, rueful smile.

You let loose a soft exhale. It feels like a weight off your chest, somehow, as though partially revealing the truth eased some of the static in your head. Hajime shifts on the bed, adjusting his position with a wince. Without thinking, you stand and move closer, grabbing a pillow to place under his leg.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Making sure you don’t injure yourself even more,” you say, propping his foot up gently.

“Thanks, doctor.” He’s teasing you, and you know it, but his voice is soft when he says it. Your heart, that traitorous organ, speeds up a little.

You straighten up, but something about the way he looks at you pins you in place. His eyes roam over your face, searching, and it makes your skin feel too warm.

“You don’t have to feel embarrassed,” he says after a moment, “about not remembering.”

“...I can’t help it,” you admit, barely more than a whisper.

He leans forward slightly; his hand brushes against yours. “Then let me help you.”

“What are you—”

Before you can finish, he reaches up and removes his glasses, setting them on the nightstand. His movements are deliberate, his eyes fixed on you. When he says your name, it sounds like a plea, and then, “C’mere.”

You sit down next to him. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure he can hear you. “Hajime,” you whisper, voice trembling.

“Do you want to remember?” he asks.

Your throat feels dry; your hands clench into fists at your sides.”I—”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, leaning in slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips. You don’t move away. You can’t, so you nod instead. When his mouth meets yours, it’s anything but tentative.

Hajime’s lips mold against yours insistently, sending sparks shooting through your veins. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively reach up, threading your fingers through his hair.

You gasp when he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours unhurriedly, in a way that makes your knees weak even though you’re already sitting. He tilts his head, exploring your mouth with a thoroughness that leaves no room for hesitation. His hand slides up to cup your jaw; his thumb brushes against your cheek. The combination of his touch and his kiss is overwhelming. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire.

When you pull back for air, he doesn’t let you go far. His breathing is ragged, his fingers still gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks hoarsely.

You hesitate. “I— Your foot is still injured.”

“So?” Hajime counters, lips twitching. “That doesn’t mean I have erectile dysfunction.”

“Hajime,” you groan, half-laughing, half-mortified as you push at his shoulder.

He chuckles, warm and low. “Okay. No sex. But kiss me again.”

So, in the darkness of the night, in the quietness of his childhood home, you do.

There was a time when you thought Iwaizumi Hajime was going to ask you out.

It never happened, of course—you wouldn’t be in this pitiful state if he had, wouldn’t be rotting in bed in layers of your own misery and heartache. 

You remember the way he’d looked at you that night. His gaze lingered just a second too long, his expression soft in such a way that made your heart flutter and your stomach twist into thousands of tight knots. You’d caught yourself staring at his lips, wondering what they’d feel like against yours, and immediately looked away, cheeks burning. He’d seemed nervous, too—words stumbling over each other like he was rushing to get them out. For one foolish, fleeting moment, you’d thought that he was going to say it.

When he told you about his girlfriend, you’d plastered on a smile and congratulated him. Still, something in your chest had sunk that day. What had you expected, really? For him to sweep you into his arms and confess that you were the one? He had always been kind, but kindness does not equate love.

Except it does, because Iwaizumi Hajime had told Matsukawa Issei that he likes you. It’s impossible—it has to be, because he had been devastated when he broke up with his girlfriend. But you remember the accidental one-night stand, and the night spent in Miyagi, and the fact that he climbed up a tree to save a measly kitten just because you asked, and you know you’re lying to yourself.

And you? When he broke up with his girlfriend, you felt… relief. His sadness wasn’t something that you wanted to enjoy. No, you hated that he was hurting. But the other part of you, the part of you that had waited for this moment without ever acknowledging it, was thrilled.

The truth always finds a way to slip out. You’ve always been bad at hiding it, but the truth is this: you’ve loved Iwaizumi Hajime for as long as you’ve known him.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand go something like this: 

It starts with Matsukawa Issei. Of course it does.

When Mattsun gets drunk—really drunk—he becomes the type of mess no one really knows how to handle. He laughs too loud, stumbles too much, and becomes emotional over the smallest of things. The only difference tonight is that he has, apparently, outdone himself. He had, in his drunken state, managed to get himself stuck in the worst part of town with a phone number he couldn’t remember dialling, and no one had the heart to tell him he probably should just stay the night.

Somehow, Sana managed to rope you and Hajime into picking him up, much to Hanamaki’s glee. 

And somehow, equally confusingly, you are on Iwaizumi Hajime’s lap in his car, his foot fully healed now. The seat belt buckle digs painfully into your thigh, but it’s forgotten quickly—simply due to the fact that Hajime’s lips are on yours.

His hands are gentle as they rest on your back, holding you closer, almost like he can’t believe this is real. The softness of his lips, the careful yet urgent way he kisses you—it’s enough to make you forget the world outside of his car, enough to make you forget about your late-night rescue mission.

It’s dizzying, intoxicating, and when he pulls back for a brief moment to catch his breath, you barely let him before you’re leaning in again, eager for more. Your hands move on their own, finding his shirt’s collar and gripping it as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

You forget that you’re both in a car, in the middle of the night, on some random dark street far from home. You forget that there’s so much you’ve buried underneath layers of friendship and years of yearning. 

It all blurs out, except for the one question nagging you ever since Makki posed it to you back in the coffee shop.

“Hajime,” you murmur against his lips, and his kisses slow, just enough to listen. “Why did you break up with your girlfriend in freshman year?”

He pulls back, brows furrowed slightly. “Because of you,” he says simply, as though it was obvious all along. 

Your breath hitches. The words settle into your chest, fluttering like wings, wrapping around your heart. Because of you.

“I don’t— I don’t understand,” you whisper. “Why?”

Hajime doesn’t answer immediately. His hands move to your face, fingers brushing away stray strands of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. He leans forward, just enough to close the distance between you both, and kisses you again.

It’s different this time. The kiss isn’t frantic or urgent. It’s slow. His lips move tenderly against yours, hands slipping down to the small of your back, pressing you against him. When he pulls back this time, it’s only by a fraction.

“You’ve always been there, you know?” he murmurs. “It was hard, trying to get over you. I didn’t want something to happen and for our friendship to end ‘cause of something stupid.”

It turns out you and your best friend are a pair of idiots, juggling the same worries about toeing the carefully-drawn line between friendship and the forbidden zone beyond it.

All at once, the confession you didn’t even realise you were dying to make slips past your lips. “I’ve liked you from the start,” you say, a little breathless, and before you can stop yourself, you’re laughing lightly. “I never thought I’d—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head while your hands find their way back to his shirt, tugging him close.

His lips return to yours, his kiss deeper this time, more insistent. There is no hesitation this time. The kiss spirals between soft and demanding, his teeth nipping your lower lip and your tongue sliding against his. His hands are everywhere, pressing you to him as if trying to make up for lost time, and you let him, falling into the moment with a fervour you didn’t know you possessed.

You pull back only when your lungs burn for air, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. Hajime’s hands settle on your hips, warm and gentle.

“I think,” he says, gruffly, “Mattsun’s probably passed out by now.”

“Priorities,” you tut, but a laugh bubbles out of your throat anyway.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand also include dealing with an irate Matsukawa Issei the next morning, when he barges into your apartment without warning. You and Hajime, with identical bedheads and noticeable embarrassment, stand in a corner together while he paces your living room.

“You’re telling me,” he says, turning around so violently, he nearly trips over his own heel, “that you forgot to pick me up because you were too busy sucking face in Iwaizumi’s car?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say, at the same time Hajime says, “How crass of you, Mattsun.”

Your friend splutters, flabbergasted. “Wow. Maybe I should quit college and start a matrimony service instead.”

STAR-SHAPED BRUISES ✦ he who once felt the cold touch of death before, so why did it matter if he risked it again? Only that it did matter, to you, and your yearnings for him felt so warm it almost made him want to be selfish.

anaxagoras x gn!reader. angst? & fluff! content. hurt with comfort (?) tensions and arguments. yearning and hidden pining. cerces playing matchmaker. might be ooc + anaxa character study. written before 3.2 and spoilers for the 3.1 story! [2.4k wc]

tagging @rainswept @eterjie @kazucee !!

“You seem troubled today, more than usual.”

The thin-layer of soundlessness is quickly replaced by the tamed billow of Anaxa’s tone, one that seems like he’s questioning for the sake of curiosity and not because of empathy. Looking up at how busy he looked, his eyes maintained upon his alembic that bubbled a violent cyan-gold hue, any second and you’re sure it’s gonna fulminate from the vessel.

You shift from your seat, feigning skittish. “Did my morose pique the curiosity of the grand performer? Or are you simply worried?”

“Neither.”

“What a benumbed reaction, Anaxa—“

“—goras.” He finishes for you. Usually, whenever he’d add on your behalf, you’d combat it with a snide but today, he’s left with nothing but silence. This made him look up from his instruments and papers, your lack of reactions made him forgo his current experiment.

It made him almost worry, almost.

He sighs instead. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“You’re quick to lie to me,” Anaxagoras is now facing you, laying a hand on his hip. “That seems like something.”

The way he conducts his questions is making you want to be defensive with your petulant behavior. “Even if something is on my mind, I don’t see why I should be telling you about it.”

“Maybe you should, because if I can find some way to help, your mood would lift, no?”

“Since when have you cared about my moods?”

Silence then.

“Are you aware of what the principle of correspondence is?” Anaxa mutters out and you have the urge to exhale.

“Please spare me a lecture…”

“As above, so below, as within so without.” The professor starts nonetheless. “Everything around us is a mirror that reflects a projection on both our inner and outer manners, think of the relationships as interconnected roots of trees or simply dendrites. It’s the simple work of magic tricks—human behaviors more so than divinity at play.” Anaxagoras approaches you, the chains of his eyepatch filling the slowness of the room.

He levels his face with yours and from your position, you can clearly anatomize the fullness of his eye from here—the hollow of mint with a cut of boysenberry in the center, glowing beneath long lashes.

He continues, “even if I’m half-dead as what that titan said, I can still feel your vibrations and stress, an internal conflict, it’s making shoddy trembles of my glass flasks on that desk.”

“How does that even—“

“Your feet.” Anaxa finally says. “You were unconsciously tapping your feet.”

Oh.

You lay your palms flat on your knees, an unconscious manner.

“I apologize.”

“So you have the decency to apologize and yet not speak your mind further?”

The silence is indefinite yet present. It shallows over at every retort that spills in between both your stubborn tongues.

You shake your head. “You’re difficult.”

His eyes narrow. “You are the one being difficult, actually. I offered help, you refused, I asked about your well-being, you dismissed me.”

“You should consider how your candidness makes it exceptionally hard for me to be open to you, maybe think about that.” You bite back at him, the tension threatening to spill over. “You’re the last person I’d want to go to whenever I have worries, so just simply drop it for today. I’d have to apologize for my lackings, I'll provide you with better companionship and arguments when I’m feeling well.”

“…Truly, I didn’t mean to come off as heartless—“ but you’d already brush past his shoulder before he can fully explain himself like he’d always have, leaving Anaxa to his bubbling vessels, untidy scrolls and a heavy sigh.

Much to his dismay instead of the privacy that he wishes after that argument, Cerces appears just as you vanish from his sight, a liquidy chuckle slipping past their lips. “Sometimes, I even wonder if your heart died along with you, child of humanity.”

“I’d rather you keep silent while I work.” Anaxagoras distastefully returns back to his apparatuses, more quiet and solemn than before.

“You should give chase.” Cerces suggested instead. “That child was simply worried.”

“Worried?” He finds the titan’s words as credulous. “Did you not see the flush of anger directed at me? Besides, I’m preoccupied right now.”

“You say you’re preoccupied and yet it’s you who seem quite distracted. Are you curious about their source of trouble?”

“It’s nothing new, arguments like that. We’ve known each other long before you ever knew me on my deathbed so back off.”

When he’d state his intentions clear, the Titan of Reason—unfazed in their countenance—leaves the professor to his own bearings and he finally has room to breathe.

Your relationship with him has always been rocky. Arguments and walking outs weren’t new, you used to debate about claims and theories a multitude of times back in the Grove, it was part of your dynamic, but every time he realizes belatedly how his string of words had cut you deep beyond the usual shallow jabs thrown on a daily, Anaxagoras cannot help but feel like his hollow chest is being twisted upside down.

In some way, maybe it mattered because despite the clashes and quarrels, you’d stay. You’ve stayed by him for years even after he was ridiculed as a blasphemous fool or a heretic—you’d stay even longer, waiting for him to finish lectern speeches or classes without so much as an ounce of complaint. A simple gesture that he’d been grateful of and even he admits to himself that seeing you being upset with him and his words were the least satisfying things to behold.

It did bother him but admitting that aloud to that titan was the last thing he’d want.

So after an hour or two after he knew you’d calm down, the professor drops his vials and walks down the distasteful and boisterous streets of Okhema in search of you—or more specifically, cruising over to Hyacine and asking for your whereabouts to save him the trouble of turning the Holy City upside down.

It was tempting, for the sake of bringing an irate reaction out of that woman and her golden threads, but his sick body and rational mind stopped him so.

“You are here.”

Anaxagoras has finally found you in some remote corner of the city, you were sitting shiftless above limestone, carving names upon ordinary stones. There was a spare moment in which his dull eyes sought down to you—he’d noticed how your hair is wind-swept and how strands of it stick to your forehead and the skin of your neck. The leaves of your collar are strewn as well, showing the barest hint of collarbones and almost immediately Anaxa shifts his eyes away, he’d asked what you were doing to distract himself from his own keen observations.

“Nobody will remember each scholar that perished fighting the Black tide. I’m merely writing companions I remember that I used to do thesis with, those that don’t have families here in Okhema to remember them…”

Anaxa observes you again, then after a long silence you feel him approaching closer, his shadow stretching before you. Your mind stirs in alertness, noticing what he’s up to—but Anaxa is always two steps ahead of you, before you can cease the pen laid by your side, he has already swiped it. You tried your best to wrestle it from him but Anaxa held it out of reach from you, causing you to sneer.

“Give that back. I forbid you to write your own epitaph!”

“And why not? I’ve done it once in the Grove—“

“Well, this isn’t the Grove—!“ You've paused quickly, noticing that you interrupted him. You waited for an ire to come throttling down at you but when you gaze back at him, Anaxagoras merely raises a brow at you, a faint sheet of amusement in his expression.

“Give me a stone.” He’d ask.

“No—“

“Stone.”

Your shoulders deflate at his tight tone, accepting defeat with petulance and a huff.

Stubborn man, you curse in your head. Stubborn and hard-headed and mean…You digress, ending up giving him one, laying the stone harsher onto his open palm than you intended but his expression remained amused.

When a balance of tamed silence settles, Anaxagoras is the first to speak again after writing an elegy onto the stone, changing the subject with ease.

“It's getting late, you should retire for today.”

And in response, you turn away with a quiet huff of breath. “I‘m…still not used to the Holy City's constant daylights, and I should be saying that to you, the moment you were given apparatuses to quell your complaints, you’ve been doing nothing but your experiments since you’ve arrived from your fight in Castrum Kremnos.”

“Well, thanks to your concern this ill-stricken body has been recovering. Besides, I have nothing much to do, especially when that woman’s threads are all over the place.”

“You almost died.” Your statement held more bite than necessary. For you it showed him your true feelings and for Anaxa—the answer to today’s dismay.

A laugh breaks from his lips.

“Is this why you’re upset?” There’s a hint of mirth in his tone. “You’re upset that I got hurt back at the Grove.”

You rise from your seat, meeting him tooth for tooth, jab for jab. “Is it truly hard for you to comprehend that there are people that care whether or not you’re doing well—?”

Despite your anger, Anaxa is distracted for a moment, watching the sneer on your lips shaping vowels and long consonants, almost as if you're baring his teeth at him. The sudden urge to lean down, kiss you quiet and taste those angry syllables on his teeth stirs in his mind.

The Nousporist sage is anything but a romantic, but temptation truly is a humanistic sin, what is he to be shameful for such selfishness?

“It’s not that.” He answers your spite with dullness. “My field of study has made it easy to forget about one's well-being. You of all people know that very well.”

“Anaxagoras, you could’ve died again and—“

He never wanted for you to concern yourself with him like this. Anaxagoras knew he was risking himself, the nuances of alchemy and the splitting of his soul. So how come—observing the way your expression creases with a certain type of pain that makes it seem like you were the one that felt it, not him.

“If you continue like this, I would go through the same grief of losing you like I did the first time around.”

“Don’t say that, as a Chrysos heir it’s bound to—“ Anaxa is surprised when you reach out to touch him, to dare touch him so freely and yet rebuttals fall flat on his heavy tongue. The warmth of your fingertips that brush over the coolness of his own palm, you bring his hand up to cradle your cheek with utter delicacy like you’re holding glass, it makes his mind go numb.

He is aware of the way his skin dances with the plush warmth of your cheek, strands of your hair he wishes to tangle between his long fingers—to give into temptation and drag his hand slowly down your jaw, the expanse of your neck, down your arms…

“You really should start taking care of yourself more.” Your lips murmur onto his open palm. “Maybe not for yourself, but for me and Hyacine.”

He swallows. ”…I cannot keep promises.”

And you’d feel a faint tug on his end—and that fissures the tension. You let go and he quickly lets his own arm fall back to his side immediately. There’s a part of you that was terrified at the thought of offending him, you never got into Anaxagoras’ bubble without permission, your relationship stayed at a mere arm’s length. Only quirked lips with tongues of appraisals and maybe the occasional longing stares from across large rooms were exchanged between the two of you, no shoulder brushing, hand-holding, breaths upon goosebumped necks—this was your first time ever touching him, his numbed, cold skin against your own.

Maybe your sudden approach shocked him from his nonchalance and arrogance, you’d know because for the first time since you’ve known him, Anaxagoras’ frown is an inch too deep and there’s a concerned fold on his brow.

He clears his throat, his eye looking anywhere but at you. “I need to go, I have to meet with the other Chrysos heirs at the baths today.”

Anaxa looked quite adamant to join the meeting, despite his distaste of the baths and Chrysos heir meetings.

He spares you one last look, “after you’re done with your business, you really should try to rest.”

You frown at his dismissive behavior, nodding your head nonetheless. “Alright, best of luck then.”

He’d merely nod stiffly at your reply and quickly turn on his heel. You would have let out a heavy exhale and scold yourself for touching him without prior permission—if it weren't for a certain titan that appeared before you, their brown curls turning gold under Kephale’s dawn.

“He’s quite provocative, that Nousporist sage, don't you think so too?” Cerces spares you conversation, their voice honeyed with light teasing.

“Anaxagoras’ probably born to be spiteful, so I cannot fault him for such a character flaw, we all have one.”

“You’re fond of him, aren’t you?” Cerces states and heat furnaces upon your cheek at their bold claim. Before you can find some excuse to defend yourself, they spoke again.

“So is he to you. I’ve noticed that whenever you’re around, he’s reduced to a passive child. His tongue is barely glib when you try to put him in his place and the way those sharp eyes soften, oh it reminds me of my lover all too much. It’s an endearing exchange.”

Cerces spoke their affections and you could do nothing but listen to them with a credulous expression. Anaxagoras being endeared by you? You’d try to wrack your mind of instances where you capture such a manner, but all you can remember of him was his sassiness, his dullness, his casual dismissiveness. There was no softness, endearments, fondness.

Despite being called the Titan of reason, you find their reasoning hard to comprehend.

You wouldn’t have believed them, that is until you gaze back at Anaxagoras’ retreating form in the distance and watch him closely, and closely you watch when you catch him moving his hand that you held so closely,

Observing how he flexes his fingers by his side.

FERVENT PRAYER

two time x gn!reader

WARNINGS: suggestive content (you and two time get 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂), mentions of blood & biting word count: 1146 summary: you're assigned to participate in a round with two time! while you think the objective is straight forward, they seemingly have other ideas...

authors note: this nonbinary cultist has genuinely invaded my brain and i can't tell if i want them or if i want to be them. ANYHOO please heed the warnings! while this isn't explicit, it is suggestive. read at your own discretion 🖤

You should have expected this with their behavior prior to the round starting. Two Time was more clingy, touchy. Their insistence on standing oh so close to you, the way they seemed to tower over your frame, the hand that rested on your shoulder—slowly and deliberately tracing up to your neck just before 007n7 approached the two of you and asked if you were ready—having to rush out a hurried stuttered “yes” as the cultist beside you pulled away. You should have known they’d be up to no good the moment your group stepped into the supposed “Horror Hotel.” 

The task was simple: repair generators and most important of all, survive. But your partner had..other ideas. As the two of you were away from your group—which consisted of 007n7, Elliot, Guest 1337, and a few others, Two Time grabbed your arm and pulled you into one of the many rooms the building hosted. Bright pinks, blues, and checkered patterns filled your vision before your back met the wall of what was seemingly a closet with a thud. Their hands locked around your wrists, effectively pinning you to the wall. You were trapped.

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. The sudden movement has you pulling against the cultist’s grip as you feel them nuzzle into your neck, taking in your scent. Their breath against your skin made you feel flushed—shifting your gaze away from them and onto the doorway. It was wide open.

“H-Hey..”

You managed to weakly call out. So many thoughts and ideas raced through your poor frazzled  head. You wanted to protest, to tell Two Time that the others needed help, that you couldn’t even recall what killer roamed the halls and how right now wasn’t the time for this—but those thoughts died the moment you felt them leaving tender kisses along your neck. 

“T-Two Time..!” The whine that left your lips was music to their ears, like a hymn sung by an angel itself. Their angel. 

They giggled against your skin before continuing their work. Kisses trailed from your collarbone, to your neck, to just below your jaw—all the while you squirmed beneath them. Their movements were deliberate and teasing, grip tightening ever so slightly when a noise would escape you. Two Time loved to see you like this, a flushed writhing mess from their actions alone. The satisfaction never felt sweeter. 

Momentarily pausing their assault, they leaned back to observe you. The way your chest rose and fell, the way your lips were slightly parted, and that flushed look on your face? Oh, it made the cultist’s heart pound with excitement. Two Time leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss against your lips before grinning down at you. 

“My poor, poor angel. Please, allow me…” 

They resumed, lips meeting your neck once more without giving you a moment to respond. Their advances, still gentle, had a hint of roughness and need. Your brain felt as if it was short circuiting, thoughts melting away. However the worst of it came when you felt their fangs break skin. The way your body reacted, back arching, was something that would be engraved into your brain for a lifetime. You whimpered, head unknowingly tilting to give the cultist better access—which they seemed to appreciate as you felt them smile against your neck.

Your skin was littered with splotches of red and purple, Two Time wasting no time to completely and utterly mark you. Kiss after kiss, bite after bite, your occasional sounds spurring them on. Each bite they left would immediately follow with a kiss on the same spot, seemingly “kissing the pain away.” But that so-called relief would only last for a moment before they’d plant another bite. And another. You soon lost count of how many they had given you…

Slowly their hands released your wrists, your own immediately flying to your partner’s shoulders for stability. Tantalizingly slow, their ice-cold hands trailed down your body, leaving goosebumps as they went. They rested at your hips before sliding underneath your shirt, causing a mix of a squeak and a whine. Despite your daze, one of your hands moved to now capture their wrist.

“Haah… T-Two, wait..”

Black eyes move to meet yours as they pull back from your neck, and you swear you almost submit to them right then and there. You knew better to think they were innocent, especially considering their current actions—but their wide eyes almost made you consider otherwise. 

“W-We can’t…” Two Time’s head tilted to the side innocently, gloved hands still resting against your bare waist. They seemed to study your face, eyes unblinking, before releasing a low chuckle. You felt their hands move up ever-so-slightly.

“Tell me, are you scared?”

The cultist whispered, breath hot on your ear. A shiver runs down your spine—your rational thinking was beginning to crumble.

“Worry not, my dear angel. The Spawn guides me. There is no need to fret.”

A moment goes by as they stare at you. They seek your approval. Two Time can see how the gears in your head turn, trying to come to a conclusion. While they may have the almighty Spawn by their side, they would never do something to hurt you. They worshipped you and the ground you walked on as if it was sacred. So they wait, thumb idly brushing against your skin. 

Soon eye contact is broken—resting your forehead against their bare shoulder with a shaky sigh. There is movement, one of their hands coming up to gently stroke your head. The willpower you once had shatters in an instant. You open your mouth to speak when suddenly-

“I’ve been looking all over for you two!! Guest is currently holding off the killer, but we need to..move…”

The response you had for Two Time dies on your tongue as Elliot comes barreling into the room, clearly out of breath. His frantic and worried attitude slowly comes to a halt as he locks his gaze on the both of you. He doesn’t say anything, simply stares. There are things he notices—such as hand placement, the way your neck and face are stained with red, how the cultist has their leg seemingly between-

You, albeit a bit harsh, push your partner away and dust yourself off. The employee is greeted by your flustered and embarrassed rambles—with you desperate to not acknowledge what he had walked in on. He luckily complies, seeing as he begins to explain the situation he had come from prior. Two Time watches wordlessly, their smile growing as you stutter over your words.  It’s not brought up again for the rest of the round, nor does anyone question the marks on your neck or your flustered demeanor. But the way Two Time looms behind you as your group begins to evacuate from the hotel tells you that you’re far from finished.

Nineteen

Oliver Aiku x Reader

Content: You don't know Oliver's actual age and assume that he's just some creep

[2,023 words]

     Oliver casually leaned against the counter nearby, his gaze locking onto you as a mischievous grin slowly spread across his lips. After a brief pause, he pushed himself off the counter, making his way toward you with confident strides.

     "Hey there—"

     Before he could even finish his sentence, you suddenly let out a scream so piercing it could've been heard miles away, your eyes locking onto him in pure shock.

     "Ah! Stranger danger!" you shouted with a dramatic flair.

     The entire room seemed to freeze. Conversations ceased, and a few heads turned in your direction, some with looks of confusion, others with a hint of concern. In an instant, you were off like a shot, darting through the crowd with the speed and agility of a deer escaping a predator. Without missing a beat, you slipped through the back door, leaving no time for anyone to react or stop you.

     Oliver stood there, blinking in complete disbelief, his face a mix of confusion and frustration.

     "What the hell is up with that chick?" he muttered, watching as you disappeared from sight.

     Shuto, his friend who had been standing nearby, couldn’t help but snicker under his breath, shaking his head with amusement. "Dude, that’s the second time she’s done that to you. What did you even do to freak her out so bad?"

     Oliver let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his dark, licorice-colored hair. The green underlayer of his hair caught the dim party lights, adding a subtle pop of color to his otherwise dark look.

     "I literally just said ‘hey,’" he responded, his voice tinged with bewilderment. 

     Unbeknownst to him, you had recently turned eighteen and were hyper-aware of the creepy old men who suddenly seemed too interested in your ‘freshly legal’ status. It freaked you out, so you had developed a habit of running at the first sign of a suspicious-looking older guy. And unfortunately for Oliver, with his strong facial hair, he looked like he had been through two divorces and had a midlife crisis at least once.

     The problem? He was only nineteen.

     It definitely wasn’t the last time you saw him. In fact, it felt like he was popping up everywhere you went. At the café you frequented every morning, there he was, standing in line ahead of you. At the grocery store, you’d turn the corner to find him browsing the aisles, as if the universe had a strange sense of humor. Even at the movie theater, when you were just trying to enjoy a film in peace, you’d spot him in line for tickets or grabbing snacks, like you couldn’t escape his presence no matter where you went.

     He wasn’t actively following you, you were sure of that. It wasn’t like he was showing up in places you were just to make you feel uneasy. But somehow, it seemed like fate had a funny way of throwing the two of you into the same spaces at the most unexpected moments. It was as if the universe had decided that your paths were meant to cross over and over, whether you liked it or not.

     The next time you encountered him, it was a literal collision at the bookstore.

     "Oh, it’s you," he muttered, rubbing his chest where you'd bumped into him.

     Your eyes widened in recognition. "Ah!" Without missing a beat, you turned on your heels and ran once more, nearly knocking over a display of discounted romance novels.

     Oliver groaned. "Seriously? Again?"

     By the time the next inevitable encounter happened, you were at a party—one mostly filled with college freshmen and their friends. You were laughing with a friend when your eyes landed on a familiar face. Your laughter died instantly.

     What the hell was a grown-ass man, who looked like he worked a corporate job and was on his third failed marriage, doing at a party for college kids?

     Your confusion doubled when you got a good look at him. Okay… he looked really good. Like, annoyingly good. His dark hair was styled messily yet effortlessly, and those mismatched eyes were way too pretty to belong to some sketchy older dude.

     Unfortunately for you, he noticed your staring and started making his way over.

     "Hey, gorgeous."

     Oh no. That was dangerous. That was flirting. And worse? It was working.

     You stiffened. "What are you doing here?"

     Oliver blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Uh… what?"

     But before he could even respond properly, you turned on your heels and disappeared into the crowd. Again. You leaned against a wall, your heart racing. What was wrong with you? Why did he have to look so good?

     Was this how girls with older men kinks felt?

     The next incident, you stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand shot in to stop them.

     It was him.

     You made direct eye contact. He sighed. "Oh, for the love of—"

     You slammed the ‘door close’ button repeatedly like your life depended on it.

     Unfortunately, fate was not on your side, and Oliver casually stepped in, letting the doors close behind him.

     Trapped.

     You stiffened, staring straight ahead. Maybe if you didn’t move, he wouldn’t notice you.

Oliver, exasperated, pinched the bridge of his nose. 

     You’ve lost count on how many times this has happened now. 

     One seemingly ordinary day, everything around you seemed to crumble in the most unexpected way. It all began with something as simple as an invitation—your friend had asked if you wanted to tag along to her boyfriend’s soccer practice. At the time, it didn’t seem like anything extraordinary. You figured it would be a good way to kill an afternoon, a casual way to pass the time. Plus, her boyfriend happened to be on Japan’s U20 soccer team, which was cool enough in itself to spark some curiosity.

     You had expected to watch a bunch of talented players showing off their skills, maybe even get a little impressed by their moves. The idea of watching a professional practice session sounded like it would be a decent way to spend a few hours, and that was it.

     What you hadn’t expected, though, was to see him. The very same guy who seemed to keep showing up in all the random places you visited. The one who had somehow made his way into your life without you even realizing it. 

     Dressed in crisp white and coral, effortlessly orchestrating the field with razor-sharp precision, was the very man you had spent weeks actively avoiding like the plague. Every pass he made was deliberate, every defensive maneuver executed with ruthless efficiency. He moved like someone who had spent his entire life perfecting his craft—quick, calculated, untouchable.

     Your stomach twisted violently as the realization hit you like a freight train. The guy you had been convinced was some weird, middle-aged creep with a concerning tendency to appear everywhere you went? The one whose presence had unsettled you to no end? Yeah. Turns out, he wasn’t some lurking menace at all. He was an elite athlete in his prime—one of the country’s top young players, no less.

     And now? Now, he was looking right at you.

     Oh, shit.

     Your breath caught in your throat as he strode toward you, still glistening with sweat from the intense practice session. His damp, jet-black hair clung to his forehead, a few unruly strands falling over piercing, mismatched eyes that locked onto you with an expression teetering between amusement and exasperation.

     There was no escaping it now.

     "You’re strange," he said flatly when he finally approached you. He was half expecting you to bolt again, but was a little taken back when you didn’t. Instead, you looked up at his towering frame with doey eyes filled with embarrassment. 

     "H-How old are you?" you blurted out, because at this point, you needed absolute confirmation that you hadn’t been acting insane for no reason.

     Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Guess."

     “25?" You said so confidently he gasped.

     "WHAT?!"

     "…30?"

     "Now you’re just fucking with me."

     "Um… 29?"

     He stared at you, visibly in pain. "I’m nineteen."

     Your jaw dropped. "What?!"

     "I’m literally on the U20 team," he deadpanned. "That means I am under 20."

     "Well, I didn’t know you were on the team!" you snapped, now feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

     Oliver let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "Now that you found out I am, I bet you want me though, right? Tch, shallow women these days."

     "Hey!" You crossed your arms, scowling. "I thought you were some weird old dude following me around! Besides, I don’t even know your name—" Your eyes flickered down to his jersey, where ‘AIKU’ was printed in bold letters.

     '…Aiku.'

     He sighed, clearly exhausted. "Oliver," he corrected.

     You blinked. Oliver Aiku?

     "Yeah." He rubbed his temples. "That’s it. I’m shaving my beard."

     That threw you off. "Wait, what?"

     Oliver groaned. "I look in the mirror every day and think I look fine. But no, apparently I’ve got the aura of a dude with a corporate job and three divorces! Do you know how messed up that is? I’m still in the ‘teens’"

     "Sorry," you muttered, averting your gaze.

     "Unbelievable," Oliver grumbled. "I can’t believe I got traumatized by a random chick who thought I was thirty."

     You snorted, crossing your arms. "Traumatized? I was the one out here fearing for my life every time I ran into you!"

     "Well, maybe if you actually looked at me instead of running away screaming, you wouldn’t have this problem."

     You pointed at him accusingly. "Are you actually nineteen? Or are you a forty-year-old man who got isekai’d into a younger body?"

     He groaned. "For the last time, I am nineteen!"

     You narrowed your eyes. "That’s exactly what a forty-year-old would say."

     "Bro." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stared at you.

     "Sorry, what can I do to make it up to you?" you asked sheepishly, genuinely worried you'd somehow messed up the vibe. 

     Oliver eyed you with a half-frustrated look, his hands on his hips like he was preparing to deliver some life lesson.

     "Give me your phone," he said, not waiting for a reply as you reluctantly handed it over. You were half scared but curious, was he going to take 0.5 pics of you and leak them to the internet?

     Oliver continued navigating your phone, asking "You busy tomorrow night?"

     You blinked. "Uh, no. Why?"

     He turned the phone in his hand and casually added his number to your contacts, tapping the screen before handing it back to you. "You are now."

     Your eyes widened in shock as you looked down at your screen. "Wait, did you just—?"

     "Yep. Don’t make me regret it," he said with a teasing smile.

     Before you could even respond, he was already walking off, leaving you standing there with your phone in hand.

     You tried to shake it off, but when you met him the next night, you were hit with a wave of surprise. There he was, standing at the restaurant entrance, his usual grin on his face. But something was different.

     Oliver had shaved. Completely. No beard. His face, which had previously carried the ruggedness of someone much older, was now startlingly smooth. And if possible, he looked even younger than you remembered—maybe even younger than his real age of nineteen.

     "Oliver?" You stammered, unable to hide the shock from your voice. You had expected some hint of stubble, some remnant of his previous ‘older man’ look, but no. Nothing. Hair really is a man’s makeup. 

     He chuckled, clearly amused by your stunned expression. "Surprised?"

     "You look... like you're actually nineteen," you managed, still processing the sight of his clean-shaven face.

     Oliver grinned, his mismatched eyes twinkling mischievously. "Yeah, well, I thought I'd give it a try for a date with a pretty girl."

     You shook your head, still trying to process the fact that this was the same guy who had spent weeks looking like someone who pays alimony and a mortgage.

a/n: no comments. Just love charles sm + enjoy the oneshot.

Charles Chevalier x Reader !

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Unusualness.

Charles Chevalier was used to attention.

Everywhere he went, people naturally gravitated toward him—drawn in by his golden hair, sharp features, and confident, teasing personality. He was charming, after all. A natural flirt, always throwing in a wink or a well-placed compliment that made people flustered.

But then there was you.

The quiet girl who always sat by the window, minding her own business, unfazed by his antics. While others melted under his gaze, you barely reacted. And that? That drove Charles insane.

So, naturally, he made it his mission to get a reaction out of you.

“Mademoiselle y/n,” Charles drawled as he slid into the seat beside you, his light yellow eyes practically glowing with mischief. “You look absolutely stunning today.”

You barely glanced up from your book. “You say that every day, Charles.”

“Because it’s true every day,” he shot back smoothly.

You sighed, turning a page. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Charles smirked. “Why would I, when my favorite person is right here?”

You gave him a look—one that wasn’t annoyed, but more like… unamused acceptance. Charles was persistent. Too persistent. He had been like this since day one, constantly throwing compliments your way, waiting for the day you’d finally crack and give him the reaction he wanted.

But you never did.

At least, not in the way he expected.

Because one day, as he was going on about how lucky the school was to have “such a breathtaking beauty within its walls,” you finally spoke up.

“If I’m so breathtaking, why are you the one who’s always speechless?”

Charles froze.

You blinked at him, waiting for his usual smooth comeback, but it never came. Instead, he just… stared at you, lips slightly parted, his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

Oh.

Oh, this was fun.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you teased, tilting your head. “Did I finally win?”

Charles cleared his throat, leaning back as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart. “Mon dieu… You wound me, y/n.”

You smirked. “I thought I was breathtaking?”

His eyes flickered with amusement, and then—he laughed. A genuine, lighthearted laugh that made your chest feel strangely warm.

“You are,” he admitted, golden eyes meeting yours. “And that’s exactly why I’m speechless.”

Your smirk faltered for half a second. But Charles caught it.

And this time, you were the one who looked away first.

Much to his delight.

End.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Thank you for reading ! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

(photo from pinterest)

they who admit defeat . sae itoshi

synopsis: the break-up was mutual, so why do you miss each other so bad?

content: 1.3k wc, ex! itoshi sae, exes to lovers, implied toxic relationship?? fem! reader, pet names (amor, baby), very mild angst with comfort, fluff, shidou cameo (suggestive comments / the usual with him) OOC sae, probably..

riotrants: i thought of this while listening to sleep token’s descending. highly recommend. constructive criticism is welcome!! enjoy!! :)

6 months, 1 week, 4 days, and 7 hours.

what is that oddly specific amount of time, you ask from afar? i’ll answer you; the date you and japan’s prodigal soccer player itoshi sae ended your four year long relationship. arguably the best four years of your life down the drain over an idiotic stunt pulled by the media. the impending break-up was further fueled by the lack of communication. you knew soccer was sae’s career, yet he was never home. he had slowly begun to wean off quality time with you, and it was taking a harsher effect on you than you’d thought. eventually, you grew restless. your boyfriend felt like a stranger.

after a few weeks of absence, sae was the one who ended things, and you had to admit, he’d done it rather maturely. he sat you down after a game and talked to you. all of your questions had answers—as if he’d preplanned for every possible outcome (he did)—and there were no loose ends to tie up. you didn’t argue.

you understood and agreed. you knew what you were getting into when you first started dating him. little to no personal time with him, insane public attention, lack of privacy, high expectations from his crew / teammates, the list was endless. to most, it would be too overwhelming, but sae made sure you never felt the pressure of all the negative energy. he handled the media—smoothly brushing off any prying interviewers about his relationship, debunked rumors and proved edited photographs were false. his team adored you, especially ryusei shidou, who jokingly asked if he could be your rebound. the break-up was mutual, so why were you still so hung up on it?

now, here you sat in the loud arena, your gaze focused on the field below. you still had access to vip seating, according to sae, but you didn’t take advantage of that. you bought your own tickets to the games and sat among the crowd, occasionally lying to a fan who asked if you were sae’s girlfriend. it pained you to say no, wanting nothing more than to confirm your association with him. yet you respected his wishes and pretended you never knew him.

you stood when the horn blared loudly, signaling yet another win for sae and his team. he still played flawlessly, though you hadn’t expected him to perform any differently. you shifted through the thunderous crowd, arriving to the small exit door hidden behind the food court. routine still begged for you to turn around, to wait for him in front of the locker room as you once did. you’d greet him with open arms, and he’d melt into them with a middle finger to his cooing teammates. shidou tended to join the two of you, wrapping his sweaty form around you both playfully. “awwwww, baby!” he’d squeeze and shake you back and forth, cackles leaving his lips when sae sighed exasperatedly.

you miss him.

you shook your head, pushing through the door to walk to the parking garage. before you could take another step, a gentle hand landed on your wrist. you recognized the fabric of his gloves, turning your head curiously. sae stood there, his turquoise eyes laden with emotions you couldn’t decipher. “itoshi—“

“don’t do that,” he muttered, sliding his hand from your wrist to linger limply at his side, “i’m not a stranger.” you didn’t know what to do. you twisted the skin around your ring finger, feeling the soft divot from the promise ring that used to live there. your hands felt empty without it, something you had yet to get used to. an awkward silence settled between the two of you, warm gazes flicking over each other’s faces in fear of being the last time they’d see it. “you played well,” you winced at the quiet, and sae let out an amused scoff.

he wants you back. terribly so.

he misses coming home to a warm embrace. your smiling face as you excitedly talk about your day, the sporadic phone calls he’d get when something happened (no matter how important or temporary), the way you would prepare him a warm bath if he’d had a rough day at practice. the shining light in your eyes when you showed everyone the promise ring he surprised you with, matching with the one he still wore on a chain under his jersey.

you. he misses you. yet, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. he had no right to miss you, especially since he was the leading cause for the break-up. so, he kept silent.

a few more weeks passed, and shidou was growing irritated with you both. sae would hardly react to his outrageous comments, you were slowly inching back into the shell he’d just gotten you out of, and he had had enough. “okay! i’ve had it,” he slammed his hands on the table, death glaring sae. his pink eyes bore holes into the prodigy’s face, “go to y/n’s place with a bouquet, fall on your knees and press your gorgeous face on the ground. beg, plead, cry and whine for her to take you back. when she does, take her to the bedroom and show her who is—!”

shidou grunted when a notebook flew at his face, sighing happily as he sunk back into his seat, “that’s the first reaction i’ve gotten out of ya in days. you’re such a tease.” sae rolled his eyes, his usual nonchalant expression fading slightly. “yer both drivin’ me insanee!” he dragged his hands down his face, ignoring the unamused look sae was shooting him, “go get your girl, man.”

sae was about to crawl through the dirt back to you, but he had no idea you were already on the ground waiting for him.

you were in the middle of cooking dinner when a knock sounded on your door, the television displaying a random film you’d turned on. you turned the heat of the stove down, still wearing your apron as you went to the small entryway of your apartment. you opened it, and your brows knit together at the sight of sae standing there with a bouquet. “sae?” you asked, confusion written all over you. you invited him inside, and he graciously accepted the offer.

after settling the flowers in a vase, you both sat on opposite ends of the sofa. “i miss you,” he whispered, and you felt warmth rush to your face when he moved closer, “i-i should have never let you go. i’m so stupid for—“ his eyes widened when you closed the distance, pressing your lips softly against his. he didn’t complain, reaching his hands up to hold your head. his fingers nestled themselves in your hair, savoring the sweet flavor of your kiss. you pulled away with a shy grin, “i was waiting for you to say that..”

sae kissed you again, finding your hand and holding it close. you gasped when cold metal slid smoothly onto your empty ring finger, pulling away and immediately focusing your gaze on it. the promise ring you’d returned to him sits comfortably in its proper spot. sae’s lips were curled into a gentle smile, his chest warm and heavy with love for you. love that never went away, even after so long without you.

“mi amor,” he breathed, and you embraced him at the utterance of the pet name you adored. in the midst of your intimate moment, sae’s phone rang obnoxiously. you laid your head on his shoulder as he checked the caller, both of you sharing a laugh at shidou’s horrid profile picture. he answered, and the blonde man grinned wickedly, “so, throuple?” sae hung up as quickly as he answered, silencing his phone and tossing it to the side. he slid you in his lap, kissing your head as an unpleasant burnt smell wafted through the room. “baby, what’s that?” he asked quietly.

“was dinner,” you replied, “wanna get takeout?”

sae cracked a smirk, “sure. i’ll pay.”

yeah, he’s never letting you go again. in fact, he thinks he’ll take you with him everywhere.

۫ ꣑ৎ . HIS ULTRAVIOLENT PROSE. mydei

summary, even with half-bitten pomegranates between tongue, teeth and heart, the prince of Kremnos tries to make amends with you.

mydei x gn!reader. mildly lovers to enemies. tension and arguments. hurt with comfort. mentions of arranged marriage and eloping (love this trope with him) soft and gentle mydei, might be ooc. lore-inclined city-state ceremonies. [2.0k wc]

It’s merely an alliance ceremony.

And yet here you were, being dressed in foreign silks and heavy accessories. Compared to your usual attires the fabrics are lightweight, enough for a cold rush to scrape your skin despite the torch lit by the corner of your room.

Your face must’ve betrayed you, for the maidens that attended to you murmured about it being part of Kremnoan traditions and that you had to endure it, only with such a solid statement do you deflate, settling stiffly and defeatedly on the chair, allowing them to continue their decorations on you, to peel you bare of your sea-state city garments and pool Castrum Kremnos‘ silk clothes, sandals and cape over you.

At this very moment, you looked like a raw and beguiling warrior, a far cry of what you truly were, an ignorant coward.

“You look beautiful.” A more elderly woman speaks from behind, you stare at her through the vanity.

“…I look like a fighter.”

“Are you not?”

You hesitate to answer her, biting your lip to prevent yourself from speaking something you might regret.

Are you still labeled a fighter after losing your city to Castrum Kremnos?

You were anything but triumph, you lost your kingdom, your pride, your people—and only this alliance union can salvage whatever scraps of glory you have left, it's the only thing you could do for your folks since you disappointed them as their leader.

The elder woman’s hand lands softly on your shoulder, despite such a gentle manner you cannot help the flinch from echoing through your bones. Your nails bury into your palms.

“I assure you, young one, that shame is the last thing Castrum Kremnos would dare to offer you and your city-state.”

She pauses.

“Our prince would not dare such a thing from you.”

You wanted to laugh, to cry and scream and ruminate frustrations. But you swallow instead, “I see.”

You did not utter another word after that. The maidens have left long ago and you pondered with your own thoughts, recounting the gradual yesterdays you spent mourning over fallen friends and a broken city. You recounted tidbit memories of the remaining council that pushed you for this alliance—forcing you to succumb and kneel towards the very people that took your everything.

After all, as the last remaining royal blood, that’s the least you can do.

The Kremnos’ heavy bells finally billow, and you inhale sharply.

“It’s time for you to step into the ceremony hall, lord.”

And you stand, your heart heavy with pressure. When you followed a counselor towards your destination, the older man gave you a quick rundown of certain rules and traditions you needed to adhere to, you half-listened to the convoluted rules until the very last statement that catches your attention,

“At the end of the blessings, you are to share a cup of pomegranate juice with the one you are to join alliance with.” he starts,

“In this case, you are to drink from the same cup with the representative of our city, Kremnos’ prince Mydeimos.”

His name is an echo through the shell of your ears, leaving a bitter aftertaste between your teeth. You stopped listening after that, until you both faltered at the end of the corridor.

Your heart is pounding in your chest when the large, looming doors split open, by now, the hall is packed and standing at the very front was the ceremony priest and Mydeimos himself, awaiting your arrival. When you step beside him on the podium, your gaze dare not shift towards the prince.

You let the withered voice of the priest wander you through the prayer, he lifts an iron chalice brimming with liquid as red as blood—you watch quietly as he lifts a smaller glass of honey, letting the golden liquid pool into the red cup before blessing the drink.

The priest turns to you, with a nod he beckons you to mirror the oath spoken. With parted lips, you follow along, pledging allegiance and alliance to Castrum Kremnos, “And with the glory of Strife and blood intertwined in allegiance with Castrum Kremnos, I, the succeeding lord of my city shall share the same devotion of valorous death before glorious return.”

You tilt your chin, lips pressed against the iron. The tangy yet thickly sweet taste of pomegranate rinses through your tastebuds. When the red liquid hits the middle line, you retract, turning towards the direction of the prince.

You look at him, only to find his heavy resin eyes already on you.

Mydeimos’ blank stare traces every bare action you do, and for a split moment you try to hold his weighty stare, trying to dissect his expression—trying to see what he thinks of the whole thing, and yet you find none.

You’ve dropped your gaze then, before extending the chalice in his direction. You slightly stir when you feel his fingertips brush your knuckles, you are quick to let go when he grabs ahold of the cup—too quickly.

How audacious, you cannot help but wonder when the priest speaks the same oath to him, Mydeimos recites it but his eyes never stray from you. Truly, he’s like a prowling lion assessing its prey.

There’s a prickling sensation of self-consciousness with such a look pinned on you.

“And with the glory of Strife and blood intertwined in allegiance with Castrum Kremnos, I, Mydeimos the succeeding prince of my city shall share the same devotion of valorous death before glorious return…” he rasps, then he downs the remainder within the chalice, his golden eyes still on you.

You cannot help yourself but settle your gaze on his exposed collarbones, laddering your way up the column of his neck where you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs at the swallow of the juice, a few clumsy droplets run down his jaw before he retreats and wipes it with the back of his hand.

The bells sound once, then twice at the successful union but your mind is a flurry of thoughts, though all of them stop at one concluding statement, you desperately need to get out of the banquet hall.

So when you’re finally released from your duties, instead of lingering and talking with the folks you spin around towards the exit. Nobody seemed to bat an eyelash at your hasty departure, nor was there anyone in the hallway outside which allowed you to break into a sprint—you don’t know where you’re going, quite frankly the layout of the city is still foreign to you, but you needed to get out of there.

At the fall of your impatient footsteps, you barely hear another set chasing after you.

Only until you feel larger hands gripping your waist do you stop.

“Where do you think you’re running off to?” You don’t need to turn to know who was speaking, the plates of his half-naked front are pressed hard against your back, it acted like a furnace almost.

“Unhand me.” You try to sound casual but it ends up in a bite. “This instant, Mydeimos—“

“And what?” He challenges back. “Let you run around like a headless goose until one of the counselors finds you? Do you wish for trouble that much?”

Instead of answering, you try to pry his hands around your waist. Your attempts are obviously futile however you are wracked with frustrations, fury and confusion. Your actions only fueled the prince’s impatience.

“Quit squirming—“

“Then let me go!” You try to glare at him. “I wish to be anywhere but in your arms right now—“

That must’ve struck a nerve.

Mydeimos’ grip on you only tightened, he pulls you towards an empty corner between the heavy flaps of curtains and presses you against the wall. His hand grips your jaw—but despite such a harsh action his hold on you remains feather-light, gentle.

His face draws close to your own, until you can feel his raspy voice on your cheek. At this distance, you can smell his scent of bonfire, tender smoke and something sweet, like pomegranates, he smelled awfully fruity.

“Says the one that wishes to marry me, isn’t that what you confessed to me months before?”

The jab brings heat to your cheeks, you lift your hand with the intent to slap him but Mydeimos captures your wrist before your palm could collide with his cheek. His thumb runs up from your wrist to your palm, intertwining your fingers together and laying it on the wall beside your head, his bangs brush your forehead, face so, so close that if you tilted your head your lips would be brushing his own,

“You wanted to elope with me.” Mydei tells you. “Have you forgotten? Or do you wish for me to tell you the exact words you told me that day.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this was before my city was attacked by your warriors!”

The tension hangs gauche, the silence between the two of you almost unbearable. The man before you sighs heavily, “There are a handful of things that are at my disposal, even with the title of prince—the issues of prophecies is something I cannot control.” Mydei soothes a thumb over the pulse in your wrists.

“You of all people are aware of this fact.” he pauses. “Or maybe you weren’t, after all the sea-side states are nonbelievers, you and your people don’t revere the Titans, only the arithmetics and logarithms of the world.”

“You're right, I wasn’t.” You snap. “I did not know Castrum Kremnos was prophesied to destroy my home, Mydeimos. If I had known, I wouldn’t have uttered such preposterous words to you, I was made out to be an ignorant fool because of it.”

Mydeimos’ whole demeanor takes a polar shift, you’re unsure why those eyes had melted like butter, was it your shaky voice, the pitiful wallow in your tone? Or did he truly feel an ounce of empathy for your situation?

“You're not an ignorant fool.” He lets go of your wrist but his body remains pressed up against your own, despite the position his body heat grounded you, especially with his follow up of, “to me, you’re the wisest person I know. A leader with a heart of gold, I apologize for causing you so much agony and for being unable to aid you when you need it most.”

He takes your hand, smearing his lips against your knuckles. “I wish to make amends with you but if you hold such vengeance in your heart—” he tugs your wrist, digging your fingers to his chest just above his heart. “You can scratch my heart out and kill me, stab me in the back for as long as you want if it means your desires would be satiated, then so be it.“

“…Mydeimos.” To say you were shocked was an understatement.

He softly bumps his forehead with your own. “Do you hate me, kardia mou?”

This was the very reason why you fell for him, the prince from the city of warriors. Despite the harshness of his textures and tones, when it came to you, he was honest and open. Those universal stone-cold expressions fissure as soon as he sees a glimpse of you in the distance. He spoke in uncharacteristic gentleness and his fleeting skinships sent butterflies within your chest. You cannot be angry with him, much less hate when he acts like this.

You feel him interlace your fingers, weaving his own with yours. Then he leans down once again, pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth, the intent of apology willing to spill from the nonexistent gaps between the two of you. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes turn glassy. Maybe it was due to Mydeimos’ comfort that every drowning pressure that you’ve bottled up comes cracking at the seams.

A sob spills between your lips.

“I don’t hate you, Mydei.” Your voice trembles when he tips your chin towards him, brushing his thumbs over the tear staining down your cheeks. “Truthfully, it is I that I loathe the most, not you—never you.”

“So please, never say that I find thrill in killing you.”

Mydei’s hand comes tangling through your tendrils, you weep on his collarbones, his woody scent engulfing you in comfort.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats. “I’ll never speak of such a thing to you, so cease your cryings, my love.”

Howdy there! Can I request a suggestive fic with Kaveh where the reader tries their best to convince Kaveh to not pull an all nighter and exhaust himself out because of a big project he's been working on, so they take it upon themselves to try and convince him with sweet kisses and soft caresses! I just love the mental image of reader sitting on his lap and kissing him all over to convince him to go to bed so he can rest while they spoil him, because he absolutely deserves to be spoiled!!!!!.

Have a good day, and no pressure with making this <3

Tired Eyes, Tender Heart

Summary: Kaveh has been pushing himself too hard with a big project, ignoring his need for rest. His concerned partner tries to convince him to take a break, gently coaxing him with soft kisses and affectionate touches. Eventually, Kaveh surrenders to the warmth of your love and care, allowing himself a moment of relaxation and tenderness. In the end, it’s a night for Kaveh to receive the attention and rest he so desperately deserves.

Tags: Kaveh x Reader, Suggestive, Fluff, Soft Romance, Emotional Comfort, Slow Burn, Affection, Rest, Caregiving, Light Dom/Sub Dynamics

Warnings: Suggestive Content, Mild Innuendo, Emotional Vulnerability, Physical Affection.

It was late. The moonlight filtered through the half-open windows, casting long shadows across the room where Kaveh sat hunched over his desk, the light of his lantern flickering weakly against the sheer volume of blueprints sprawled across the surface. His fingers trembled slightly, not from lack of skill, but from the exhaustion that had taken over his body. Yet, the passion that fueled his soul refused to let him stop working. The lines on the parchment blurred, but his mind was alive with his grand designs. He had to finish this—he simply couldn’t stop.

But then, a soft voice broke through the storm of thoughts swirling in his head.

"You're going to burn yourself out, Kaveh."

You stood at the doorway, watching him for a moment before stepping inside. Your eyes softened at the sight of him—his hair disheveled, his sharp eyes weary yet still focused. You had seen him like this far too many times. He was always so driven by his ideals, always pushing himself too hard. The thought of him falling into a deep exhaustion, unable to recover, unsettled you.

"You know that this project won't go anywhere if you're too exhausted to finish it," you continued, your tone gentle but firm.

Kaveh let out a sigh, not bothering to look up from his work. "I know, but this... this needs to be perfect. Every detail matters."

You couldn’t help but smile at his dedication. His idealism was something that you admired deeply, but it also made him blind to his own needs. With a soft laugh, you crossed the room, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"How about you take a break?" you suggested, your voice laced with sweetness. "Just for a little while. A moment to rest, so you can come back to this with a clearer mind."

He didn’t respond immediately, but the weight of your touch seemed to slow his hands. His eyes met yours for the first time in what felt like hours, and for a moment, you saw the weariness in them, the silent plea for someone to care enough to help him.

Before he could protest, you slipped onto his lap, straddling him gently. His breath hitched as you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. His body stiffened in surprise, but you stayed close, your warmth against his. The kiss you gave him lingered longer than necessary, a silent invitation to let go of the tension that gripped him.

"Kaveh," you whispered, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "You’ve been working so hard. You deserve a little rest. Let me take care of you."

He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as though debating whether to push you away or hold you closer. But then, as you kissed him again—this time on his lips, slow and tender—he gave in, his body relaxing under your touch.

You didn’t stop there. Your kisses became a trail down his jaw, along his neck, sweet and soft, coaxing him into relaxation with every touch. His breath grew shallow, and his hands finally reached up to rest against your waist, pulling you even closer. But you didn’t let him pull away from your affection.

"You've worked so hard, Kaveh," you murmured against his skin, nipping lightly at his earlobe. "But you can’t do it all alone. Let me spoil you for once."

Kaveh’s mind was swirling, and though his body still ached to finish his project, it also longed for the tenderness you were offering. He leaned back in his chair, allowing you to guide him into a position of comfort. You kissed him again, this time deeper, more insistent, as if telling him, without words, that he deserved to rest, to feel loved, to be cherished.

When you finally pulled away, he was left breathless, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed at you with a mix of admiration and gratitude.

"You spoil me too much," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

You smiled softly, brushing your hand through his hair, smoothing out the tension there. "You deserve it, Kaveh. You deserve every bit of rest and affection. Now let me take care of you. Just for tonight."

He seemed to contemplate your words for a moment, his hand finding yours and squeezing it gently. Finally, with a sigh, he nodded, his voice barely a whisper.

"Alright. You win."

You couldn’t help but smile at his surrender, glad that he’d finally let go. As he relaxed into your embrace, you kissed him once more, this time a soft promise to care for him, to ensure that he never forgot how deserving he was of love and rest.

Together, you guided him away from his desk, towards the warmth of the bed, leaving the plans behind—if only for the night. Kaveh had given so much to the world, but tonight, it was his turn to receive, and you were more than happy to spoil him as he truly deserved.

itoshi sae has no idea how you do it.

classwork, homework, midterms, exams, two jobs, and a lively group of friends? it all sounds so unnecessary to him, these things that would be distractions from his dream. but for you, it sustains you and encourages you to keep going. how differently our minds work, he thinks to himself when he has a rare day to spend on your couch and you're typing away at some assignment on your laptop.

"why do you do that?" you don't respond the first time he asks and he gently calls your name, even though you're barely three feet away. you turn to him with a tired look and something pangs inside his chest. "why bother doing that?"

"bother doing what?"

"whatever it is you're doing right now." he nods at your glaring laptop screen filled with words he can't even begin to understand, some final before your university goes on winter break.

"because it's part of my degree?" there's no malice in your words, just genuine confusion, just like there's no accusations in his words, just concern. "if i fail this class, i don't graduate."

"why do you need to graduate, or have a degree in the first place?"

"because i need a job, my love," you explain patiently. "we've had this conversation before. going to school means i can get a well-paying job to sustain myself."

"why do you need to sustain yourself when you have me?" you blink at him and his blank face. the only sign of emotion is the slight pinch between his eyebrows; he was truly puzzled why he couldn't just set you up for life. dating itoshi sae is like being an unwilling sugar baby.

"i'm not going to leech off your earnings," you chuckle in disbelief. "i'm not going to use you to make sure i have a comfortable life. i love you, and my kind of love stays whether we have money or not." he shifts awkwardly in his seat and his mouth pouts the tiniest amount. he obviously didn't like your reply.

"whatever i'm doing, it isn't enough for you," he states quietly.

without another word, you exhale through your nose and shut your laptop. you place it on the coffee table before crawling over and maneuvering your way into his arms. he gladly accepts you, sliding down the couch's armrest so that you're nearly lying on top of him. it's quiet for a few moments, not in an uncertain way but in a way that said both of you were figuring out how to articulate your thoughts.

"i just think that--"

"you don't need to--" you both begin your explanations at the same time and the huff of his laugh vibrates against your cheek. "you go first," you tell him.

"i was saying that, if you wanted me to," he inhales and tries to tiptoe around what he wants to say before deciding to just crush it with his foot, "i can take care of you without you needing a degree." a certain selfish part of him wanted you there for every single victory and ladder rung he ascended, not because he thought you owed him, but because he owed you. you, who weathered his darkest of moods and harshest of snaps. he owed you for dealing with his bullshit, so he figured, why should you need to lift a finger when you've already done so much for him? "i owe you that much for everything that you've seen me through."

"you don't owe me anything, itoshi sae. loving you is not transactional, nor have i ever wanted it to be."

"everything is transactional, mi amor," he argues and the pet name makes your heartrate increase. "give and take, it's how the world flows. shouldn't your university classes be teaching you that?" your eyes have fluttered shut on his chest, but you still hear the smirk in his joke.

"believe it or not, mister 'fame is the only thing that matters to me,' there are transactions beyond material goods."

"i know that," he says indignantly. "i also know that you're wrong."

"am i?"

"yes," he affirms. "i don't only care about fame. i care about you too, obviously."

"see, sae? give and take. i give you all i am--"

"and you take all i am."

"body and soul?"

"and everything in between," he finishes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before settling into the pillows. "rest, mi amor. you've paid more attention to school than to me lately, and that's an unequal transaction."

“Just one more,” you mewl.

“Oh my god.”

Sae has to leave. It’s past the point of him responsibly leaving, to now, where there’s no choice of him having to leave now, if he wants any chance of making it to practice on time.

But you, however, are seemingly far from getting your Itoshi Sae fix, not wanting to be far from him at all: you whimpered and whined when he got up for his run, you snuck into his shower with him, you looped your arms around his waist while he made his lunch, now you’ve got his face gripped in your hands, sponging kisses over him.

At first, sure, he loved the attention.

But Itoshi Sae has to leave. Four minutes ago.

“Hey,” he sighs softly, trying to push your shoulders back to peel you off of him. “You know I have to go. Don’t make this harder for me.”

“You don’t have to go,” you say simply. “You and I can just be hermits forever, hide here for the rest of our lives and cuddle forever.”

Tempting. Not that he’d ever tell you that.

“Don’t you want to stay here forever with me?”

He clicks his tongue, “you know I absolutely would if I could. But,” he makes a move to step away, and you whine and squeeze tighter. “I have to go. Then, when I come home, I’ll be able to tell you all about my day while we lay down. You like that.”

“I know I do, but,” you peer up at him with your lethal pout, “I like you being here more.”

Sae looks at the clock on the stove. Then back at you. Then he sighs and leans down to steal another kiss from you, slotting your lips with his. They move in harmony, eliciting small pants from you, and his hand cradles the back of your head lovingly. You mewl and rest your hands on his hips, letting the few seconds of heaven be savored between you.

When he finally pulls away, you’re smiling dopily, giddily, and Sae knows he hit the nail on the head.

You’d wanted a goodbye kiss. Sae always knows what you want from him, and in the morning, it just so happens to be a firm, loving, assuring goodbye kiss.

“Okay,” you purr, letting your hands roam over his back, compliant and melted in his arms. “You can go now. I’m happy.”

“You’re done with me?” He asks.

“Yeah, until tonight anyways,” you hum, kissing his chin. “Better go before I change my mind.”

He cracks a smirk, “you’re a real piece of work, you know that right?”

“What can I say?” You sigh dramatically. “I know how much you love a challenge.”

You’re right.

He really, really does.

Light In The Darkness

summary: venti isn't often vulnerable with you, but the one time he is is when he needs a whole lot of reassurance. and you have no problem giving him just that: expressing just how much he means to you.

pairing: jealous!venti x gn!reader

cws: slight angst, hurt/comfort

notes: originally posted this a few hours ago but quickly realized that i made a mistake bc the req was for a jealous mc instead of venti 😭

so instead i’ll post two versions!! this one is the venti version, and the mc version will be posted hopefully tmrw!

wc: 2k

A bard was well-versed in all things poetry. It was their job to serenade those around them.

It was no surprise to you that your lover’s angelic voice touched the hearts of many. After all, that was his job— to sing and dance and play the lyre throughout all corners of the world, gaining popularity as he did so.

Sometimes, you thought the popularity got to his head a little. All those compliments and love struck looks from both men and women alike definitely stroked his ego to a degree.

He could do without all that praise, you thought, watching from afar as your lover sang a classic tale that was well known in Mondstadt. He gets enough praise from the church.

You were well aware he was the Anemo Archon. It was easy to put two and two together after taking a glance at the statue in the center of the city.

Tapping your fingers along to the classic tale, you failed to notice the figure of the Traveler approaching your all but empty table. Aether and Paimon greeted you eagerly, their faces a welcome sight after not having seen them in months.

A smile broke out onto your face instantly. You returned their sentiments, and the three of you fell into idle chatter about their recent journeys. Before long, you were laughing loudly like you always did when Aether came to visit.

He and Paimon were no strangers to the City of Freedom. They often stopped by for a visit around the festival seasons, though this year they had missed the annual Windblume Festival because of a music event in Inazuma.

You hounded them for missing the festival, though it was all lighthearted fun. You told them about Venti’s performance during the Windblume Festival, and how he gained the hearts of many afterwards.

“Wow, sounds like the Tone-Deaf Bard is doing as well as ever.” Paimon’s deadpan expression made you chuckle.

“Indeed. I think he could do without having his ego stroked all the time, but he really is an amazing performer, so I guess it’s alright.” You said.

Paimon huffed and crossed her arms. “Still! He should at least be a bit humble!” She tossed a glare in his direction. “Who knew the Anemo Archon could be so greedy!”

You sighed, a laugh tumbling out of your mouth. It was good to know that Paimon was the same as always. Aether looked just about ready to leave Paimon here, what with all her grumbling and complaining. You were happy to see them in good health.

An hour later, the two were bidding you farewell, claiming they had to knock some commissions for the Adventurer’s Guild out before sundown.

“Take care of yourselves, alright? If you need us, you know where to find us. Please do stop by sometime soon!” you told them with a smile, “Venti bought a vintage recently and we’ve been saving it for a special occasion. It would be the perfect time to break it open!”

“Sure thing!” Aether nodded with a kind smile. “See you around!”

You watched them leave with a small smile on your face before you directed your attention back to Venti. The bard was entertaining a group of drunkards, singing an old Mondstadt tale. It was one you’ve heard only a handful of times.

In the past, it was extremely popular in Mondstadt. However, as the years came and went, it grew to be forgotten amongst the people. As you watched Venti light up with life and rile up the patrons he was singing to, you realized he was doing his best to bring back those old, forgotten melodies.

The door to the tavern creaked open, and from your table near the bar, you could see Diluc take a huge sigh. That could only mean one thing…

“(Name)! Why, it’s quite the pleasure to see you here.” Kaeya’s smooth and charming voice entered your ears.

“Well if it isn’t Captain Kaeya!” You beamed, standing from your seat to give him a nice big hug.

It had been a few months since you’ve seen him last. The last time you saw him was four months ago when he left for Fontaine to speak with a few merchants there on behalf of the Knights of Favonius. Since then, your days were a little duller without his presence.

Though, the void left behind by your best friend was quickly filled by the affections from your lover.

Kaeya chuckled, the sound buzzing in your ear as you kept your head to his chest. “Miss me while I was gone? It’s not like you to get all emotional.”

You pulled from the hug and slapped his arm playfully. “Of course I missed you! Can I not miss my best friend?”

The two of you began catching up as Kaeya called for a few drinks. Diluc sent him a glare as he placed the drinks down on the table, warning him not to order too many, before he retreated back to the bar.

The more you talked and laughed with Kaeya, the more you realized just how much you missed him. It felt like the two of you were kids again, when the both of you were training to become knights and didn’t have to worry about anything at all.

All the while, a shiver ran down your spine as you felt the weight of divine eyes peering at you from afar. This was a feeling you commonly had; whenever you were on a commission for the Adventurer’s Guild, or more importantly, hanging out with Kaeya.

The feeling of a divine force watching you so closely was a little frightening, but knowing where the source was coming from made it less scary and more intriguing.

You knew what your lover’s divinity felt like by now after having been around him for so long. It was a slight pressure on your shoulders, a shiver running up your spine, and a soft breeze that mysteriously came from nowhere. It was quite ominous, though you supposed that word described him perfectly.

In these situations, you knew he was staring at you and Kaeya with that adorable pout on his face and waiting for the right time to pounce on you like a cat. Then, he’d drag you away and the two of you would cuddle and you would whisper words of affection in his ear to assure him how much you loved him and only him.

And so, you waited for the moment he’d interrupt your conversation.

Kaeya was always the type of best friend that made you laugh until your stomach hurt, and playfully flirted with you just because. He was loyal to a fault and not as honest as you wished he could be. But he had always been there for you, a light in the darkness when you needed him.

Gradually, over time, Venti filled that spot of being your light in the darkness, but no one could replace your best friend.

You and Kaeya had been inseparable in your youth, along with Diluc, who tagged along with you both. So, naturally, your bond was quite strong. It stayed that way between both of you even after he told you the truth of his origins.

As he opened his mouth— a teasing smile on his lips that made you realize he was about to ask how you and Venti were doing —your lover in question slid his arms around your neck and dug his face into your collarbone.

You caressed his arm lovingly and placed a kiss to the side of his head. You sighed, a dopey smile pulling at your lips. He was no doubt faking being drunk to pull you away from Kaeya.

“Hi my love,” you said sweetly, “did you drink too much?”

He grumbled into your skin, and that was enough to confirm he was only doing this because he wanted your attention all to himself. It made you laugh loudly, your chest bubbling with life as the sound rolled out of your mouth.

Venti couldn’t help but smile. He loved the sound of your laugh more than anything, especially when he was the cause of it. He adored bringing you happiness and joy. He adored hearing your melodic laugh. He gripped you tighter, not wanting to let you go just yet.

“Well, I think this is where our fun ends, Kaeya,” you told him with a smirk, “I should get this one home.”

He returned your look with a knowing one of his own. He was very familiar with Venti’s antics by now. “No worries. We’ll continue catching up another time. Be safe on the way back to Springvale.”

You ruffled his hair like you always did when you were children. “We will. Stop by sometime, you’re no stranger.”

Standing up, you removed Venti’s arms from around your neck and relocated them to your waist, knowing he wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.

Outside, the chilly nighttime air was refreshing on your hot skin. You ran your fingers through Venti’s hair and let out a content sigh.

“You know,” you started, a teasing lilt in your voice, “if you wanted my attention so badly, all you had to do was ask.”

Venti looked up at you with that adorable pout you were always so fond of. You cupped his face in your hands as he let out a small whine.

“Were you jealous, my love?”

Stubbornly, he looked away. “No—“

“Uh-huh, sure. I know how you get when you’re jealous.”

He bit his lip before all his worries came tumbling out of his mouth like a broken dam. “How can I not be? Kaeya’s always flirting with you and making you laugh! Sometimes I don’t know whether or not the way you smile at him is… is for something else.”

Venti was not one for being vulnerable. He absolutely despised sharing his true feelings, and preferred to bottle things deeply inside his person. For him to tell you how he felt in this moment was a huge step forward.

It not only meant he trusted you deeply, but it also made you realize that the effort you were helping him put in with his emotions was working. It touched your heart, but his words broke it all over again.

You kissed him, sweet and slow like he always enjoyed. When you pulled away, you placed your forehead on his and smiled.

“For you, I would go against the heavens and sooner make myself an enemy of the divine. I’d follow you to the edge of the world— hell, to the far reaches of the universe just because I love you. My heart and soul are yours, Barbatos.”

You could see it: the way he tried so hard to mask his sadness and how much he tried to avoid letting any tears spill. He inhaled shakily, squeezing his eyes shut in another attempt to deter his cries.

In the end, it was all futile, as the tears fell from his eyes like waterfalls anyway. This time, you waited for him to make the first move, and he did.

After a few moments, he searched for your lips and brought you into a slow, passionate kiss. It was a kiss that told you how much he appreciated your words, as well as one that so very obviously conveyed his undying love.

When he pulled away, he let out a small, sheepish laugh. “I’m sorry for that, love.” His cheeks were red with embarrassment.

“Don’t be,” you told him softly, forcing him to look at you, “Never be sorry for that. Thank you for sharing how you truly feel.”

He was eternally grateful to have you, someone so patient and understanding. He smiled, pressing a kiss to your palm that was on his cheek.

“I love you. To the far reaches of the universe and back.”

Hand in hand, you returned home, laughing all the while as he shared stories of the night’s events. Amidst the wind, he could hear both your hearts beating in unison.

notes: this was not supposed to be 2k words, this was supposed to be less than 1k but u guys know me by now, i always end up writing more when it comes to venti 😭 if u’d like to join my disc server to chat and hangout, u can do so here!

© 2024 mikashisus. do not copy, repost, or translate my works to any other platforms.

“i don’t get you,” sukuna mutters, arms resting on his knees as he stares at your cat, who sits primly on the floor, tail flicking lazily. “you’re small. your head is tiny. you have no claws worth a damn, and yet you strut around like you own this place.”

your cat blinks at him slowly. the audacity.

“oh, so now you’re being mysterious? yeah, real intimidating, runt,” sukuna scoffs, leaning in. “tell me, why the hell do you scream at five in the morning for no reason?”

your cat meows. sukuna nods, as if that was an actual answer.

“nah, i don’t buy it. i know when someone’s bullshitting me.” he strokes his chin, as if deep in thought. “and what’s with the scratching? you have a whole damn tree to tear up, but no, it’s gotta be the couch, huh? or my chair. my throne in this shitty modern world.”

your cat remains utterly unfazed, licking a paw and dragging it over its ear. sukuna clicks his tongue in frustration.

“you think you’re untouchable. you think you can do whatever you want just ‘cause you’re small and cute?” he narrows his eyes. “you remind me of someone.”

you narrow your eyes right back from your hiding spot behind the doorway. excuse me?

but sukuna is too deep in his investigation to notice. he gestures toward your phone lying face-down on the table. “and what’s with you and cameras huh? every time there’s a flash, you go feral. you act like you’re being dragged to hell.”

your cat’s ears twitch. a clear tell.

“ohhhh,” sukuna smirks, leaning in like he’s caught onto something juicy. “what, you got a dark past? you some kinda criminal? don’t want your face out there ‘cause you’re on a hit list?”

the cat swipes at sukuna’s knee, and he actually pulls back with a scoff. “oi, don’t get violent with me, brat. i asked a simple question.”

you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“i should make you my disciple,” sukuna suddenly muses, tilting his head as he assesses the feline before him. “you got the attitude down. the little mind games. yeah… you could be something great.”

your cat sneezes.

sukuna frowns, as if personally offended. “...you’re turning down my offer? just like that?”

he sits back with a dramatic sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “unbelievable. you’re worse than your owner.”

excuse me again???

before you can march in and object, your cat gets up, stretches leisurely, and then—just to really assert dominance—turns around and sticks its tail right in sukuna’s face before trotting off.

he stares after it, jaw clenched, eye twitching.

“…i’m gonna eat it.”

you finally lose the battle against your laughter.

hii!! First of all ur theme is so aesthetically pleasing and I love all the nagi. I like binge read all of your event works and *chefs kiss*. Could I request a piece for karasu with the theme of like academic rivals/classmates? No worries if not, hoping ur doing well and taking care of urself!

On an unrelated note I saw that post about rude comments and im so sorry that’s happening to you! I honestly don’t know what drives ppl to bother leaving nasty comments esp when it’s not like they’re being forced to read anything T-T Hoping to send you a bit of love to counter those trolls!

Synopsis: Crows are clingy birds, and Tabito Karasu’s feelings are hurt easier than you realize. (part two here!) (part three here!)

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 9.1k

Content Warnings: academic rivals to lovers, karasu is an asshole, reader is also an asshole, jealous karasu 😍, hiori randomly pulls up at one point for some reason??, yukimiya requests to follow one (1) person and accidentally causes the most dramatic pseudo breakup ever

A/N: anon i used to pray for times like these 😭😩 LMAOAO karasu is my fav (behind nagi ofc) but i’ve never gotten around to writing him so getting this request made me SO excited HAHA. i haven’t done anything rivals/enemies to lovers before so fingers crossed this doesn’t feel too awkward or unrealistic or rushed anything!! and yayyy i love my little nagi theme (and also nagi in general) i’m glad you like it too!! and my writing too, you’re so sweet 🥹 there will always be jerks unfortunately but lovely people like you make it all worth it 💖 thank you again and i hope this is kind of what you were looking for 🫶🏻

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

ONE: POISON IT

You could hardly contain your smile as you sauntered up to Tabito Karasu’s desk, your exam held behind your back. He was sitting by himself — his seat partner was sick this week, from what you had heard, so he had taken the chance to spread out his things and stretch his legs. When he noticed you, he raised his eyebrows, mouth tugging into a frown at your amusement.

“What?” he said. You brandished the paper in front of you, irises sparkling as you leaned over to rest your forearms on the desk.

“I got full marks on the last Chemistry exam,” you said. Karasu made a face at you, snatching the test from your hands and scrunching his face up as he inspected it.

“Seriously?” he said.

“Seriously,” you said. “What did you get?”

He crossed his arms and looked away. “Not telling.”

“You definitely failed!” you said in delight, taking back the exam and laughing at him. “How embarrassing. You failed the easiest test of the year, and yet you consider Chemistry to be one of your best subjects? I can’t wait to see how badly you do during finals week.”

“I did not fail,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I got a ninety-eight.”

“Ninety-eight! That’s even worse than outright failure,” you said. “You were so close to perfection, and yet in the end, you fell short. It must sting for things to work out like that.”

“Yes, I’m positively wounded,” he said dryly before batting his eyelashes at you. From anyone else, the rapid switch in demeanor would’ve left you reeling, but the shifting mood was to be expected from him. “Will you give me a kiss and make it better?”

You rolled up your test and smacked him on the head with it. “No.”

“Anyways, my overall grade in the class is still higher than yours, because rankings were updated today and I’m still number one, so I’m not sure what cause you have to be boasting,” he said.

“Hm, but did you notice who’s number one in Modern Literature?” you said, pulling out your phone and opening the school’s app, which listed each class’s rankings in every subject. “Yup, that’s right, me.”

“Good job, Y/N!” he said, clapping mockingly. “Shall we have a party? It’s a big occasion — the mediocre number two has finally done something of such note that she’s number one for the first time in her life.”

“I’ve been number one plenty of other times!” you snapped. “For your information, I’ve been first in the class in mathematics and history every year since middle school, so who are you to be acting like this is a first? If anyone’s mediocre, it’s you!”

He raised his hands in the air innocently, his trademark smirk gracing his features once more now that he had succeeded in irritating you, as was his typical goal.

“Alright, alright, no need to be upset,” he said. “It’s not good for you. Clouds your judgment.”

“In what way?” you said.

“I mean, somehow, you got the two of us confused,” he said. “And we’re nothing alike.”

“I did no such thing,” you said.

“Well, I seem to recall you calling me mediocre, but between the two of us, the subpar one is obviously you,” he said, flicking your forehead. You slapped his hand away.

“You — the bell is going to ring, so I’m going to go back to my seat, but just so you know, you’re way more mediocre than me, Mr. Two-Percent-Short!” you said.

“Stellar comeback!” he called out. “My ego is bruised beyond healing!”

“Good!” you called back, ignoring the sarcasm. “Maybe it’ll return to a more normal size. Your head has grown too big, it’s almost as ridiculous as that hair of yours!”

“Leave the hair alone!”

During your free period, you decided to go to the library for some peace and quiet to work on your homework and find some of the sources you needed for your next research project. For belonging to a high school, the library was surprisingly extensive, and you had managed to find relevant information for every other project you had ever done in it, so you had high hopes. Unfortunately, it seemed this latest assignment was more obscure than anything you had completed before, so on your second lap of the shelves where the books, if they existed, would be located, you resigned yourself to giving up.

Just then, a volume caught your eye. The cover was shiny and pristine, the spine still unbent with newness. Crouching, you pulled it out, and when you saw the title emblazoned across the cover in bright yellow lettering, you began to laugh, making a beeline to the checkout counter with it tucked under your arm.

“Hey, Y/N! How was your morning?” your best friend said as you set your things down next to her in the cafeteria. You hummed in agreement, searching the room for a familiar head of dark hair. “You good? Looking for someone? Let me guess: your secret boyfriend that you’re keeping from the rest of us.”

“Yeah, I’m looking for Karasu,” you said before the rest of her words registered. “No!”

“You’re finally coming out and saying it?” she said, holding her hands to her heart and pretending to swoon. “I’ve been waiting for you to confess.”

“He’s not my secret boyfriend that I’m keeping from everyone, I’m just looking for him!” you said.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she said. “What do you need him for, anyways?”

“I got a book for him in the library,” you said.

“Right, and this is the guy you hate? Your ‘mortal enemy’ or whatever?” she checked.

“Yes,” you said.

“But you…got a book for him from the library, and now you’re looking for him so that you can give it to him?” she said. You scoffed.

“When you put it like that, it sounds different than it really is,” you said. “Trust me, this isn’t a nice gesture or anything. You can consider it revenge.”

“When are you going to get over this stupid rivalry?” she said. “He’s not even that bad, you know.”

“Not even that bad? Not even that bad? Are we talking about the same Karasu here? I’m referring to Tabito, not his older sister,” you said.

“Ah, I think so? He’s a nice guy,” she said.

“He is the spawn of the devil! And he’s the one who started it, so I’ll stop hating him once he apologizes and means it,” you said.

“Do you think he even remembers that?” she said. “It was in middle school.”

You glared at her. “I remember it. If he doesn’t, well, that’s just more of a reason for me to dislike him on principle.”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say,” she said. “Sorry for complimenting him. He’s awful and rude and mean. I think he’s sitting outside with some of his soccer friends, if you still want to find him.”

“Thank you!” you said, instantly forgetting that you were upset with her for taking Karasu’s side instead of yours. “Watch my stuff, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“See you soon,” she said. “Have fun. Actually, maybe it’s more realistic for me to just tell you not do anything that’ll get you expelled.”

You waved her off as you marched out to the courtyard where Karasu and his friends were lounging, their chairs positioned in the shade so that they did not overheat while they ate. None of them noticed you approaching until you were tapping Karasu on the shoulder and smiling at him sweetly.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” he said, sounding oddly flustered. One of his friends snorted, and more than a few chuckled, but you ignored all of them in favor of setting your bag on the armrest of Karasu’s chair.

“Hi, Karasu. I was in the library earlier and I saw this book that reminded me of you, so I took the liberty of checking it out,” you said.

“Oh,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re so considerate, Y/N!” one of his friends said.

“We’re all so jealous of Karasu here,” another friend, the one who you believed had snorted, said. “You’re way too pretty for him.”

“Shut up,” Karasu said, sticking up his middle finger at his friend, though none of the group paid him much mind. In fact, it seemed to egg them on more, as they continued to hurl jabs at Karasu while simultaneously incessantly complimenting you.

You didn’t respond to any of them, instead pulling out the book and handing it to Karasu, interlacing your fingers and waiting for his reaction. At first he seemed confused, and then dismay dawned upon his features as he realized what he was holding in his hands: a copy of Chemistry for Dummies.

“What the fuck?” he said. You patted him on the shoulder.

“It’s only suitable,” you said. Suddenly, his expression cleared, and he beamed at you, which caused unease to brew in your stomach. You knew for a fact that he was about to say something infuriating, and you mentally prepared yourself to respond.

“What a roundabout way of telling me you need tutoring! Of course, I’m happy to help you anytime you want,” he said, tilting back in his chair so that he could cross his arms over his chest arrogantly.

“Why would I want tutoring from someone who does worse than me in the class?” you shot back, crossing your own arms in retaliation.

One of his friends whistled. “She got you there, Tabito.”

“Enough out of you,” Karasu said through gritted teeth. His friend winked at you and mouthed ‘nice one.’

“Look, man, all I’m saying is that if you want to ask out such a beautiful girl, you’ve gotta have a little more finesse than that!” he said.

“He can have all the finesse in the world, but I’d still say no,” you said. His friends hollered with raucous laughter, which caused Karasu’s face to turn red, but you only pressed the book into his hands. “It’s due in two weeks. That should be long enough, right? Make sure you return it on time, please, I don’t want late fines.“

“I hope you go into debt because of this stupid book,” he said.

“Aww,” you cooed. “You’ll be the one paying it off, so it doesn’t matter to me. See you around, Karasu — or, hopefully not.”

TWO: SHOOT IT

You and Karasu had met in middle school. The two of you had been assigned to work on a presentation together, and he had told you during your first meeting that because you were a dunce, you should just listen to him and do whatever he said. Ever since that day, you had done everything you could to show him how much better than him you were; for his part, he found great joy in getting on your nerves and so took part in every argument with pleasure.

You had long ago proved his middle school self wrong, by anyone’s standards, but at this point it was a habit for you to hate Tabito Karasu as well as a habit for him to hate you back. And of course, habits were hard to form but harder to break, so you would probably continue in that manner until the day you graduated and left him behind for good.

It was just the two of you who did not get along. Your friends were cordial with him and his ilk, and you did not really mind his little group all that much, crude though they sometimes were. After all, it was just in the manner of teenage boys, and when they were not taking advantage of your presence to make fun of Karasu, they were actually a pretty agreeable sort.

In fact, your friend groups tended to coexist most of the time, even having lunch together every now and again — though they were always careful to ensure that you and Karasu were kept entirely separate, or else you both were guaranteed to ruin the cheerful camaraderie with your sharp tongues and quick tempers. The measures they took were admirable, but unfortunately, they were not always enough. After all, what were precautions when compared with inevitabilities?

“Oh my god!” you squealed. “Guys! Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening?”

“Can’t believe what’s happening?” your best friend said, speaking for everyone at the table. They were all tuned in to you now, wondering what the big news might be that would bring about such a reaction from you, given how put-together you tended to be.

“Do you remember that one model I happened to meet while I was out last weekend? Kenyu Yukimiya? He just requested to follow me on social media!” you said.

“No way!” your best friend said.

“Way!” you said. The only warning you got was an arm pressing against your back, and then your phone was abruptly snatched from your hands. You gasped, spinning in your seat and scowling when you realized that the culprit was none other than that scavenging crow, Tabito Karasu.

“What the hell? He’s average at best, why are you so excited?” he said, scrolling through Yukimiya’s profile, his eyes narrowed critically. “Y/N, don’t you have any standards?”

“You’re probably the only person in the entire country who doesn’t find him gorgeous,” you said, exhaling dreamily as you took your phone back from him and stared at the artful manner Yukimiya was posing in for his profile photo. “He was even better looking in person. And sonice, too! They don’t make men like that often.”

Karasu frowned and swiped at your phone again. You held it out of his reach, reaching across the bench to press your foot against his chest, effectively holding him back from further attempts at thievery.

“Let me look at him again!” he said.

“Um, no,” you said. “I don’t need you making more fun of him. I know you’re jealous, but expressing it like this only makes you uglier, just so you know.”

“Looks like they’re back at it again,” one of your friends said, massaging her temples.

“Yup,” one of Karasu’s teammates said.

“Ugly? Ugly? You’re calling me ugly? Have you looked in a mirror recently? Also, get your gross shoe off of my shirt!” Karasu said.

“I have looked in a mirror recently, actually, and incidentally I’ve also been keeping an eye on my follow requests. Guess what? I’m obviously good looking, since a legitimate model wants to follow me! How many celebrities request to follow you, huh? I bet the answer is zero!” you said, though you did do him the favor of swinging your leg back, allowing him to brush himself off in disdain.

“Lots of soccer players want to follow me,” he said. “I’m quite good, you know.”

“That doesn’t count,” you said. “It has nothing to do with how you look. They’d request to follow you no matter how hideous and poorly styled you and your hair are.”

“Are they seriously arguing about which of them is worse looking?” Karasu’s teammate said.

“I suppose so,” your friend said. “They’re both really hot, though, so I don’t know what the big deal is…”

“Geez, they’ll take any excuse to go at it, huh?” Karasu’s teammate said.

“Pretty much,” your friend said.

“Guess all of that tension has to go somewhere,” his teammate said.

“Exactly,” your friend said, shaking her head as she finished up her lunch.

“That model probably only works for horror magazines!” Karasu said. “It barely even counts!”

“He was in Vogue Japan,” you said smugly. “Look it up, stupid.”

“So what?” he said.

“So he’s handsome,” you said. “Like I said, it’s okay if you’re envious of him, as long as you accept it instead of doing this whole weird denial thing. I don’t blame you for it — in fact, I thought you would be. You don’t have much going for you overall, do you? In all honesty, it’s only natural for you to feel like this when faced with what you lack.”

Karasu’s eyes widened, and then he stood abruptly, picking up his bag with one arm and haphazardly pulling it onto his back. “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” you said, not really caring one way or another what he did with himself. Actually, you would prefer it if he wasn’t there, interrupting your meal and your daydreaming about your impending romance with Kenyu Yukimiya.

“Wow, Y/N,” your best friend said once Karasu was gone. “You’re kind of dumb, you know that?”

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“It’s not her fault,” another one of Karasu’s teammates said. “He’s not much better.”

“Huh?” you said.

“Never mind,” your best friend said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I have a migraine now.”

“Want some ibuprofen?” Karasu’s teammate said. She accepted it gratefully, and nothing more was said on the subject. The rest of lunch passed in a peaceful manner, though strangely, Karasu did not return.

It should’ve made you happy. You wondered, then, why it felt so odd without him there, like there was a gaping maw sitting in the place that should’ve been occupied by him.

THREE: DROWN IT

Ever since the day that Yukimiya had requested to follow you, you and Karasu hadn’t spoken. He refused to make eye contact with you in the few classes the two of you had together, keeping his gaze lowered to his work and his shoulders hunched away from you. You didn’t even try to talk to him; something told you that it would not be well-received, and you weren’t anywhere near confrontational enough to bring up his odd behavior, so the time without him dragged on and on, seemingly without end.

At first, you were happy, and you told your friends as much. It was a much-needed break from the constant aggravation he brought you, and you found your classes without your competition to be almost boring in their simplicity.

“The more you say you’re happy that you and Karasu aren’t talking, the less it sounds believable,” your best friend said, taking a sip from her juice box.

“Believe it! This is what I’ve been wanting since middle school,” you said.

“Is it?” she said. “It sounds like you’re kind of upset.”

“Am not!” you said. She shrugged.

“Sure,” she said, drawing out the word. “Definitely not.”

“Why would I be upset?” you said.

“You tell me,” she said.

“I’m telling you that I’m not upset. You’re the one with the theory, so give me some evidence to substantiate it,” you said.

“Fine,” she said. “You talk about him all of the time, even when you guys are getting along — or, at least, your twisted little version of being friendly, which isn’t friendly by anyone else’s standards but it seems to work for you two, so I won’t comment further. You keep telling us that you’re so delighted he’s leaving you alone, but you do this thing with your face when you say it that makes it super obvious you’re not. It’s not the kind of behavior you’d display when discussing someone you hate as much as you claim to hate him. Finally, there’s a reason half the school thinks you guys are dating, and it’s not just the obvious aesthetic appeal of that match.”

“What? I thought you were just trying to bother me when you brought that up!” you said. She shook her head.

“No, it’s a common misconception. It’s why no one’s ever asked you out. They all think you’re already taken. Actually, the other day, a guy asked me if I thought he might have a chance with you now that you and Karasu had broken up,” she said.

“What’d you say?” you said, half in horror, half in fascination.

“I told him probably not, and that you and Karasu hadn’t broken up, because you were never together in the first place,” she said.

“Oh, okay,” you said.

“Should I have said something else?” she said. You shook your head.

“No,” you said. “What else would you have said?”

“Dunno,” she said. “Look, you need to cheer up. I’m sure that if you just try to talk to him, things will go back to normal in an instant. Then you can return to complaining about him like usual.”

“Talk to him? About what?” you said. She gave you an incredulous look.

“You were pretty mean to him the other day, Y/N,” she said.

“It wasn’t any meaner than what he says to me on the regular,” you said. “And what I say to him in return. I don’t see why he’d be more or less offended.”

“I think it was a little worse than what you typically say,” she said. “Plus, the context was different.”

“How so?” you said. She shook her head.

“That’s for him to explain, not me,” she said. “Come on, don’t be stubborn. Work things out with him. I miss hanging out with the guys.”

“Ah, so that’s why it matters to you,” you said. “Sorry to say it, but I don’t have any plans at attempting conversation with him anytime soon. Like I said, things are finally calm and stress-free for me. He’s the one being immature, as always, so why’s it up to me to make things better?”

“Immature?” your best friend said. “You’ve held a grudge against him since middle school.”

“And?” you said. She squinted at you before pursing her lips.

“Well, I guess the two of you really are made for one another,” she said.

“What?”

The next week would mark the beginning of the swimming unit in PE class, which you were actually looking forward to. You loved to swim, you had ever since you were a child and your parents had brought you into the water for the first time, and the thought of getting to earn a good grade for something you liked doing in the first place was an agreeable on.

In preparation, you decided to stop by the pool after classes were over so that you could acclimate yourself to the motions of the strokes once again. The swim team’s practice had been canceled, and no one else ever used the pool, so you would have the place to yourself, which was just about the closest thing to heaven you could imagine while still living on Earth.

Changing into your school-issued bathing suit and putting your things into a locker, you tied your hair back so that it was out of the way and stepped into the steaming indoor pool deck. The water was a bright cerulean shade, the lanes split by lane-lines which alternated colors to match your school’s emblem. When you dipped your toe into the deep end, you found it was warm, not cold like you had feared. The school didn’t splurge on heating the water of the rarely-used pool, so usually, it was all but freezing. You supposed that they must’ve had complaints from last year’s PE classes, so they had restarted the heaters in order to ensure that no one had any cause to whine about the temperature this year.

For a moment, you just sat on the tiled edge, your legs swishing about in the water, the heels of your palms pressing against the lip of the pool as you closed your eyes and luxuriated in the tangy scent of chlorine. So lost were you that you almost didn’t notice the door swinging open, but the clang of it shutting was unmistakable. Thinking it must’ve been a confused swim team member showing up to a practice that wasn’t happening, you opened your eyes, your lips parting to issue a reprimand that died before it could take shape.

It wasn’t a swim team member. It was Tabito Karasu, wearing a pair of swim trunks and nothing else, his jaw taut and his fists clenched as he inched towards the water. He hadn’t even noticed you, and you didn’t feel inclined to announce yourself, so you let your elbows dig into your thighs, your chin resting in your hands as you observed him.

You had known that he played soccer almost as long as you had known his name. It was the entire reason he was so popular and well-regarded in the school, and an inextricable part of his identity, but until now, you hadn’t quite considered what that actually meant. After all, you only ever saw him in the loose, modest clothing of the school’s uniform, so why would you jump to the conclusion that he was so — so — well, you were loath to admit it, but he had a striking body, and, now that he wasn’t being all cocky and maddening, you could appreciate that even his face was of a similar quality.

Blinking, you cocked your head as he extended a graceful foot towards the first stair leading into the shallow end. Water splashed against it, and he yanked it back like he had been scalded. You could not help yourself from giggling as he did this once and then twice again. On the third attempt, you forgot that the two of you weren’t acknowledging one another and cupped your hands around your mouth to amplify your voice.

“What are you doing?” you said.

“Who — Y/N? I didn’t realize anyone else was in here!” he said, stepping back from the pool and straightening his shorts, though there was nothing wrong with them that required straightening. You sprang to your feet and walked over to him, leaving wet footprints in your wake as you peered at him curiously.

“I was just going to do some laps to ensure that I’m at my best for the swimming unit next week. Did you have the same idea?” you said.

“Something like that,” he said.

“What’s with that whole ritual, though?” you said. “It’s not that cold. You should just get in.”

“Definitely not,” he said. You furrowed your brow.

“Okay,” you said. “Why are you at the pool, then, if you don’t want to go in the water?”

“It’s nothing you need to be concerned with!” he said. “Why are you so nosy? Just go away.”

“I was here first,” you said.

“Fine,” he said, spinning on his heel. “I’ll go, then.”

“Wait! Karasu, wait,” you said, grabbing onto his wrist as he made to leave. “Look, we don’t have to talk to one another or anything. We’re experienced enough at ignoring each other, so there’s not an issue in both of us being here.”

“Is that what you want?” he said.

“Yeah, sure,” you said. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and you thought he would say something, but he only nodded curtly.

“Fine,” he said. You gave him an expectant look, but he did not move from the spot he was rooted in, so you thought that you might as well take the initiative. Looping around to the deep end, you inhaled and then dove into the water headfirst, staying under for as long as you could before finally surfacing and allowing yourself to settle into the familiar undulations that came with swimming.

After a few laps, you took a break, peeking up over the concrete to look at Karasu, who was still standing stubbornly in place, his nose wrinkling whenever he glanced at the pool.

“Hey,” you said. “Are you scared of the water or something?”

He froze. “Who told you that?”

“No one?” you said. “It’s pretty easy to tell as an onlooker. Were you planning on trying to get over your fear by coming to swim when no one was here? That’s dangerous if you don’t know how. You could drown.”

“I’m not scared of the water,” he said.

“Really? Then why’re you just standing there?” you said. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and then finally he hung his head in reluctant defeat.

“Whatever,” he said. Judging by the way he tensed immediately after the confession, he was expecting you to say something cruel, but you only boosted yourself out of the water and tapped him on the shoulder.

“I can help you, if you’d like,” you said. “I’m good at swimming.”

“Why would I want your help? And why would you even offer it in the first place? This is just one more subject you can beat me in, and that’s all you care about, so save it,” he said. “Congratulations, Y/N. You get to be number one this time.”

He looped a dry towel around his neck and left you standing alone, shivering and dripping pool water, a puddle forming around your feet as you gazed at the door he had vanished through.

The class rankings updated again after the swimming unit was over. You were in first place. Karasu didn’t even make it to the top ten. You wanted to celebrate the victory — it was the first time you had beaten him so thoroughly, after all — but for some reason, it didn’t really feel like something worth celebrating.

FOUR: STONE IT

School without Karasu was lonelier than you thought it would be. You hadn’t realized just how much you relied on him until he wasn’t there anymore. Without him, there wasn’t anyone you could exchange looks with across the room when somebody said something ridiculous in class. There wasn’t anyone who you could talk to in the minutes before the period began. There wasn’t anyone who made you push yourself to be better. What was the point of being first if Karasu wasn’t on your heels, ensuring that you stayed on the top for fear of losing to him? It was boring and lonely to try if he wasn’t doing the same.

You and he were still one and two, but it didn’t matter much anymore. The rankings were just numbers. They didn’t mean anything when Karasu still refused to even exchange pleasantries with you. Why would you want to compete when the other party didn’t share your interest? Now, if you managed to pull out ahead of him, it felt more like you had kicked a dog that was already down than if you had actually won anything. When he got first over you, it didn’t fuel your ambition any. You just wished he would come over and gloat instead of sitting there so solemnly, like none of it had ever mattered to him in the first place.

You couldn’t understand why he was so angry. What had you said that was so egregious? You hardly remembered the conversation you had had with him, it was that thoughtlessly done. You really hadn’t meant much if anything by it. One second, the two of you had been squabbling as you were prone to doing, and the next, he was so furious that he couldn’t bear to interact with you even still.

The day you were ambushed was nondescript. It was just like any other Wednesday, and you were walking back home from school when you were forced to stop in your tracks. A tall man — no, he was a boy, probably a year or two younger than you based on his soft and innocent expression — was barring your way, his arms outstretched and feet planted firmly in the ground to prove the depth of his conviction. He had pale hair and sky-colored eyes framed by the longest eyelashes you had ever seen on anyone, man or woman, with a small mouth pinched into an expression of discontent and lines like tire tracks between his eyebrows.

“Who are you?” you said warily, reaching for your phone, though you hardly knew who you would call. The setting was wrong for this to be a mugging, as it was sunny out and you were on a well-traveled street, but you didn’t really know what else to expect from the stranger, who could certainly outmuscle you if it came to it despite his lovely appearance.

“Yo Hiori,” he said. “I play on Bambi Osaka with Karasu. You’re Y/N L/N, correct?”

“Oh, one of the soccer guys?” you said. “Uh, hey. Yes, that’s me. Is something the matter? I’ve never seen you before. How do you even know who I am?”

“I’ve been watching Karasu for a while,” Hiori said with the utmost of seriousness, his hands dropping to his sides now that he was sure you weren’t going to run past him. “He’s a pretty fascinating person.”

“I’m sure,” you said, thinking to yourself that this Hiori kid was more than a little weird. Did Karasu know that he had acquired such a shadow? You supposed he must’ve. He had always been the observant type, so there was no way someone like Hiori would’ve escaped his keen notice.

“He’s been kind of down in the dumps recently, though. Even our coach noticed it. His playing hasn’t suffered too dramatically, but he’s the captain of the team, so he’s the guy everyone relies on for a funny pep talk or a word of advice when things are going south. Nowadays, however, when he’s off the field, he just sulks,” Hiori explained.

“I see,” you said. “That’s terrible.”

You meant it, too. Karasu without his asshole quips and ready jokes was a different person entirely. A person who you missed more than you could let on, even to yourself.

“It is,” Hiori said. “I took it upon myself to do some digging, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason is you.”

He was definitely a freak. You vowed to bring it up with Karasu, if he ever talked to you again. Even if he was already aware, it felt like a moral or civic duty of yours to ensure that he was fully informed about the extent that this child was inquiring into his life.

“What kind of, uh, digging do you mean?” you said, neatly avoiding the second thing he had said.

“It was pretty simple,” Hiori said. “One of the guys asked Karasu if he was acting off because he broke up with his girlfriend or something, and he got so mad that he left practice early. I opened up social media as soon as I got home and saw that you’re the only girl he follows, so by process of elimination, I figured the two of you were having some trouble in your relationship.”

“Relationship? I think you’re misunderstanding,” you said. “There’s no relationship. You could hardly even consider us friends.”

“Oh!” Hiori said. “I’m sorry. He’s mentioned you once or twice, so I just thought — and given what he said — and his reaction and all — no, I really am just sorry. It was wrong of me to make that assumption in the first place.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “I’m told it’s a relatively common misconception, so I can’t blame you. At least, it used to be. We haven’t really spoken in a while, so I guess everything thinks that it’s over, even though it never began in the first place.”

“You haven’t spoken in a while?” Hiori said. “Why not?”

“I think I said something that offended him, and we haven’t been on good terms since. Not that we ever really were in the first place,” you said.

“You did? He’s a pretty rational person, so it must’ve been something terrible for him to still be angry about it,” Hiori said.

“Maybe, but I don’t remember saying anything like that,” you said.

“What if you tell me how your last conversation went? Maybe I can help you,” he said.

“Sure, since you’re apparently the resident Karasu expert,” you said. “Wanna walk with me? I was heading home, but we can go to the convenience store and get some snacks or something instead. I don’t want to get in trouble for standing around in front of some random person’s house for too long.”

“Sounds good,” Hiori said. “There’s one a couple of minutes away, so we can head in that direction and keep talking as we go.”

“Great,” you said. “Okay, so the last time we talked…I think it was when Kenyu Yukimiya requested to follow me.”

“Who’s that?” Hiori said.

“He’s this model I met while I was shopping one day. Absolutely breathtaking,” you said. “Just really a stand-up guy. We’ve hung out a few times since then, he introduced me to the girlfriend I did not know he had, the works.“

“Yikes, unrequited love?” Hiori said with a wince.

“It was more of a celebrity crush. His girlfriend is super sweet, though, so I can’t complain. Anyways, I would consider them both casual acquaintances. The type you call to have a coffee with, but not the ones that help you move into a new apartment, you know?” you said.

“Uh, sure,” Hiori said in a tone which suggested he had no idea what you were talking about but was too scared to inquire further.

“Moving on, Yukimiya requested to follow me, and of course this was at the peak of my celebrity crush, so I started fawning over him, which prompted Karasu to take my phone and start insulting him,” you said.

“Interesting,” Hiori said.

“Then I called him ugly, and he called me ugly — that’s pretty standard for the two of us, so don’t look so shocked! After that, I said something about how I had expected him to be jealous of Yukimiya, since he didn’t have much going for him overall, so it made sense,” you said. “That’s when he left and things got weird.”

“Okay, I think I get it,” Hiori said. You waited for him to explain further. He smiled at you pleasantly.

“Right, so are you going to share with the class or am I meant to read your mind?” you said after a moment.

“I don’t want to give anything away that I shouldn’t,” he said. “But it’s a pretty simple issue to fix. Try thinking about what you said from his perspective.”

“He has a dumbass perspective. It’s impossible for me to think that way,” you said automatically.

“Do you think that he dislikes you?” Hiori said, taking two bottles of Yakult down from the shelf, handing one to you and keeping the other for himself.

“I’m not really sure how he feels about me, to tell you the truth,” you said.

“I don’t think he does,” Hiori said. “So, try thinking about someone you like and then imagine them saying to you what you said to them. Would you be inclined to be nice to them after that?”

“Well…” Your tongue was heavy and leaden in your mouth, and you ducked your head as you searched through your wallet for money. “No, not at all. I’d probably hate them for a really long time. Maybe forever.”

“That’s possible,” he said.

“Do you think he’ll hate me forever?” you said.

“Most likely not. Like I said earlier, he’s a rational person. I think that if you say sorry and sincerely mean it, he’ll forgive you. There’s a chance he won’t, though; you’ll have to listen to what he says and accept it,” Hiori said.

“But when? I hardly have the chance to see him in school. He just avoids me, and the building’s so big that it’s all but impossible to track him down!” you said.

“We have a soccer game in the evening today,” Hiori said. “I’m heading over there in a bit. Wanna come? You can talk to him once it’s over.”

“Am I allowed to?” you said.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Hiori said. “If anyone says anything, just tell them I invited you. Here, I’ll give you the address and time now, and you can decide if you want to show up.”

“Okay,” you said, typing out his instructions in your notes app. “Thanks a lot for your help, Hiori.”

“Anytime!” he said. “Hope to see you at the game!”

“Even if I don’t go, I’d still like to meet you again. You’re a pretty cool kid,” you said, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Kind of weird, if I’m being fully honest, but cool nonetheless. Karasu’s lucky to have a teammate like you.”

He grinned, and it was a tender, shy thing, as if he was earnestly seeking your praise or approval — like how a cat would bring a dead rat to its master or a child would show their parents a treasured drawing. “Thank you. Even if you don’t try to talk to Karasu…maybe you can still come anyways?”

“Alright, then,” you said. “Since you asked so nicely, I guess I have to. I’ll be there.”

FIVE: TAME IT

The sun was nearing the horizon, but it still had not officially begun to set by the time you settled in the bleachers on Bambi Osaka’s side. Besides a couple of women your mother’s age and an elderly man who must’ve been someone’s grandfather, there weren’t any other spectators. Hiori had mentioned that this wasn’t a particularly serious game, as they didn’t even need to beat the team to make it to Nationals, so it was more like a friendly exhibition game than anything — hence the low turnout.

“Hello, dear,” a woman said when she noticed you sitting by yourself. “Are you friends with one of the players?”

“Yes. Um, Tabito Karasu? I’m his classmate,” you said. Technically, you were there on Hiori’s goodwill, not Karasu’s, but for you to not mention Karasu would be like a betrayal. You weren’t sure if it was him or yourself that you’d be betraying, but either way you did not want to chance it.

“You’re one of Karasu’s friends? Lucky you, then,” she said. “He’s a delightful boy, or so I’ve heard. This is my son’s first year on the team, and he was really nervous to join such a prestigious organization, but ever since his first day, all he can talk about is how amazing his captain is. Karasu’s tough on all of the players, but he really works hard to make all of them feel welcomed, too.”

Bambi Osaka’s team took the field, and you smiled when you saw Karasu in the front, his name across the back of his jersey, a pair of black gloves covering his large hands, an insolent leer on his face as he greeted the other team’s captain. He had not noticed you yet, and you were not sure if this was for the better or worse, because you wanted him to see you, but you didn’t want him to be distracted and play poorly as a result.

“He’s a wonderful person,” you agreed. “He’s the only one in the entire school who can keep up with me, academically or otherwise. I didn’t realize until recently how much I admire him for that.”

The woman’s eyes crinkled around the corners with the ease that came from a lifetime of happiness. For some reason, you thought that she knew something you did not, or could not, but it wasn’t uncomfortable that she did. It seemed to you that being left in the dark was just your lot this time around, and you found that oddly enough, it felt acceptable.

“Is this your first time coming to watch him?” she said.

“Yes, it is,” you said.

“You know, he has this habit before every match of scanning the stands, like he’s looking for someone. I thought it might be his parents, but at the last match, just about his entire family showed up, and he still seemed disappointed,” she said.

“That’s a shame,” you said noncommittally, not sure what else you should say. The woman shrugged.

“Well, I wonder what it’ll be like today,” she said. “There he goes.”

True to her words, Karasu was craning his neck towards the Bambi Osaka side, his eyes darting from person to person until they settled on you. You raised your hand hesitantly, waving at him, knowing that he probably wouldn’t reciprocate.

He turned away almost immediately, but not before you saw him fight back a smile — not the smug type he generally donned, but one you had only ever seen on him once or twice. It was one that made him seem charming and boyish and sweet, that made you want to take back every negative word you had ever said about him. Only now could you understand that it showed who he really was, that at his heart Karasu was that kind of person, not anything like the facade you were so accustomed to, which he showed you for the sole reason that it was what you unconsciously demanded of him.

You had judged him to be horrible, and so he became the bane of your existence. You had told him he was good for nothing, so he disappeared like he really was just that. Everything you said, Karasu went along with gamely, and you wished you could’ve known that earlier, so you would’ve spent less time hating him and more time comprehending these intricacies, which entranced you in the way a spider’s web entranced a butterfly.

“Looks like I don’t need to worry about that child any more,” the woman said as the referee blew the whistle to signal the start of the game.

“Pardon?” you said. “Were you talking to me?”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just musing to myself. Ignore me. Let’s watch the game; I have a feeling that some of our players are going to go all out today.”

Bambi Osaka completely annihilated the other team. Maybe the match didn’t matter, but none of them played that way; instead, they were aggressive and focused, with Karasu at the forefront of every goal they made, commending his teammates and deriding his opposition in the same breath.

That was something you had not expected — he had a massively foul mouth when he played soccer. You had thought that he was rude when he spoke to you, but the things you overheard from him whenever he ran by within earshot made your conversations seem tame. You couldn’t help but pity the poor defenders that he shoved past and spat barbed-wire abuse at.

He was merciless and beautiful and you could probably spend a dozen more hours watching him play without even a trace of boredom, but by the time the sky had turned gold and the sun had dipped towards the ground, the game was over and the members of Bambi Osaka were packing up their things to leave for the night after yet another landslide win.

You snuck onto the field once you were extremely assured that nobody would be upset with you for it, making your way over to where Karasu was chugging a bottle of water.

“Hi,” you said when he was finished, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tossing the now-empty bottle into his bag. “You played really well.”

“Thanks,” he said. There was impatience but also longing in his voice, like he wanted you to say something so badly but he knew you would not, would never, and so he would rather get the conversation over with and move on with the business of his life than stick around and waste time with you.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“What?” he said.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Karasu, I’m really sorry. I don’t think that you have nothing going for you. I don’t know why I said that. Well, I do, it’s because I wanted to have the last word like I always do, but I don’t mind if I don’t have it this time. Or any other time. Or ever again.”

“What?” he repeated, as though he had been rendered dumb by your confession.

“I miss you,” you admitted. “I didn’t believe I could, but apparently, I can, and I do. A lot. I know that I’m unpleasant and disparaging and haughty when it comes to you, but I won’t be that way anymore if you forgive me for my vices one last time. If it means you’ll talk to me, I’ll be a fool. I’ll be in second place. I’ll be an idiot. But please, please forgive me.”

He took a deep breath. You handed him the bottle of kombucha that you had bought on your way to the game because you saw him drink it so frequently that you figured he must like it. He accepted it gingerly, holding it with the delicacy of a newborn, unscrewing the lid and sipping on it pensively.

“Alright,” he said.

“Alright?” you said.

“I’ll forgive you,” he said. “But on one condition.”

“Anything,” you said.

“You better not do anything as dumb as trying to be mediocre on purpose because you think it’ll make me feel better. What the hell is that proposition, huh? It’ll make me feel worse if anything! I like you because you’re unpleasant and disparaging and haughty and whatever else you said, not in spite of those qualities. I’m sure you heard me while I was playing…anyone who isn’t you would probably be terrified of me when I’m like that,” he said. “Just, y’know, I’m a person with feelings, too, so keep that in mind if you can. Oh, and don’t wait so long to say sorry next time, because it’s seriously annoying for me to feel all out-of-sorts for ages!” he said.

“That’s it?” you said.

“That’s it,” he said. “Hug?”

Ordinarily, you would’ve said no, but you were so weepy at the reconciliation that you nodded and let him embrace you, his arms caging you against his chest, holding you to him so that you could not escape.

“Ew!” you shouted when you registered what he was trying to do, shoving him off of you as he cackled and released you without much of a fight. “Gross, Karasu, you’re disgusting! Get away from me! I can’t believe you did that!”

“I can’t believe you fell for it!” he said as you frantically tried to wipe yourself off, though it was largely in vain. In your emotional state, you had forgotten that he was still drenched with sweat from the game, and you were now reaping the consequences of your poor decision making.

“You’re a bad person,” you said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Whatever you say.”

“I probably deserved that one, though, so I won’t hold it against you,” you said.

“Smart decision,” he said. “Wait. Unrelated, but whatever ended up happening between you and that model dude? What was his name again?”

“Yukimiya? He has a girlfriend,” you said. “Oh, well. What can you do, right? I’m not upset about it. Besides, everyone and their mother thinks I have a boyfriend already, so it’s probably for the best that it worked out like this. I wouldn’t want his modeling career to be ruined by home-wrecking allegations or anything.”

“It must be a pretty serious not-relationship you’ve got there, if it’s the career-ending type,” he said.

“I’d say it’s pretty serious, yes,” you said. “He’s an awesome guy. You’d like him.”

“I’ll respect it, then,” he said. “But…if you ever find yourself not-breaking up with him, then, uh, let me know. I’ll take you on a date somewhere. We can argue and reminisce about the day we met over dinner or something. It’ll be super romantic.”

He said it casually, but you were more familiar with him than either of you ever could’ve predicted you’d be. He was secretly nervous about how big of a risk he had taken, fiddling with the zipper of his soccer bag, avoiding your eyes while he waited for your response. You let the silence stretch on for a minute, just to make him squirm, and then you poked him in the ribs.

“Karasu,” you said.

“What’s up?” he said, and he must’ve been trying very hard to keep his cool, but his anxiety transmitted through the endearing crack of his voice.

“I have to tell you something,” you said.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“I’m not-single now,” you said. “So. Will you take me on a date this weekend?”

He lit up, so bright that you were all but blinded by the brilliance of his joy. Then he cleared his throat and pretended to check the non-existent watch on his wrist.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “That works for me. I’ll pick you up on Saturday for dinner.”

“Great,” you said. “I look forward to it.”

“Hold on, don’t go just yet,” he said. You paused, about to ask him what else he needed when he stooped over and pressed his lips to your cheek. “Thanks for coming to my game. I’m not really sure how you knew I was playing, but I’m glad you could make it either way.”

“Um — uh — Hiori told me, he told me you were playing, and, er, where to go and what time and all,” you stammered, trying to wrap your head around what had just happened, replaying it in your mind over and over.

“Hiori? I should’ve known he’d be the type to meddle like that,” he said. “I’m not even going to ask how you know each other. The answer will probably make me feel vaguely discomfited, so I’ll abide by an ‘ignorance is bliss’ policy.”

“That’s probably for the best,” you said, composing yourself, though internally, you were imagining what it would be like if you had turned your head, if instead of your cheek his lips had landed somewhere else. “Okay, I should go now. See you on Saturday?”

“One last thing. You’re pretty transparent, you know,” he said, grasping your chin in his left hand and leaning in. Your eyelashes fluttered shut as he grew closer and closer, but right when his mouth was a hair’s breadth from yourself, he chuckled. “Also, pretty gullible.”

Instead of kissing you like you had anticipated he would, he tackled you in another hug. You squealed in protest, but he held fast, his body rumbling with laughter as you simultaneously struggled to escape and clung onto him as tightly as you could.

“I hate you,” you said when your half-hearted efforts proved to be entirely futile.

“Sure you do,” he said.

“You’re the worst,” you said.

“Absolutely,” he said.

“I’m being serious here. You smell!” you said.

“Well, that’s plain rude of you to say,” he said, messing up your hair in what you were sure he deemed to be a punishment, as if being crushed against his sweaty form wasn’t punishment enough.

“Let go of me, you idiot crow!” you said.

“No can do,” he said. “Crows are clingy birds, you know. Even the idiotic ones. Ask me again in twenty years and maybe we can revisit the issue.”

“Karasu!”

Synopsis: You find yourself developing a crush on mischievous soccer player Eita Otoya. The only problem? Eita and relationships don’t exactly go hand in hand — which is something you’re only all too aware of, considering he just so happens to be your best friend’s older brother.

BLLK Masterlist | Karasu Version

Pairing: Otoya x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 12.9k

Content Warnings: crack fic, otoya is a red flag let’s not lie to ourselves, he’s lowkey ooc at the end, reader says ‘i can NOT fix him’ but then accidentally manages to anyways, otoya plays video games but sucks at them, otoya’s younger sister is given a name (look at that word count LMAO i’m not calling her ‘otoya’s younger sister’ the entire time), std jokes, your honor eita otoya IS a loser

A/N: yes this is based off the song “best friend’s brother” from victorious. yes this is probably the dumbest otoya fic you will ever read (i promise i’ve written him better before). yes this is four times longer than it was supposed to be. idk what to say either i just get carried away LMAO

On the first day of your first year of middle school, you were told by your teacher to sit next to an entirely disagreeable looking girl. Her round face was adorned with a scowl, and there was a scrape on the bridge of her nose. She had silvery hair cut in a choppy bob, and blunt bangs streaked with green covered her forehead. When she noticed you staring at her in surprise, she made a face at you.

“What do you want?” she said.

“I’m supposed to sit here,” you said. “Teacher said so.”

“Whatever,” she said with a scoff. You gave her an uneasy look as you set your things down beside her, sliding into your chair and watching her out of the corner of your eye. If she noticed, she did not care, gripping her pencil in her hand so hard it was a miracle it did not snap in half, her scowl deepening as she looked over the introduction sheet you all had been given to fill out. 

“I’m Y/N L/N,” you offered meekly, not wanting to accidentally offend her. She seemed like the kind of girl you really shouldn’t mess with, not if you wanted to keep your life and limbs intact.

She glanced at you. “Seiko Otoya.”

“Nice to meet you, Otoya,” you said.

“Seiko,” she said firmly. “Nobody calls me Otoya ‘cause I have two older siblings and it’s confusing.”

“Ah, but neither of your siblings are here, so it wouldn’t be confusing,” you pointed out before you could stop yourself. Seiko gave you an annoyed look.

“So what? Everyone’s been calling me Seiko since I can remember, so if you try to get my attention by saying Otoya I won’t realize,” she said. “What’s your problem with it?”

“I don’t have a problem,” you said, pulling out a pencil of your own and filling out your introduction sheet. Your handwriting was ten times nicer than Seiko’s, you noticed — she had a messy scrawl that was barely legible, especially when compared to your neat print. 

“That’s great to hear, L/N,” she said, shoving her arm over her paper so you couldn’t look at it any longer. “Quit copying me.”

“Of all the assignments to copy on, do you really think I’d pick this one? It wouldn’t even make sense, since all of the information is about ourselves. See, this one asks about our families,” you said, tapping your eraser against the question you were referring to. “It’s not like I would write that I have two older siblings, because I don’t, even though you do.”

Seiko scoffed, puffing her cheeks out and turning back to her work with a pout. “Fine.”

You had been hoping that you’d befriend your desk partner, considering you didn’t know anyone at the middle school. All of your friends from primary school lived across town from you, so they were attending another middle school, which had the unfortunate effect of leaving you by yourself. Unfortunately, it seemed like you were out of luck when it came to making friends with the girl beside you, because Seiko was surly at best and downright hostile at worst.

When the bell rang to signify the end of the first half of the day as well as the beginning of the lunch break, you all but leapt out of your seat, speed-walking towards the cafeteria as fast as you could, eager to avoid another stiff conversation with Seiko. For her part, she rolled her eyes, taking her own time to gather her things and push in her chair, ignoring you completely all the while.

In your haste, you didn’t watch where you were going, and because of your shyly-ducked head, you ran straight into the back of a tall, heavy-set boy.

“What is wrong with you?” he snapped, spinning around to face you. He had close-cropped hair and thick brows, a narrow mouth pressed into a taut line, and a pinched, ruddy face. 

“I’m sorry,” you said immediately.

“You made me drop my chocolate milk,” he said. “Apologize again, and give me money to pay for more!”

“Your chocolate milk is still in your hand,” you said quietly. He glared at you, and then, before you could react, he was unscrewing the cap and pouring its contents all over you.

“Like I said,” he said. “You made me drop it.”

“What — why would you do that?” you sputtered. You had thought that middle school would be much the same as elementary had been, only with different people, but this never would’ve happened, even just last year. You looked around wildly for a teacher, but there were none; though you were surrounded by laughing peers, you realized that you were alone in this hallway, completely and utterly alone. Everyone was laughing at you and milk was dripping down your once-white shirt and you were alone and things could not get worse. 

The boy held out his hand. Things got worse. “Gimme your lunch money, freak.”

You stared at him blankly, tears welling in your eyes but refusing to fall. He tapped his foot, and slowly, when you understood that you had no choice, you reached into your pocket, fumbling around for the bit of change you had brought with you.

Suddenly, someone slapped your wrist lightly — in reprimand, and not hard enough that it hurt, but so that you were startled and ceased your actions immediately. Looking up, you saw it was Seiko Otoya, looking much the same as she had earlier, though her cheeks bloomed with a rose-colored flush as she jabbed a finger at the boy.

“Who do you think you’re messing with, huh?” she shouted, loudly enough that you were surprised no adults were alarmed. The boy’s eyes widened.

“Seiko?” he said. “I didn’t know you were—”

She let out a challenging war cry and then lunged at him. You gasped as she tackled him to the ground and socked him in the nose, looking entirely ridiculous all the while. It was like watching a chihuahua beat up a mastiff; Seiko was tiny compared to the boy, but vicious, not even giving him a moment to breathe as she rammed her fists into his face, over and over.

“Miss Otoya!” an authoritative voice said, cutting through the brawl. “What is the meaning of this?”

Your teacher stood before you, one of your classmates at her side. When Seiko did not move, she yanked her off of the boy, helping him stand and giving Seiko a stern look.

“He spilled milk on L/N and tried to take her lunch money, so I was just trying to give him a taste of his own medicine,” Seiko said with a shrug.

“You should’ve come to me, not taken matters into your own hands,” your teacher said, massaging her temples when she saw the state of your uniform. “Do you have anything to say to this young man?”

Seiko squinted at the boy, his bloody nose and shivering frame, and then she nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Go on, then,” your teacher said. Seiko placed her hands on her hips.

“I’m sorry—” she began. Your teacher nodded encouragingly. “—that I didn’t hit you harder. You could’ve gotten surgery and fixed that ugly nose of yours if I had actually managed to break it. I’ll do better next time, promise.”

The boy burst into tears. Seiko was sent to detention, giggling all the while. You were given a new uniform and the knowledge that there was at least this one person in the school who was on your side.

It was only natural that, after such an ordeal, you and Seiko ended up as fast friends. Her gruff exterior never softened any, but you found that she was kinder than she let on, and lonely in her own way.

“I learned that move from one of the wrestling matches my older brother likes to watch,” she explained to you a few days later. “I’ve been itching to try it out, so thanks for giving me the opportunity.”

“Itching to try it out?” you said in wonder, accepting the orange slice she handed you and biting into it.

“You know, I beat up 95% of the boys in my kindergarten,” she said thoughtfully. Despite the far-fetched number, you were inclined to believe her. “I’m kind of the opposite of my siblings in that sense. They’re both super popular, especially my brother Eita, but I’ve never been like that. I’m the sort of person that people generally stay far away from.”

“Well, I’m not staying far away from you,” you said. 

“Right,” she said, cracking her knuckles with a smirk. “Who knows when that guy or his lackeys will come back to take revenge on you? You’ve gotta keep me around for a while, just in case.”

It was the best she could offer in terms of friendship, so you only smiled and said that you would.

You visited her house for the first time the following summer, during that part of the season when the days were long and faded into night so slowly that you could even fall asleep while it was still light out. She invited you in and then immediately tugged you after her, not bothering to offer an explanation, as was her way. You stumbled up the stairs, trying to keep pace as she whipped around a corner and knocked frantically on a shut door.

“What?” a muffled voice shouted from inside of the room. 

“It’s Seiko, open up!” she shouted back. “I have to show you something!”

The door opened to reveal a boy. He was a year or so older than you and Seiko, with a delicate, handsome face and a slender, willowy build. His hair, which boasted the same strange coloring as Seiko’s, fell into low-lidded eyes that narrowed with irritation when they settled upon his younger sister.

“What is it?” he said. “I was in the middle of playing a game with my friends.”

“Look,” she said, placing her hands on your shoulders proudly. “You said you didn’t believe I had a friend, but I do, see? This is Y/N L/N, and she’s here to hang out with me!”

Her brother seemed unimpressed. “Did you have to rough her up a bit or something to get her to agree to it?”

“No!” Seiko said. “She actually likes me, right, Y/N?”

“Right,” you said, confused at what kind of argument you had accidentally found yourself in the middle of. “Um, Seiko’s my best friend at school, and she’s never beaten me up or anything, so…”

“Holy crap, you must be desperate,” he said.

“Hey!” Seiko said, kicking him in the shin. He winced and promptly slammed the door on your faces.

“You suck!” he said. “I have a soccer game tomorrow, so you’re lucky you didn’t permanently injure me!”

“I wish I had!” she said. “Come on, Y/N. He’s a jerk. Let’s go swimming. Did you bring a bathing suit? If not, you can borrow one of mine.”

“I have one,” you said. “Wait, so was that your older brother? The one who watches wrestling matches and all?”

“Yeah, that’s Eita. He’s in the grade ahead of us. I guess you could say we’re closer with each other than with our older sister, since she’s already finished high school, but to be honest, he’s dumb and mean, so we don’t get along very well,” she said.

“I picked up on that,” you said. “He seriously didn’t believe you had any friends?” 

“No!” she said. “I told you back when we first met that he and our sister are super popular and I’m not, didn’t I? The thing is that he’s aware of that, too, and he always teases me for it, so when I told him I actually had made a friend, he acted like I was making it up. That’s why I took you to meet him, but he just had to go and be annoying about it! Ugh. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

“That’s the worst. Oh, and he plays soccer?” you said. She gave you a strange look.

“Mhm, why?” she said.

“Dunno,” you said. “Just wondering.”

Even you weren’t sure why you were curious about Eita Otoya. Your first interaction with him had hardly been memorable, and if anything you should really despise him for being rude to Seiko. But wasn’t it common for siblings to fight? That didn’t mean he was a bad person, did it?

Actually, it was irrelevant. You doubted you would see much of him, so no matter the quality of his character, he wasn’t someone you needed to be thinking of as anything more than your best friend’s brother. Resolving to push it aside, you spent the rest of the summer with Seiko by their pool, eating popsicles and playing mermaids and getting into splash fights and entirely ignoring whatever signs of her brother’s existence presented themselves.

In fact, until you and Seiko began high school, your path hardly crossed with Eita Otoya’s. He was always out with his friends whenever you came over, and the things he preferred to do had such little overlap with yours and Seiko’s interests that it was as if he did not even live in the Otoya household at all. Indeed, you saw more of their older sister, who was already in college, than you did him, and he became nothing but a vague thought in the back of your mind, only considered when you saw a random sock on their kitchen floor or a soccer jersey thrown across the back of the armchair in their living room.

All of this changed when you and Seiko became high schoolers and she joined the swim team. Her practice hours were long and irregular, which meant there were often times that you’d sit around her house, doing homework while you waited for her to come back. Some days she was only five minutes late; others, it was half an hour or more. It was frustrating, but it could not be helped, so you learned quickly that you should bring something to entertain yourself with if you dared to head to the Otoya household on a day she had swimming — which was every day, or so it seemed.

“Hey. You’re L/N, right? Seiko’s friend?”

You were pulled out of writing a history paper by someone speaking to you curiously. When you looked up, you saw that it was Eita Otoya, a brown paper bag in his hands and a friendly smile on his face. He set the bag on the counter and rummaged about in one of their cabinets, pulling out two plates while he gazed at you, waiting for an answer.

“Yes, I am,” you said, omitting the fact that you had been coming to his house for years, seeing no merit in bringing it up. “You’re her older brother.”

“Yup,” he said, emptying the contents of the bag onto one of the plates. “I can’t believe you’re doing homework at your best friend’s house.”

“She was supposed to be back half an hour ago, but I think one of her teammates pissed the coach off, so they all got held back again,” you said. “I figured I might as well be productive while I waited for her.”

“Smart,” he said. “Want some?”

He held up the plate filled with churros at you. You furrowed your brow, feeling entirely awkward — this was probably the longest conversation you had ever had with him, and certainly the only one you had had without Seiko present.

“Uh, sure,” you said.

“Good choice, these things are delicious,” he said, shaking his head as he heaped a generous portion onto the other plate. Pulling out the chair across from you, he handed you your plate and then sat down with a dreamy exhale. “I swear they put crack in them or something.”

“It’s possible,” you said, debating whether you should close your laptop before deciding you might as well. It wouldn’t do for your keyboard to get sticky with cinnamon sugar, and it would probably be rude of you to have it out while he was sitting with you.

You both were quiet for a while — you were too unsure of what to say to him, so you opted for silence, and he was distracted with eating his churros and texting someone on his phone. Maybe you should’ve kept your laptop open after all.

“Say, L/N,” he said. “If you were a girl—”

“I am a girl,” you interrupted him, somewhat put-out that he had forgotten that. He rolled his eyes and took another bite out of a churro, chewing and swallowing it before responding.

“Obviously,” he said. “You didn’t let me finish. If you were a girl who was dating someone, and they cheated on you, what would you do?”

“You could’ve just phrased it like ‘if you were dating someone, and they cheated on you, what would you do?’ You didn’t have to specify the ‘if you were a girl’ part,” you muttered. It was a childish thing to be hung up about, but for some reason it really irritated you to think that he thought of you as something other than you really were.

He cocked his head at you, like he was trying to discern whether you were really being serious or not. He must’ve decided that you were, for he chuckled. It was not quite condescending but bordering on it, and it did not improve your mood any.

“Alright, I’m sorry. That’s my bad. Well, if you were dating someone, and they cheated on you, what would you do?” he said.

“I’d be upset and break up with them immediately, duh,” you said.

“Why?” he said.

“What do you mean why?” you said incredulously. “Wouldn’t you do the same?”

“I’m not sure. No one’s ever cheated on me before,” he said with an impish grin, leaning over the table and snatching one of the churros off of your plate. “That’s why I wanted to know what you think.”

“No one’s ever cheated on me before, either. I’ve never even dated someone. That’s just the kind of thing where you already know what you’d do, though you hope it never happens,” you said.

“You’ve never dated someone? But you’re so pretty,” he said. You coughed, a bit of the churro that you had just swallowed sticking against your throat peculiarly at the compliment, which he had tossed out so casually it was as if he had just been commenting on the weather.

“Thanks,” you said. “Anyways, er, like I was saying — like I was saying, I wouldn’t stay with a cheater. Not ever.”

“That’s a shame,” he said, taking your empty plate, stacking it atop his own, and setting both in the sink. Running his hands under a stream of water so that there wasn’t any residue left on them, he shook his head. “It isn’t that big of a deal, you know. Like, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t mean anything?” you said. “Of course it means something. It means you don’t have any respect for the person you’re dating, and I wouldn’t want to be with someone who doesn’t respect me, so why would I stay with someone who cheated? Plus, I’m sure you’ve heard what they all say — once a cheater, always a cheater. If they did it before, they’ll do it again.”

“That’s not very conducive to a growth mindset,” he said, patting his hands dry on a red-striped dish towel.

“Maybe not,” you said. “But people who cheat can grow somewhere far away from me.”

“That sounds like my cue to leave,” he said with a two-fingered salute. “I used to wonder why you were friends with Seiko, but to be honest, I can see it now.”

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, he had left the kitchen, running up to his room, taking the steps two at a time. You were rendered absolutely bewildered, your sugary fingers and your unfinished essay and the two empty plates in the sink serving as the only proof that the conversation had even happened in the first place.

“Your brother’s really weird,” you said to Seiko when she got back, smelling faintly of chlorine, though you knew she had already showered at the pool. She cringed.

“Tell me about it. What did he do this time?” she said, pulling a large sweatshirt on, her hair sticking up every which way afterwards.

“He gave me churros and asked me what I’d do if someone cheated on me,” you said. She snorted.

“Sounds like him,” she said. “He’s kind of a serial dater, you see. He doesn’t tell me much, mostly because I’d be seriously grossed out by it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a cheater, too. Seriously, I don’t even know how we’re related. He’s the worst. I’d tell him to stop if I thought that he’d actually listen to me.”

“Oh,” you said.

“Don’t be so gloomy,” she said, elbowing you in the side affectionately. “It’s not like you’ll ever get with him, so why are you worried? I’d never let you date a cheater like that. Seriously, if you ever get a boyfriend—”

“If?” you said.

“You know what I mean. Anyways, like I was saying, I’ll beat him up if he cheats on you, whoever he might be!” she said, flexing her biceps, which were admittedly impressive, albeit hidden by the puffy sleeves of her sweatshirt.

“What if it’s your brother?” you said. 

“Ew, why would it be him?” she said, pretending to gag. “Never date Eita. You deserve way better. He’s like a walking STD, probably. Just being in the same room with him is enough to give anyone herpes.”

“It was just a hypothetical question. And also, don’t you live with him? That’s nasty, do you have herpes, too?” you said. She ran her hands through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it; you reached into your backpack and pulled out a comb, tossing it at her.

“I’m immune because we’re related,” she said. “They only transfer if you have those kinds of intentions, so you’re safe for now, but I’m just saying, he’s a genuine health risk to be around. And to answer your question, yeah, I’d take any opportunity to punch him, so if he cheated on you I’d go at it doubly hard!”

“That makes it seem like I’m more of an excuse for you to mess with your brother than you actually wanting to defend my honor or anything,” you said.

“There’s a bit of both factoring into the decision,” she admitted. “Let’s stop thinking about it, though. I’m feeling itchy in places I should not be feeling itchy at just the prospect of you guys being together.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” you informed her. She stuck her tongue out at you, and the topic was, in turn, forgotten.

For some reason, though, you found yourself showing up at the Otoyas’ house earlier and earlier. Not enough to draw suspicion, but enough that you almost always had at least a couple of minutes there by yourself. Mr. and Mrs. Otoya had long ago grown accustomed to your presence and treated you more like another daughter than anything, so they didn’t find it strange, and Seiko’s older sister had recently moved into her own apartment nearer to her university, so she didn’t even realize that it was happening.

In fact, there was only one consequence to this newfound habit of yours: in the many moments before Seiko returned from her practices, you struck up a friendship with her brother, Eita.

Things were awkward at first, you couldn’t deny it. He didn’t have much interest in you, and in fact it seemed like he only entertained you because it would be even worse if he didn’t. 

“Oh, you’re here again,” he’d say if he got back from soccer before Seiko came back from swimming. “No Seiko?”

“Not yet,” you’d say, a poster board or worksheet or laptop in front of you. “She should be back in a few minutes. We’re supposed to finish this project together.”

“I told her she should’ve picked soccer,” he’d say with a laugh. “We always finish on time.”

“Cool,” you’d say, because how else could you respond? He’d raise his eyebrows at you, and then, if he felt generous, he’d give you a churro. If not, he’d dart off to his room, mumbling some excuse about having to call one of his friends or something, which you never responded to, because it was mostly unimportant to you.

There wasn’t any huge reasoning behind it. Talking to Eita Otoya wasn’t particularly stimulating, and though you certainly found him good-looking, you wouldn’t go so far as to say you had a crush on him. Mostly, you found him to be a bit of an enigma, and if in figuring him out, you got a few churros out of it, then you supposed it was a fair enough deal, but it wasn’t like you were seeking out his company or anything.

Eventually, he seemed to warm to you a bit more, though you were still standoffish, Seiko’s warning ever-present in the back of your mind — the one regarding walking STDs and herpes and whatnot. You never brought it up with him, but that really was the cause of your shyness, not — not anything else. Definitely not anything else. Why would you be shy around him of all people?

“Hey, L/N,” he’d say nowadays, greeting you cheerfully and sitting next to you as you did your homework. “How’re things going?”

“They’re good, thank you,” you’d say, scooting away from him inconspicuously. Herpes. STDs. Genuine health risk. Oh, he smells really nice… 

“I’m doing well myself,” he’d respond, despite the fact that you typically didn’t bother with asking. “Still no Seiko?”

“Nope,” you’d say with a sigh. “Still no Seiko.”

He’d wrinkle his nose. “Damn. Sorry to hear it.”

“It’s fine,” you’d say. “She’ll be here soon, and she’ll probably be full of complaints about her coach.”

“I’d stick around until then, but unfortunately, my PC is calling,” he’d say, or he’d give some other such goofy excuse that was obviously designed to pull a laugh out of you and usually did. “See you around, L/N.”

“Later,” you’d say. “Have fun with your PC.”

It was nice. You wouldn’t say you were close with him by any means — definitely not as close as you were with his sister — but the two of you got along. You didn’t know much about him, and you doubted he knew much about you, but you both could hold enough of a conversation that you began to actually look forward to spending time with him.

Only because he was oddly funny in his own way, and kind of sweet, too. It had nothing to do with how nice his laugh sounded or how bright his grin was or the way he spoke to you, gently but also mischievously. You didn’t even notice these things, not one bit. 

“Y/N!” he said one Saturday, banging into the kitchen excitedly. At some point, you had indeed become Y/N to him, though you couldn’t quite place when that shift had occurred. “No Seiko?”

“She’s at a meet,” you said. “She told me she’d come back once she was done with her races, but she texted me a few minutes ago that her coach is making her stay for the entire thing, and she doesn’t know how long it’ll take. I thought about going home, but then I thought that, since I’m already here, I should just wait for her.”

“I’m surprised you’re not doing homework,” he said, hopping onto the counter, a box in his hands, ostensibly filled with churros.

“It’s Saturday,” you pointed out. “I did all of my weekend work yesterday so I could be free today and tomorrow. Seiko and I were supposed to have a movie marathon, so I didn’t want to be distracted.”

“Supposed to?” he said, wandering around his kitchen, taking out cutlery and plates with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

“Who knows when she’ll get back? Hopefully, it’s soon, but I’m sure you’re aware of how random the meet schedules can be, so we might run out of time to have a marathon proper,” you said.

“It’s like I always say,” he said.

“She should’ve picked soccer,” you completed for him. “What makes you bring that up today?”

“Our matches are timed,” he said. “No uncertainty there. Look, forget about that for a moment. I walked past this bakery on my way back from soccer practice, and they were having a sale, so I stopped in. I asked Seiko, and she said you like these. Is that true? Because if she was lying, I’m gonna kill her.”

Instead of churros like you had expected, he was holding a plate of cupcakes, frosted in pastel shades, crystal sprinkles glittering under the ceiling lights. They were beautiful, like little flowers or jewels, and you beamed as he put them on the table and waited for you to speak.

“No way!” you said. “Are these from that place by the park? I’ve been wanting to go there for ages, but their stuff is so expensive that I could never justify it. I can’t believe they had a sale! Thank goodness you happened to walk past. I would’ve cried if I missed my chance to try their stuff.”

“So, as a girl, you’re impressed by this?” he said as you unwrapped one of the cupcakes and shoved it in your mouth. You gave him a surprised look, your chin covered in icing, sweet cake filling your cheeks. He suppressed a laugh, handing you a napkin as you rapidly chewed and swallowed.

“What d’you mean?” you said.

“I’m trying something new,” he explained. “Buying flowers is kinda lame nowadays; plus, if I get cupcakes instead, then I can also have some, so it’s a win-win.”

“I see,” you said, dabbing at your face with the napkin.

“I thought I’d ask for your feedback, since you’re the only girl I talk to regularly. Besides Seiko, obviously, but it’s not like I’m going to ask my little sister about this kind of stuff,” he said.

“I’d say I was pretty impressed,” you said. “However, I would also say you shouldn’t mention that you got them on sale.”

“Of course I wouldn’t mention that to a girl I was actually interested in,” he said. “I just told you because I knew you’d refuse to eat them otherwise.”

“That’s true,” you said. “Buying these at full price would’ve been stupid in any situation, but especially so because it’s not like you’re trying to be nice to me or anything.”

“You make me sound like a villain,” he complained. “I still got them for you, didn’t I? Why does it matter what my reasons were?”

“Your reasons are kind of villainous,” you said. “You got them for me so I could tell you whether your new strategy for picking up girls was a winner or not.”

“I compensated you for your services!” he said. “What kind of villain would do that? By the way, is it? A winner, I mean.”

“I think so, but everyone’s different. It could work with one person and not another,” you said.

“Good enough for me,” he said, patting you on the head. You paid him no mind — not true, even the lighthearted touch made you feel all squirmy and strange — and pulled out your phone, which had just vibrated with a text. 

It was Seiko, and you sighed as you read the message. Eita peered over your shoulder and then hummed sympathetically.

“Ooh, is that Seiko? Yikes,” he said.

‘now the coach is making us all go to dinner as a team :/ we can have our movie marathon another time?? sorry i made you wait and then stood you up.’

A second later, your phone buzzed again. 

‘i feel like eita LMAO omg pls don’t slap me like his last ex did. i’ll make it up to you another time PROMISE!!’

You would’ve laughed, but you felt so discouraged by her earlier text that you could only muster up a half-smile. Eita gasped in offense when he read the second message, drawing back and sticking his nose in the air, folding his arms over his chest.

“I can’t believe she’s airing my business out to you like that,” he said.

“I can’t believe you got slapped by your last ex,” you said, though the words lacked the teasing bite that they should’ve had. He frowned at you.

“Are you just going to go home now?” he said.

“Guess so, since Seiko won’t be back until tonight,” you said. “Oh, well. At least I got cupcakes. I’m sure the girl that you stood up wasn’t so lucky.”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he said. “No, she wasn’t.”

“And you claimed you weren’t a villain,” you said, shaking your head in disappointment. “See you later. Thanks for the cupcakes.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then, just as abruptly, closed it again. You arched a brow at him, but he only smiled at you.

“See you,” he said, putting the cupcakes back in the box and handing it to you. “Take these.”

“Don’t you want them?” you said. He had never given you the extras of anything he had ever bought before, preferring to keep them so he could eat them later that night or for breakfast the next day. 

“Nah, I got them for you, so you should keep them,” he said. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime,” you said, your fingertips brushing against his as he handed you the box. A burst of static electricity shocked you, and you bit back a hiss as you accepted it from him, not wanting to seem whiny when he hadn’t even reacted.

“Hold on,” he said as you made your way to the door. “Listen, if she stands you up again, I’ll watch the movies with you.”

“Really? They’re not your genre, so I’m sure you’ll be bored,” you said.

“You don’t even know what my genre is,” he said. 

“Maybe not,” you said. “I’ll take you up on that, then, so I hope you meant it.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t,” he said.

“You’re not half-bad, you know,” you said thoughtfully, tucking the box under your arm so you could unlock the front door. “Seiko always calls you mean, but you’re pretty nice.”

“If she was half as agreeable as you, I wouldn’t have to be mean!” he said. “It’s way easier to be nice to you than anyone else, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure what he meant by that. What even were you to him? Just his little sister’s best friend, or something different? Were the two of you genuinely friends, or were you just the girl he asked for help with his stupid relationships that never lasted for longer than a week? Did he like you? Did you like him? No, of course you didn’t. This was Eita Otoya. You could never like him, not if you valued your friendship with Seiko or the well-being of your heart. You didn’t like him. You didn’t, you didn’t, you didn’t.

“That’s good,” you said finally. “Thanks again.”

“Bye,” he said.

“Bye,” you said, and with a final look at him, you let the door swing shut and turned towards your home.

The next day, you got up early so that you could make it to the bakery before they ran out of their best wares. Eita hadn’t specified how long the sale lasted, and if there was even a chance that it was still ongoing, you wanted to take advantage of it.

Thanks to the odd hour, there wasn’t a line outside of the bakery, and you felt confident as you walked into the warm, dough-scented building. It was airy and bright, flowers and sweets in the windowsill, the display cases well-lit and stocked with a multitude of desserts. Plants hung from the ceiling, and the pale wallpaper was covered with floral motifs, small birds perching amongst the blooms. The bakery itself was so beautiful that you almost forgot what you were there for until one of the employees cleared her throat.

“Can I help you, miss?” she said.

“Hi!” you said. “A friend of mine mentioned that you were having a sale yesterday. Is that still happening?”

“A sale? We don’t do sales here, I’m afraid. Is it possible that they went somewhere else?” she said.

“No, he specifically said the place by the park,” you said, furrowing your brow. “Are you sure you didn’t happen to have a sale?”

“Positive,” she said. “I was working yesterday, too, so if you describe him, I can let you know if he came or not.”

“He’s about this tall,” you said, holding up your hand at approximately Eita’s height. “Plays soccer, silver hair with a green streak—”

“Yes! He came in right around lunchtime yesterday and bought cupcakes,” she said. “Um, is he single, by any chance?”

“As good as,” you said. You had no idea what the state of his romantic life was, but considering how quickly he jumped from girl to girl, there was almost no point in saying that he was taken. “If he ever comes back, feel free to make a move on him. He’d probably appreciate it. Moving on, do you mean to say that he got those at full price?”

“He would’ve had to,” she said. “Like I said, we don’t do sales. We’re not that kind of establishment.”

“I might faint when you answer this, so please be slow and careful when you do, but how much, exactly, is full price for what he bought?” you said. “Out of curiosity.” 

She told you. You did not faint, but it was such an exorbitant number that, for a moment, you really thought you might.

The next Saturday evening, you went to the Otoyas’ with a wad of cash in your hand. Seiko and her parents were away the entire weekend for an invitational meet, but for once, she was not the one you had gone to visit, so this was of little consequence to you.

You rang the doorbell and waited with crossed arms, the humid air oppressive against your skin. According to your weather app, it was going to rain soon, and you pursed your lips at the thought that Eita might not be home and you’d get caught in the downpour with nothing to show for it.

Luckily, the door opened, revealing him standing there in a pair of shorts, his hair still damp and a towel around his neck. You focused very hard on pretending like he was wearing a shirt, even though he was not, and it worked well enough that you could just barely greet him properly.

“Y/N? Hey, I’m sorry you walked all this way, but Seiko’s not home. Did she forget to tell you she’s gone for the weekend?” he said.

“No, I’m here for you,” you said.

“Huh?” he said.

“Not like that! I mean, I went to that bakery, and the girl working there told me they never have sales, which means you paid full price for those cupcakes. That’s insane! I can’t accept that,” you said.

“So, what, are you gonna vomit them out at my feet or something? That sounds gross, please don’t,” he said.

“I’m paying you back,” you said, extending your hand and offering him the money. “Don’t even think about refusing. I already feel horrible.”

“No way,” he said. “It was a present. You don’t pay people back for presents, that’s like a faux pas or something. I think. Er, I’d have to look it up to be certain, but I’m pretty sure it’s frowned upon.”

“I didn’t even do anything present-worthy, so why would you give me one?” you said.

“Yeah, you did. You helped me out, remember? Gave me advice and all,” he said.

“That was hardly worth all of this!” you said. “Seriously, at least take a little bit.”

“Nah,” he said. “You should come inside.”

“For what?” you said. “Seiko’s not here.”

“True, but I feel bad that you walked for nothing, so it’s the least I can do,” he said.

“It wasn’t for nothing. It was to pay you back, which I will do, and after that I’ll go home,” you said.

“Doubt it,” he said. “Come on, it’s going to rain soon. If you get sick and blame me for it, my sister will kill me.”

Reluctantly, you followed him into the kitchen, hyper aware that you both were alone. It had never been like this before; always, someone else had been in the house, whether his mother or father or one of his sisters. You shouldn’t have cared that it was just the two of you, but you found that you did. It was as uncomfortable and strange as the turbulent skies and muggy atmosphere, but also pleasant in a way, like the sweet smell of yeast in a bakery or flower petals dusting against the crackled tops of sugar cookies in a windowsill.

“Do you like Super Smash Bros.?” he said, taking the towel and rubbing his head vigorously, giving him the frazzled appearance of a hedgehog, or perhaps an electrocuted cat of the cartoonish variety.

“It’s fun, but I’m not that good. Seiko usually beats me,” you said. 

“We can play, if you want,” he said. 

“Okay?” you said. “Why?”

“I’m just trying to think of things that we can do, since you’re here and all,” he said. 

“What were you planning on doing if I didn’t come?” you said.

“I was going to go on a date,” he said. 

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you actually had plans! I should leave so you can get to that,” you said. He waved you off dismissively, already turning the console on and connecting the controllers.

“It’s fine, I already canceled on her. Hopefully she gets the hint. If I have to spell it out to her that I’m not interested anymore, it’ll be annoying,” he said.

The TV flashed with the starting screen, the music blaring as you sat on opposite ends of the couch, remotes in hand. Outside, thunder rumbled ominously, and you thought that you should probably send your location to your parents so that they didn’t get worried. While Eita messed with the settings, you did that, receiving affirmative responses from both of them in turn — which made sense, as neither of them knew that Mr. and Mrs. Otoya, along with Seiko, weren’t home.

“Do you care what map we use?” he said.

“Seiko and I usually just go random,” you said. “So whatever you want is fine.”

“Random is the best,” he said. “Especially when you get the interactive maps that actively try to kill you. It’s way more exciting that way.”

“Exactly,” you said. Half of yours and Seiko’s matches were decided based on who could adjust to the map faster; sadly for you, this was frequently your best friend, and only very rarely you. 

“What character do you play? I know Seiko likes Palutena, so probably not her, right?” he said.

“I only ever play as girl characters, but my favorite is Zero Suit Samus,” you said, clicking on her and changing her outfit so that it was the burgundy version.

“You only play as girl characters? Why?” he said.

“It’s the best way to bond with your avatar. If you can’t connect with your character, then how can you hope to win?” you said.

“Are you for real?” he said. You maintained a straight face for as long as you could before breaking into laughter. 

“Obviously not. I just like playing as characters I think are pretty, since I don’t have much of a chance at winning either way,” you said.

“That makes sense,” he said. “I play as Sheik. He’s based off of a ninja, so it makes sense.”

It was your turn to give him a strange look. “What?”

“Because we’re descended from ninjas and all, so I have to stick with the theme. It’s like the Otoya brand,” he explained.

“I got that part,” you said. “What do you mean by he, though? Sheik is a girl.”

He paused right before clicking on Sheik, his eyes wide. “No way. He’s obviously a guy.”

“Not so,” you said. “I looked up a list of all female characters in Smash when I was trying to pick a main, and Sheik was on it. She’s Princess Zelda’s alter-ego, apparently.”

“Are you messing with me again?” he said. 

“No, not this time,” you said. He mulled this over before shrugging and clicking on the character’s icon anyways.

“Whatever,” he said. “I’m used to her, so there’s no point in changing. Besides, it doesn’t really matter if she’s a girl.”

“Very true,” you said. “Alright, I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Be prepared,” he warned you as he pressed the start button and the screen switched to a countdown. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to,” you said. “Considering how frequently I’m pummeled by your sister, I’m used to losing.”

“Good. Get used to it more,” he said, immediately starting off before you could even orient yourself on the map. “Bang! Gotcha! You really are bad at this.”

“Just as an aside, the TV makes sound effects, so you don’t need to add more of your own,” you said, wrinkling your nose and dodging out of his next attack.

“It makes it more fun,” he said. “You should try it. Really helps you get in the zone.”

“Hm,” you said. “I’ll leave it to you.”

Somehow, you and Eita were actually evenly matched, and during the final round, you knocked his character off of the edge, guarding it until he couldn’t hope to recover and fell to his defeat. 

“Yay!” you said as the victory screen showed your character posing. “I haven’t won in ages! This is awesome.”

“Rematch! You only won because you’re one of those dirty edge guarders!” he said, already setting up the next game.

“‘Dirty edge guarders?’ That’s how the game is played,” you said.

“Nuh-uh, it’s against the rules,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

“No? There aren’t really rules in Smash. How do you not know this? Also, you should really stop saying things when you don’t even know if they’re true,” you said.

“My older sister would always tell me it was against the rules when we used to play,” he said. You waited for it to dawn on him; when it did, he groaned and facepalmed. “She was full of shit?”

“I’m afraid you were, in fact, duped,” you said.

“No wonder she always beat me,” he grumbled. “Whenever I was close to winning, she’d say whatever I was doing was against the rules.”

“That would do it,” you said. “I don’t mind playing again, though.”

“This time I’ll beat you for sure,” he said. “Now that I don’t have to abide by any bullshit guidelines.”

The two of you got wrapped up in a series of matches, eventually turning on the random character selector as well as the random map selector, refusing to read the tutorials so you were really going into things blind and figuring it out as you went. You had way more fun than you had expected you would, and as the evening went on, any thoughts of feeling self-conscious vanished from your mind. It was just Eita Otoya, after all. He was only your best friend’s older brother, the one who brought you treats and played soccer and sucked at Smash and had a childish sense of humor. There was no reason to feel shy. Well, besides the fact that he had never opted to put a shirt on, but that was a non-issue when your attention was focused solely on the screen.

You weren’t sure how many rounds you had gotten through when his phone rang, so shrilly and insistently that he was forced to pause the game and take the call. He didn’t leave his spot on the couch, though, which meant you were able to observe him as the girl on the other end began to scream.

“How could you cancel on me at the last minute?” she said, loud enough that you could hear her, though his phone wasn’t on speakerphone.

“It wasn’t that hard,” he said. “I just texted you and said I’m not going.”

“You’re such a piece of shit. I thought — I thought everyone was wrong about you, but they weren’t. They weren’t at all,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that they were,” he said. “Listen, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now, so could you hurry up and say what you want to say?”

“Did you ever even like me?” she said.

“Yeah, at first,” he said. 

“Not anymore, though,” she said.

“Guess not,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Is that it? You’re ending things just like that? Didn’t it mean anything to you? I bragged to all of my friends about you! You were so sweet, and you even got me cookies…was it all just a game?” she said.

“It wasn’t a game,” he said. “As I said, I liked you back then. I wouldn’t have done all of that if I didn’t.”

“Because that’s supposed to make me feel all better,” she said.

“I’m just explaining myself,” he said.

“You’re the worst. You’re — just, you’re the worst, ugh!” she said before hanging up. Eita made a face at the phone and then put it facedown on the table beside him, unpausing the game without a wasted moment.

“They were from the grocery store,” he said after a bit.

“What?” you said.

“The cookies I got her. Grocery store variety,” he said.

“Oh. That’s kinda shitty,” you said.

“She seemed pretty happy about them regardless,” he said. “I wasn’t about to waste my money when I knew it wouldn’t last.”

“You wasted your money on me,” you pointed out. The corners of his mouth quirked up.

“You’re Seiko’s best friend. I’m pretty sure you’re not going anywhere, so it’s not a big deal. Consider it a peace offering for not believing you were real at first,” he said, landing a combo attack on your character.

“That was ages ago,” you said.

“It’s downright traumatizing for a person when others don’t think they’re real. Fucks up their psyche and whatnot. Acknowledging my mistake was the least I could do,” he said.

“Another fact you just made up?” you said.

“Maybe,” he said. “Was it plausible?”

“Not in the slightest,” you said.

“I tried,” he said. “Woah, nice one, Y/N.”

You had just hit his character in a series of successive blows, entirely by accident but to devastating effect. He lost his first life, respawning in and jumping back to the offensive.

“Why do you even do it?” you said, finally vocalizing the question that had been bothering you for almost the entire time that you had known him.

“Do what?” he said.

“Date people, when you know you’re going to break up with them so quickly,” you said. “What’s the point?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, the glare of the screen reflecting in his fern-colored irises. “It’s always fun at first. I meet a pretty girl, and I talk her into giving me her number. We go on a date or two, and I think it might actually be different this time, but it never is. By the third or fourth date, I’m bored beyond belief and dreading going on another. Then we break up and I do it all again.”

“That sounds exhausting,” you said.

“Near the end, it is,” he said. “But it’s pretty amusing in the beginning, so I don’t see a reason to stop.”

“Do you cheat on your girlfriends?” you said. You knew for sure what he would say, but still, you wanted to hear it from him.

“What is this, interview-Eita-day? Yeah, I have in the past, but only a couple of times,” he said. “Both of them were when the relationships were on their last legs and I couldn’t be bothered to care anymore.”

“That’s callous,” you said. “You should’ve just broken up with them.”

“Dumping girls is the worst. They get all upset and start crying, and I know I should feel bad because I’m the reason, but by that point, I just want to go home,” he said. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“A little bit,” you said. “For the most part, though, I just don’t understand. Why do you keep going for people you know you’re going to get tired of?”

“It’s not like I can look in the future and see that I’m going to end up bored,” he said. “It just happens. We run out of things to talk about and sit there in silence. It sucks. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“How does that even happen?” you said. “You talk all the time with me. I didn’t think you were capable of running out of things to say.”

“That’s different,” he said. “I’m not worried about impressing you — no offense — and you’re funny, plus you like some of the same things as me, so it’s easy to have a conversation with you. It’s not the case when you’re going out with someone. You’ll understand when you decide to date yourself.”

“Don’t the girls you go out with like the same things as you?” you said.

“Not really,” he said. “They think video games are for losers, and they’re too scared to go on the rides at amusement parks. Some of them understand soccer, but not to the point that it’s something they’d want to talk about frequently.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” you said. “You’re only going out with people who you have zero shared interests with. It’s normal that you’d get bored of them, and that they’d get bored in return.”

“You’re thinking too much about it,” he said. “It’s not that deep.”

“That’s how it works,” you said. “Quite fundamentally, actually. It’s impossible to build a relationship with someone when you both have nothing in common. In fact, it’s unfair to all involved parties.”

“Are you trying to give me advice?” he said.

“Depends. Will you take it seriously if I do?” you said.

“Not sure. It’s kind of ridiculous for me to be listening to my little sister’s friend about this kind of thing,” he said.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you said.

“True,” he said. “Go ahead, then.”

“What do you even look for when you’re thinking of dating a girl?” you said.

“How hot she is,” he said. You waited for him to elaborate. He did not.

“That’s it?” you said.

“Pretty much,” he said.

“Why?” you said.

“Why not? Isn’t physical attraction important?” he said.

“To a certain extent, yes, but after a while, less and less so,” you said. “Haven’t you ever watched any romance movies? ‘It’s what’s on the inside that counts.’ Physical attraction alone isn’t enough in the long term.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “So what do you suggest?”

“Are there any girls you genuinely enjoy spending time with? Not romantically, just because you like talking to them, even if they’re not the prettiest or whatever,” you said.

“I don’t really spend time with girls unless I’m trying to date them. It never works out. They always end up liking me, and besides, it makes my girlfriends mad if I’m friends with other girls,” he said. 

“You seriously have zero female friends,” you deadpanned.

“And just how many male friends do you have?” he shot back.

“None,” you said. “Okay, fair enough.”

“Wait, no, I guess we’re friends,” he said. “Yeah, you’re cool, Y/N. I mean, you’re pretty as well, but I don’t really think about that part much because you’re friends with Seiko.”

“Thanks,” you said. “You’re cool, too.”

“Now what? You’re a girl, and I like talking to you. Where do I go from there?” he said.

“I was going to say you should try dating one of those girls instead, but obviously that’s not applicable here,” you said.

“Ah,” he said. “Okay.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m all that unique,” you said, taking advantage of his distraction to win another match. “It won’t be that hard for you to find someone else that you like hanging out with, and then you can just date them. Hopefully, you won’t get bored with a relationship like that.”

Eita didn’t respond. You doubted he knew how to and you were glad for his silence, because you yourself felt embarrassed that you had tried so hard to help him. Since when had you been the kind of girl who wanted so badly to give people guidance? He had his problems, no one could deny that, but why did you care about them? Why did it matter to you if he was happy, or if he grew out of whatever phase he was currently in?

Maybe it was because you knew he could be better. The caricature of him that you heard about, from Seiko and from the rumors around your high school, contrasted so harshly with the Eita Otoya you knew. People loved him because they wanted to be him, to have that effortless and selfish attitude towards life, but you didn’t think that very many of them took the time to understand him.

You doubted anyone at school knew that he was horrible at Super Smash Bros., or that he was entirely gullible and liked to make other people laugh. How many of them would find him admirable if they knew of his addiction to churros and diet sodas? He wasn’t cool or charming or suave the way he pretended to be. At the end of the day, he was nothing but a dumb boy blessed with a handsome enough mien that had fallen into a crowd which demanded more of him than he honestly should’ve had to give.

Putting this protectiveness down as a symptom of your friendship with Seiko — of course you cared for her older brother, he was a part of her family and you cared about her, it only made sense — you noticed that there was a lull in the storm. Bidding Eita farewell and shoving the money into his phone case when he was preoccupied with turning the game off, you ran home before it could begin to rain again, blaming your queasiness on the fact that you had not yet eaten dinner and nothing more.

“Eita’s been talking about you a lot,” Seiko said to you at lunch one day, a couple of weeks after the evening you had spent with her brother. Both you and he had mutually agreed not to bring it up, and Seiko was none the wiser, or at least so you had thought.

“What do you mean?” you said. She took a sip out of her juice box.

“Nothing bad. He just asks me how you’re doing and stuff,” she said. 

“That’s not that weird. Why’d you bring it up?” you said. For a moment, you had thought she meant that he was asking about you for a different reason, but this just sounded like a typical and general concern.

“It’s a little weird. He doesn’t typically care about how other people are doing. The other day, he asked me when you’re coming over again, since according to him it’s ‘been a while.’ Like he’s keeping track or something!” she said.

“He’s not wrong. It has been a bit,” you said.

“I know, I know,” she said. “Season’s almost over, and then I’m all yours.”

“You don’t have off-season workouts?” you said.

“Fuck off-season workouts,” she said. “I’ll skip on the days we plan to hang out. My coach won’t say anything. I’m the star of the team, so he has to live with it.”

“You’re the best,” you said.

“And you’re trying to change the subject!” she said. “Are the two of you buddy-buddy now or something?”

“Or something,” you said. “We’ve just spoken a few times while I was waiting for you to come back home from practices.”

She narrowed her eyes at you before nodding slowly. “Look, just so you know, I don’t mind if you’re friends with him or anything.”

“That’s good. I’ll keep it in mind,” you said.

“He’s my brother, after all. I like knowing that my best friend is getting along with my family,” she continued.

“I get along with your family so well that I’m surprised they haven’t started calling me Y/N Otoya yet,” you said.

“But I want you to be aware of what kind of person he is,” she said with a note of finality. “He might do something that hurts your feelings.”

“You’ve told me. Many times, actually,” you said.

“And I don’t want you to stop being friends with me if he does,” she said. “Okay?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” you said. “You’re my best friend in the entire world.”

“You promise?” she said, in a rare show of vulnerability.

“Promise,” you said. She punched you in the arm, returning back to being the Seiko you knew.

“Good. Then do what you want with him,” she said.

“What?” you said.

“Just saying! You deserve better, obviously, but I won’t turn down a chance to have you as my sister-in-law,” she said. “Besides, he knows that if he messes with you, I’ll take your side, so that might be an incentive for him to stay on the straight and narrow.”

“Seiko! It’s not like that!” you said. “I don’t have feelings for him. He’s your brother.” 

“Whatever you say,” she said in a sing-song voice, taking another sip of her juice box, obviously done with the discussion. 

She knew you better than you knew yourself. That was what happened when a person was best friends with another for years upon years, and that was why she understood even before you did what it was that was brewing between you and her brother, what had been brewing since long before that evening where you had finally noticed a palpable shift in your dynamic.

Exam season began shortly afterwards, so you didn’t have the time to go to the Otoyas’ when you were so wrapped up in studying. Then, once exams were finished, Seiko was finally freed from her grueling practice schedule, leaving her to be, as she had said earlier, all yours. This meant that even when you did go to their house, you were solely there to be with her, and so you saw little of Eita, barely speaking to him beyond exchanging pleasantries.

Sometimes you wondered how he was doing. Had he found a girl he actually liked and ended up dating her? How was that relationship going, if so? Or was he still continuing as he had been, chasing whoever he found the most attractive and then running away from them when things inevitably didn’t work out? You hoped that that wasn’t the case, though you didn’t find the former option all that appealing, either. You should’ve, because it would’ve meant that he had taken your words to heart, but you didn’t. The thought of him dating anyone was wrong and weird and you didn’t like it, but because you weren’t quite sure why that was, you decided to avoid both the feeling and its cause alike.

Halfway through summer break, on a day when your parents were on a business trip and Seiko was visiting one of her cousins in the city, Eita Otoya showed up on your front porch, knocking on the door furiously until you opened it. He was just about the last person you had expected to be standing there, red in the face and panting for breath, wearing a sweat-soaked jersey, hair sticking to his forehead and a white box in his hands.

“You look horrible,” you said.

“I ran all of the way here,” he said. “After my soccer game.”

“What for?” you said. 

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” he said. 

“I was just at your house the other day,” you said. “Jeez, you look like you’re about to pass out. Let me get you some water. You really could’ve walked, you know…”

He had never been to your house, so he trailed after you dutifully, sitting at the dining table and gulping down the glass of water you offered him within seconds. Taking it back, you refilled it and gave it to him again.

“You were there for Seiko, not me,” he said.

“She’s my best friend,” you said. “Obviously I was there for her.”

“And what am I?” he said.

“Not that,” you said.

“I should be upset, but for some reason, I’m kind of glad that you said that,” he said. “I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Rude much?” you said, his words stinging. “Is that all you came here to tell me? If you don’t want to be friends, that’s fine, but was there really a need for you to come to my house and announce it? How’d you even get my address?”

“Seiko told me,” he said.

“In hindsight, I should’ve seen that coming,” you said.

“I haven’t dated anyone,” he said, all in a rush, the sentences tumbling out of his mouth like he was not sure if he’d ever get the chance to say them again. “Not since that night that we played video games together.”

“Seriously? If I ask Seiko, will she confirm that?” you said.

“Of course! I’m a lot of things, I know that, but I’m not a liar. I’ve never tried to hide who I am, especially not from you,” he said.

“Well,” you said. “That’s good, then. I’m proud of you.”

“I’ve tried finding the kind of person you described,” he said. “Someone like you. You said it would be easy, but it’s not. It’s really fucking difficult.”

“Maybe you should look harder, then,” you said, rolling your eyes and placing his empty cup in the dishwasher before you forgot about it. “There’s no way I’m the only girl in the entire city that you can bring yourself to genuinely like.”

“You’re the only one I want to like,” he said. You froze in the middle of putting dish detergent in the dispenser, giving him an incredulous look.

“I’m what?” you said.

“I get that you probably don’t feel the same way. To be honest, I didn’t even realize that I did until Seiko yelled at me about it, because it’s not like it usually is. I want to spend time with you, as much as possible, even if we’re not doing anything but eating snacks or playing games. I want to listen to you talk, even if it’s about something that I think is boring. I want to buy things that’ll make you happy — the nice versions, not the kinds from the grocery store, because I don’t want to imagine that it won’t last. I want it to last,” he said.

You stared at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Of all the things he could’ve said, that was the most unlikely. What was it about you that made you so different, that the ever-fickle and brutally honest Eita Otoya was driven to such a confession? You knew he wasn’t making it up, because he was right — he never did. Not once had he ever tried to mislead a girl about who he was, and you sensed that this was much the same. The problem wasn’t that you didn’t believe him. It was that you simply couldn’t understand.

“I don’t get it,” you said.

“What do you mean? What else am I supposed to say?” he said. “I like you. I think I have for a while now. At first, I thought it was just because you were my sister’s friend, but according to her, you normally don’t feel this way for the friends of your siblings.”

“You’ve been talking to Seiko about me?” you said. Suddenly, the side comments she had been making recently made a lot more sense.

“Who else would I go to? It was humiliating, asking her for help, but you guys have known each other for forever, so I figured it was the best option,” he said.

“That’s true,” you said, starting the dishwasher and pushing it shut. “Wow. I don’t know what to say to that.”

“If you’re going to reject me, don’t worry about it. I didn’t tell you all of that because I was expecting you to say yes. I just wanted you to know that — that I did take what you said into consideration,” he said. 

“I’m glad you did,” you said. “It must’ve been weird, following the advice of your younger sister’s best friend.”

“You’re more than that,” he said. “You’re more than just Seiko’s friend to me. You’ve been more than that for a long time now.”

“Why me?” you said. “Why is it me, and not one of the hundreds of other girls that would jump at the chance to fix you, to be the one who finally got Eita Otoya to settle down for good?”

“It’s that bratty little sister of mine’s fault,” he said. “Because of her, you kept showing up, and by the time I noticed, it was way too late. At that point, I was already asking her what your favorite desserts were, just so I could get them for you.”

“I see,” you said.

“Besides, being with someone who wants to fix another person sounds awful. Do you want to fix me?” he said.

“If you expect me to, then you should probably just leave,” you said. “I don’t mind helping when I can, but the only person that can fix you is you.”

“Exactly,” he said. “You mentioned once that cheaters can grow somewhere far away from you.”

“Hm? Oh, I did say something along those lines, didn’t I? That was over a year ago, though,” you said, thinking back to that random conversation, unsure of why he even remembered it.

“I’ve done it,” he said. “It was hard, but I’ve done it anyways. For you, but also for myself. I’m not so sure that the highs are worth the lows anymore, and besides, I hate doing things I don’t like, and dating around is becoming one of those things.”

“Is that so?” you said. “I’m glad you realized that.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too. Uh, I should probably go now, so…here. For last time. You shouldn’t have paid me back. Don’t even think about pulling something like that again.”

He opened the box, revealing an assortment of cookies, all the different kinds you liked. You didn’t need to ask him to know where he had gotten them from, and you admired them as he stood and pushed in his chair.

“Thanks for hearing me out, Y/N,” he said. “And don’t worry, I won’t make things uncomfortable, so feel free to visit Seiko whenever. I’ll stay out of your way when you come over. She doesn’t have any other friends, so don’t ditch her just because of me.”

“You’re pretty self-important, aren’t you?” you teased. “Did you think I’d give her up just because of you? Not likely. Anyways, why would things be uncomfortable?”

“Usually it’s pretty unpleasant to have to be around someone when you know they have unreciprocated feelings for you,” he said.

“I don’t think they’re unreciprocated,” you said. He quite literally paused in his tracks, foot still raised in the air as he spun to face you.

“What? You should’ve said so earlier!” he said. “Do you mean I was acting all angsty and emotional for nothing?”

“I wanted to make you suffer a bit,” you said. “I mean this gently, but you deserve it.”

He hung his head. “You’re not wrong.”

“I’ve liked you for a while as well, though like you said, I hardly understood it myself, and I didn’t have the benefit of Seiko drumming it into my mind — mostly because that’s not the kind of conversation you really want to have with your best friend about her brother,” you said. “I also knew about your reputation, and no matter how wonderful I found you, I was a little wary, so I never gave it much thought.”

“But now?” he said.

“I mean, it’s kind of hard to reject a guy who runs to your house with cookies and a dramatic speech about how much he likes you,” you said.

“When you put it like that, I sound like a loser,” he said.

“I want you to consider that you play Super Smash Bros. in your free time, and that you are obsessed with anything ninja or Naruto related, and then I would like for you to repeat that statement with the same indignation you just said it with,” you said. He huffed in defeat.

“That’s fair enough,” he said.

“Like I said, I do like you, but I’m not in the business of fixing people. The second you start getting bored or wanting to cheat on me, break up with me, and be an adult about it. Don’t run away. Just be honest, and for my part, I’ll hold back my tears until you’ve left, alright? If you can swear you’ll do that, then I don’t mind trying,” you said.

“You’re way too nice to me,” he said.

“I can add in more demands, if you’d like,” you said.

“Now, I didn’t say you had to do that,” he said. You chuckled.

“I thought you were really serious about me, though?” you said. “Since you mentioned it, I do have one more condition. Say yes, and I’ll be your girlfriend. Say no, and…you better get back to searching.”

“What is it?” he said eagerly, grabbing your hands and holding them in between his own. “I’ll do anything.”

“You have to be the one to tell Seiko,” you said. He paled.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

“Just did,” you said. He scrunched up his face in thought, obviously imagining his sister’s reaction. Though she had given both of you her blessings in her own way, there was no doubt in your mind that she’d give the two of you a hard time — especially him, considering the fact that she already did that without even having a reason to.

“I’ll do it, but you have to come along,” he bargained. “Someone has to nurse me back to health once she’s through with me. It might as well be you.”

“You’re in no place to be asking for things,” you said.

“Please?” he said. “She’s scary as hell, and I’m saying this as someone who regularly plays against guys big enough to become pro wrestlers.”

“Alright, alright,” you said. “I’ll come with you, and I’ll put bandages on all your bruises.”

He grinned at you. “Deal.”

“Deal,” you said.

“Then I guess you’re my girlfriend now,” he said.

“I guess I am,” you said.

“Nice,” he said. “Wanna play Mario Kart?”

You snorted. “Why not?”

So you sat down on the sofa — next to each other this time, not on opposite sides, your head leaning on his shoulder and his thigh pressed against your own — and you did just that.

“So let me get this straight,” Seiko said. Eita, who had just delivered the news, was attempting to hide behind you, which was a largely ineffective method of disguise. “You two are officially dating.”

“Pretty much,” you said, when it became obvious that Eita was too petrified to respond. It was funny — he talked such a big game when it was just words, and he was the first to make fun of Seiko, but as soon as the prospect of a fight came up, he cowered away, as any smart man would.

“Interesting,” she said. “Eita, come here. I just want to say something.”

He shuffled out towards Seiko, head bowed and hands clasped together. “Yes?”

“If you ever hurt even a cell in the bodies of the mites that live on her eyelashes—”

“What the fuck?” you said. “That’s disgusting. Thanks, Seiko, now I’m going to be scrubbing my eyelashes for the next week.”

“Don’t worry about it, everyone has them. They’re normal,” Seiko said. “Like I was saying, Eita, if you mess with her, I’ll kill you. Forget about sibling loyalty; it all goes out the door on that day, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” he said.

“Good,” she said, nodding in satisfaction. He looked around like he was searching for a camera, obviously in disbelief that she had let him off so easily.

“Is that it?” he said.

“For now,” she said. “Ask me again in a few months and the answer might change.”

“I’ll take it,” he said. “Well, see you later. Let’s go upstairs, Y/N.”

“What? Y/N and I have plans to bake together tonight!” Seiko said.

“No way, we’re watching TV together! I’m going to make her watch all of Naruto!” he argued. In unison, they both turned to you, waiting for your response, waves of hostility rolling off of them.

“Oh, boy,” you said, already feeling a headache coming on. “This is going to be a lot more annoying than I anticipated.” 

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

i love uu take care x

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

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 11.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah,” the boy said. “Your sandwich.”

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

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

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

“No,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

me: lol wtf is re al.

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

uglier sibling: actually wait why are u even asking lol

uglier sibling: did u meet him or something

me: funny story actually!

uglier sibling: WHAT

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

uglier sibling: y/n answer pls

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

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

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

“It seems like I am,” he said.

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

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

You cringed. “I’m sorry again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he said.

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

He gave you an odd look. “Alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Women play soccer, too,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How early?” you said.

“I have a snack at 7:00 a.m., before I go for my morning run, and then I eat a proper meal afterwards,” he said.

“Oh!” you said. “Any chance you could not do that?”

“It’s part of my training regimen,” he said. “How about you pay for my food and come on my run with me?”

“I hate running,” you said.

“You’re apologizing. It’s supposed to be an agonizing process,” he said. “You’ve called me short and ugly at least three separate times already, not to mention the entire slamming into me ordeal. It’s really the least you can do.”

“7:00 it is,” you said, though you were fighting back tears at the mere thought of getting up so early while on vacation. “Give me your phone.”

“No way,” he said, holding the phone away from you while you tried to swipe at it. “What are you going to do, post something embarrassing on my social media accounts?”

“Why would I do that?” you said. “I was going to text myself so I had your number and could send you my location for tomorrow.”

“Or you could tell me which hotel you’re staying at now, and then my phone is entirely removed from the equation,” he suggested.

“Do you think I remember the name?” you said. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I don’t.”

He handed you his phone with an aggravated huff. “Fine. Don’t abuse the privilege. I only give important people my contact information.”

“Woah, you really are stingy,” you said, scrolling through his contacts list. All of them either had the designation of work attached to their profiles, or they were clearly members of Sae’s family.

Clicking on the plus sign in the corner, you created a new contact for yourself, typing in your number and giving yourself the name Y/N L/N — sandwich. It fit the naming conventions he had going on, and if it weren’t for the reminder that you were the so-called ‘sandwich girl’, you doubted he would remember who you were in the first place.

“Of course I am. Imagine I gave every crazy fan I met my number. I’d have a million stalkers before you could say Re Al,”he said.

“I’m not a crazy fan. To clarify, I’m not a fan in the first place,” you said, texting yourself from his number before taking out your own phone and responding to the message with a thumbs up.

“Correct, which is why you get my number,” he said.

“I feel so honored,” you said dryly. “Actually, you know what? I would feel honored, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re only giving it to me because you want to wake me up at an unholy hour and make me run with you before paying for your breakfast.”

“Would you rather pay for this meal?” he said, showing you the receipt he had been emailed. Your eyes widened, and then you shook your head rapidly.

“Nope! See you tomorrow!”

The next morning, you tiptoed around the hotel room as you got ready, trying your best not to wake your mother up. She, and the rest of your family, had been up late last night, going out for dinner and dessert well past your bedtime. Far too embarrassed to tell them the realreason you were going to sleep early, you had said you were sick and went to bed as soon as the sun set.

Angrily gnawing on a granola bar from your mother’s emergency stash, you stomped down the spiraling hotel staircase, your eyes still bleary as you texted your family group chat that you were going out for a morning walk but would be back for breakfast.

Sae Itoshi was waiting for you in the lobby, doing some weird stretching routine that involved pressing his foot against the wall and leaning over it. You watched him, bemused, wondering which muscles he was trying to stretch before giving up and deciding it was probably one of those pro moves that you were too uninterested and unathletic for.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you said, giving him another one of the granola bars you had taken from your mother’s backpack. “Sorry, it’s sort of smushed. It’s been in a backpack for the last few days.”

He pinched the wrapper between his forefinger and thumb, looking at the granola bar with a disgusted expression. You didn’t think it was thategregious, but according to Sae, it must have been all but an offense against humanity, as he tossed it into the trash can within seconds of having it within his grasp.

“I already ate my snack,” he said.

“Why did you throw that away? I could’ve eaten it!” you said.

“That thing had probably melted and reformed at least twice. It was most definitely radioactive. I did you a favor, so you should say thank you,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Itoshi, for protecting me from the horrors of a slightly misshapen granola bar. I’m sure that, by throwing away that still edible brick of deliciousness, you have done me a great service. Possibly, you have even saved my life. I am eternally grateful,” you said.

He snorted. “You’re terrible at groveling. No wonder you have to do all of this ridiculous stuff to apologize to me instead of just saying sorry and moving on like a normal person.”

“Look, it’s a product of my upbringing,” you said. He finished stretching and headed out of the door; you followed after him with a smile at the hotel concierge, who seemed surprised to watch you go — whether it was the hour or your company, you weren’t sure. “Whenever my parents did something to upset me, they never apologized. They just came to my room with a bowl of fruit they had cut for me.”

“At least you got fruit,” he said. “My parents just told me to go practice soccer until I had cooled off.”

“Wow, really? That’s hardcore,” you said. Sae began to jog, and you did the same, though it was closer to a run for you than anything. “Did you just kick around the ball until you were less mad?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

“How horrible,” you said.

“Eh, it’s fine. It was a good way to get my anger out, and it had the added benefit of making me better at the sport, so it was pretty constructive overall,” he said.

“I still can’t imagine it,” you said, shaking your head. “What’s it like, being a professional athlete? Your entire life revolves around a game. What about when you can’t play anymore? When you’re too old, or if you get injured?”

His upper lip curled. “Do you want that to happen or something? Why are you speaking it into existence?”

“Not the injury part, but everyone grows old. You can’t stop that,” you said.

“I’ll play for as long as I can, and then I’ll coach for longer,” he said. “After that, I’ll retire and make sure my kids follow in my footsteps. Athletes make a lot of money, so I luckily won’t ever have to worry much about my finances.”

“What if your kids don’t want to play soccer?” you said. He actually sneered this time, the expression at home on his cold face.

“What else would they do with themselves? If they don’t want to play soccer, or if they have no talent at it, then they’re definitely not my children in the first place,” he said.

“Hm, maybe cooking? What if they want to be a chef?” you said.

“Then I’d wonder how your kids snuck into my house,” he said. You gasped, though it was as much for breath as it was out of offense.

“Stop it! You just happened to catch me at a hungry time!” you said.

“Sure,” he said.

“Just entertain the hypothetical that you really did somehow father children that were into cooking instead of soccer. How would you react?” you said.

“I would put them up for adoption,” he said.

“Seriously?” you said.

“No, obviously not,” he said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Why did you actually find that to be within the realm of possibility?”

“I think you’re some kind of soccer fiend. Who knows how dedicated you are to the cause?” you said.

“Not that dedicated,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if my kids can’t play soccer, and our relationship would probably be a bit distant, as I don’t know much about anything else, but I wouldn’t disown them.”

“You don’t know much about anything besides soccer? That’s a little sad,” you said.

“Kind of,” he said.

“Do you wish you knew about other things?” you said.

“Everyone has something they specialize in. It’s not uncommon for someone to know a lot about one thing and only a little about others,” he said. “My ‘thing’ is soccer. If it wasn’t that, then it’d be something else, so if I was in the business of wishing, I’d always be unsatisfied.”

You were already panting for breath when Sae picked up the pace, though he had not so much as broken a sweat yet. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in your obvious struggles, and then he made the decision to not slow down at all.

“I get it,” you said. “You’ll face no judgment from me.”

“Like I would care if you did judge me,” he said. “You’re already dying, and we haven’t even started running yet.”

“This isn’t running?” you said. “What the hell? How much faster can you even go?”

“If you think that this is anywhere near the pace of an average soccer match, then I don’t even know where to begin with you,” he said.

“You look slower on TV!”

“What, so you think I’m slow, too?”

You and Sae returned to the hotel in markedly different conditions. He wasn’t even warm, still appearing to be perfectly put together and entirely perspiration-free, smelling faintly like body soap and cologne. On the other hand, you were still trying to regain your wits about you, leaning on his shoulder so that you did not fall over from exhaustion.

“This is embarrassing for you,” he informed you as you walked towards the breakfast area.

“You’re a professional athlete and I’m a normal girl! It would be embarrassing for you if I could keep up!” you argued weakly.

“That would be true, if I wasn’t going easy on you,” he said, pulling out a chair for you and helping you into it, brushing his arm off when he was sure you were seated. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Have fun,” you said, resting your head in your hands, already knowing what you wanted to get. “We can walk through the buffet together. I’ll take the time to recover.”

“You do that,” he said.

While he was gone, you opened your phone, catching up on all of the texts in the family group chat that you hadn’t been able to read while you were attempting to run with Sae.

me: going for a morning walk but i’ll be back for breakfast

me: just wanted to let you all know so you weren’t worried!

uglier sibling: yeah nobody was worried LMFAO

mom: Hope you’re feeling better, honey!

dad: Make sure you’re back before 10. That’s when the complimentary breakfast ends, and we’re not paying for overpriced toast with jam.

uglier sibling: i still can’t believe u went for a morning walk

uglier sibling: like

uglier sibling: since when do u voluntarily wake up in the mornings at all let alone leave ur bed LET ALONE TAKE A WALK

uglier sibling: bitches will meet sae itoshi one time and suddenly they’re fitness influencers or wtvr

uglier sibling: btw i’m still mad that u didn’t get his autograph or a photo with him or anything

uglier sibling: i bet u made it up

uglier sibling: LIAR. FRAUD. HACK.

mom: Honey, leave your sister alone. Why would she make something like that up? 

dad: Your mother is right. Y/N doesn’t even know who Sae Itoshi is.

So it was a typical conversation, then. You hadn’t missed much; just your brother being salty and your parents showing some care for your well-being, as well as your father worrying for his wallet like he was prone to do. You didn’t even bother responding, just liking your father’s two messages and then putting your phone away.

“Y/N, you’re back already? What good timing!” your father called out to you from the entrance to the hotel restaurant. The world slowed as you turned to see the rest of your family walking into the restaurant, dressed in their typical touristy outfits. Your mother waved at you, and your brother faked gagging.

“Wow, you look like shit,” he said. “The fuck kinda morning walk were you on?”

“Gross, it’s you,” you said. “Go away! I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have any food with you,” he pointed out. “Can I sit with you? The parents are way too chipper in the mornings.”

“No!” you said.

“But there’s an empty seat at your table. Are you saving it for someone?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, wishing that for once they would’ve all slept in instead of getting here at the exact time that you and Sae had.

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“Come on, you two, let’s sit together and have a family breakfast!” your father said, motioning you and your brother over from where he and your mother had settled at a four-person table. Your brother gave you a pleading look.

“I’ll owe you forever,” he said. “I’ll grind on all of your video games for you the entire plane ride home!”

“I’m not lying, dude, I actually am sitting with someone. Now fuck off and leave me alone!” you hissed.

“Who?” he said, crossing his arms. “Your imaginary friend? Or your imaginary boyfriend!”

“Excuse me? Sorry, I was sitting there. Do you mind—?”

The most comical expression you had ever seen flashed over your brother’s face just then. It was horror mixed with incredulity mixed with extreme confusion. He turned slowly, his jaw dropping as he made eye contact with Sae Itoshi, whose dry countenance and perfect posture were as off-putting as ever.

“What?” your brother said. “What is going on?”

Sae sat opposite you. “This hotel has the most confusing first floor layout I’ve ever encountered. It took me ages just to find the bathroom.”

“There’s signs. Can you not read?” you said. He stared at you dully.

“I can read. I just happened not to look up at them,” he said.

“If I didn’t want to pay for even more food, I’d make another short joke, but I shall refrain,” you said.

“That was cutting it close,” he said.

“Y/N. My beautiful, amazing, wonderful older sister,” your brother said.

“Yes?” you said, preparing yourself for the incoming explosion. “Also, that’s not what you were calling me in the group chat earlier, was it?”

“Is that Sae Itoshi?” he said.

“Liar, fraud, hack, was that what it was?” you said. “Run along, loser. Maybe if you were nicer to me, I’d let you sit with us.”

Your brother opened his mouth to argue, but then, like he had remembered he was standing in front of his idol, he hung his head and trudged off, scuffing his toes against the floor as he did and giving you a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“That’s your little brother?” Sae said.

“Yup,” you said. “Your self-proclaimed biggest fan.”

“And you made him go sit with your parents instead of talking to me? You’re super mean, big sister,” Sae said.

“He wouldn’t shut up if I let him stay here, and considering the goal of this is for you to eat and then leave me alone for the rest of my vacation, that would not be conducive,” you said.

“I see,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was the goal.”

“Isn’t it yours, as well? I’m sure you’d like to enjoy yourself on your time off from soccer,” you said.

“Who says I’m not enjoying myself?” he said. You furrowed your brow at him.

“You’ve had the same expression on your face every time we’ve spoken,” you pointed out, lowering your eyelids and pursing your lips in an imitation of his resting mien. “Like this. It’s totally amphibious.”

“Amphibious?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know what amphibious means? Man, when you said you only focused on soccer, I didn’t think it was this bad!” you said.

“I know what amphibious means! I just don’t see how the word applies,” he said.

“Oh, right. Well, you kind of look like the frog emoji,” you said. “Sorry, I could’ve been clearer. That’s my bad.”

“Were you dropped on the head as a baby? I’m asking this from a place of concern, not anger,” Sae said. “It’s because you say so many nonsensical things. After all, I look nothing like the frog emoji.”

“Sure, and people tell me I look like a famous actress,” you said.

“Really?” he said.

“No, I thought we were both saying things that aren’t true,” you said.

“I think you look like a famous actress,” he said. “There. Now we’re both saying things that are true.”

“Well done, Mr. Itoshi! That was clever,” you said, knowing when to concede.

“Thank you,” he said. “Let’s go get our food now. If you die of starvation on my watch, it’ll be a major scandal for Re Al.”

“Your manager must love you,” you said. “So conscientious of your public image.”

“Nope, he’s usually pretty pissed at me,” he said as the two of you got in the buffet line.

“What for?” you said.

“Contrary to what you think, I’m pretty unconcerned with my public image. I’m a soccer player, not some kind of philanthropist or actor or whatever,” he said. “What does it matter if I offend people? My value is in playing well, not being friendly or kind.”

“No one ever accused you of being either of those two,” you said, spreading butter and jam over your toast. “You’re not that bad, though.”

“You’re not that bad, either,” he said. “At least, you’re better company than my manager.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you said. He scoffed.

“You have low standards,” he said.

“Yours are lower,” you said.

“Very mature response.”

“Thanks!”

Sae was a pretty agreeable breakfast partner. He wasn’t as impossibly cheerful as your parents, who generally drove you crazy with their talkativeness so early in the day, but he also wasn’t as silent and closed off as your brother, who was prone to snapping at others until he had finished at least half of his meal. As with lunch yesterday, it was almost an enjoyable experience, right up until you remembered whose card he was eating on.

“Where are you going?” he said when your plates had been cleared and you had pushed yourself to your feet. He followed after you as you made your way to the hostess’s station, ignoring the whispers that echoed behind the two of you.

“To pay for you to be here, duh,” you said, fishing around in your purse for your wallet. “I know you’re famous and all, but that doesn’t mean you get to eat for free. In fact, that was kind of the point of the meal.”

“I already paid for myself, so you can go and sit back down with your family if you’d like,” he said.

“What? When?” you said.

“I wouldn’t spend that long in a bathroom,” he said. “Not a public one.”

“You little—! Now what?” you said.

“Now you have to see me tomorrow,” he said. “Bye. I’ll pick you up for dinner, so make sure to wear something nice, and bring your credit card. It’s your treat.”

He walked off with a jaunty wave, leaving you standing there, confounded by the development. He had paid for himself again? What was the point of making you take him places if he was just going to cough up the cash himself anyways?

“Psst. Y/N,” your brother said. You weren’t sure when or where he had appeared, but it remained that he was suddenly tapping you on the shoulder and whispering in your ear. “Does Sae Itoshi have a crush on you? If so, please ask if he can get tickets for dad and I to attend his next game.”

“What?” you said, a shockwave running through your entire body at the mere thought of Sae having a crush on you. It was so juvenile and cliched as to be out of Sae’s character entirely. “No! I just owe him.”

“For what?” your brother said.

“I ran into him, called him ugly, and said that he was short,” you said. “Indirectly, of course, but it still happened. I was supposed to buy him lunch yesterday as an apology, but then he ended up paying for us both, and then today, I went on a run with him, and I was going to pay for him to have breakfast here, but guess what?”

“He paid for himself?” your brother said.

“He paid for — yeah, how did you know?” you said.

“There weren’t that many ways the story could’ve gone. Also, I overheard you guys talking,” he said.

“Creep,” you said.

“Weirdo,” he said.

“Freak,” you said.

“Stupid,” he said. “I bet he has a crush on you.”

“Why would he? We have zero common interests, and I’ve mostly only insulted him in our very short time knowing one another,” you said.

“Maybe he’s into that. Some guys are. My one friend is — actually, I’m not exposing him like that,” he said.

“Thank you, because I really didn’t want to know,” you said.

“Anyways, where I was going with that is some guys like girls who humble them a bit. Especially someone like Sae Itoshi; he’s probably so used to people falling all over themselves to get his attention that it’s nice for him to hang out with someone who’s too oblivious to care about that kind of stuff,” he said.

“People like you?” you said. “I told him you were his biggest fan, just so you know.”

“Why would you do that?” your brother said, his eyes bugging out and his mouth forming a pained grimace. “He probably thinks I’m a nerd now!”

“You do it to yourself, buddy,” you said. “Let’s go. It looks like the parents want us to go sit with them. Think you can handle it?”

“After learning that my hero has a crush on my sister and, furthermore, probably thinks of me as some kind of dweeb, I can handle anything,” he said.

The entire day, you pondered your brother’s words. Did Sae have a crush on you? Running through his actions and every conversation you both had ever had led you to think that he did not. It didn’t seem like he liked you very much in even a platonic sense, so how could anyone begin to think he liked you romantically? It was just tolerance for the sake of his pride, that was all.

And you definitely didn’t like him. He was emotionless and conceited and teased you far too often. What did it matter that he was somewhat attractive? He had a terrible personality, and you bet that if more of his fans knew what he was like, he wouldn’t have any to begin with.

No wonder Sae’s manager hated him. He was probably a jerk to his poor employees, too.

“We’re thinking of going here for dinner tonight,” your father said the next day. “Look, their reviews are pretty high, and their prices aren’t crazy. What does everyone think?”

“I’m fine with anything,” your mother said.

“Same here,” your brother said.

“Y/N?” your father said. You were about to respond when your own phone buzzed. You knew exactly who it was texting you, and you sighed as you opened it.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I will be there in one hour.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): You better not have forgotten about our plans for tonight.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I made a reservation, so I’ll really be mad if you stand me up.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Especially because you’re paying.

me: I WILL BE THERE OMFG STOP TEXTING ME

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Okay.

“I can’t,” you said.

“Why not? Are you on some new diet or something? They should have vegetarian options, so that won’t be a problem,” your father said. “We can look at their menu beforehand if you prefer, and if you really don’t like anything, then we can find somewhere else.”

“I already have plans,” you said, your lower lip jutting out childishly. “Not that I want to! But I made a promise.”

“You already have plans? What’s that supposed to mean?” your mother said.

“I’m having dinner with someone,” you said.

“Ooh, how exciting! With who?” she said.

“I bet I can guess!” your brother sang.

“Enough out of you!” you said, kicking him in the back of the leg. He doubled over, though that did not stop him from smirking at you.

“Y/N and Sae, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” he said.

“You’re going out with Sae Itoshi?” your father said. “You should’ve just said so! That’s perfectly alright, honey. Actually, he’s the one man I’m not upset about you dating!”

“We are not dating!” you said. “It’s a more transactional relationship than that. No feelings involved. It’s just me apologizing to him.”

“Are you close enough to him to get an autograph for your brother and I?” your dad said.

“Um.” You thought about it. Would Sae give you an autograph for them? You weren’t sure. There was a chance he would, but there was also a high chance he would not. “I dunno. I can ask.”

“You’ll ask for dad, but not for me? Wow, I see how it is,” your brother said.

“Yeah, because you’re annoying!” you said. “Ugh. I have to get ready now. He’ll be here to get me in an hour. Have fun at dinner, all of you. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.”

“You have fun as well,” your mother said. “Make sure not to bring any money with you. Gentlemen should always pay on the first date.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” you said, giving up on explaining things to your family for the sake of your sanity.

Sae was aggressively punctual. Exactly an hour after he had texted you, a shiny black car was pulling up in the valet lane, and a tall, bald man in a suit was opening the door for you. You climbed in awkwardly, finding Sae to be sitting on the other side, gazing out of the window pensively.

“Hello,” you said, smoothing your dress and buckling your seatbelt. “You have a driver?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “I usually walk places when I’m on vacation, but this restaurant is kind of far, so I thought it’d be more prudent to have the driver take us.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you, driver, sir.”

The driver hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything else. You supposed he probably wasn’t used to talking with his passengers; you doubted Sae ever spoke to him much.

“It’s been so hot out recently,” Sae said stiffly.

“That’s what happens during the summer, yes,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said.

“You’re right, though,” you said. “It has been hot.”

“Super hot,” he said.

“Yes,” you said. “Super hot.”

That must’ve been why there was a slight redness to his cheeks. There was definitely no other reason. And there wasn’t any other reason for why you felt uncomfortably warm, shifting in your seat to dissipate the feeling in your stomach. It was the temperature. That was all.

Given the trend, you really should have anticipated it when Sae paid for your dinner while you were freshening up in the bathroom, but you really had not seen it coming in the slightest. He scrunched up his face when you argued, simply telling you that he would see you tomorrow before dropping you back off at your hotel, the receipt in your hand, his flourishing signature scrawled across the back.

“For your brother,” he had said, handing it to you before you could even ask him for his autograph. “You said he was a fan, right? I’ll get him a better one later, but for now, this should do.”

You spent every day of the rest of that vacation with Sae Itoshi. Some days, you would accompany him on a morning walk — he had softened to slowing his pace, so that he was only barely jogging instead of the full on run that he had forced you into that first time — and on others, the two of you would have some meal or another together. The common theme was that, if there was money involved, he would take care of it. Without question, without hesitation, he always slapped your hand back and pulled out his own credit card, telling you that now you both had to meet again, and the next time you really would be the one paying, or else he’d never be able to forgive you for your terrible behavior.

Your parents and brother complained about it at first, as your new friendship with Sae — could it be considered a friendship, or was it something else? — meant you did not see them much on what was supposed to be a family vacation.

You brought it up with Sae, and he responded with something about how it wouldn’t have been a problem at all if you weren’t such a freeloader and actually paid for him, like you were supposed to. This resulted in a lighthearted squabble between you both, which in turn made you forget your family’s whining, and as well you should have. You could take a million more vacations with them, but you’d likely never get a chance to hang out with Sae Itoshi again, so why wouldn’t you take advantage of it when you could?

Sae didn’t forget, though. He sent you back from dinner the next evening with a soccer ball he had won in one of his games, his signature and a note of gratitude scribbled on it in black marker.

Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter and sister from you while you’re on your trip. I really appreciate it, even if she doesn’t know anything about soccer. — Sae Itoshi

They stopped complaining after that. The ball became your brother’s most prized possession, and every day, your father would tell you how happy he was that you had made such a considerate friend.

“And you know, if you ever want to date him,” he’d say, elbowing you in the side with an obnoxious wink. “We wouldn’t be opposed!”

Your mother was in the same boat. “He really cares about you, I think. Enough that he gave your family something so precious just because he thought we didn’t like him. You could do a lot worse than that.”

“Plus, he’s rich and famous!” your brother would chime in without fail. “Double win!”

“You guys are all nuts,” you’d tell them, shaking your head to disguise how pleased the thought of dating Sae made you.

It could never happen. Like your brother was so happy to remind you, he was rich and famous, an athlete that was adored worldwide and played for the best soccer club in history. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he ever choose you? You and he were from two different planes of existence. Maybe you could pretend for a little bit that you weren’t, but the date for your eventual departure from Spain was drawing closer and closer, and that day meant the certain end of the fever dream that was your closeness with Sae.

You had been prepared from the start for it to finish in this way. You would go home and tell all of your friends about your trip, how you had spent almost every day with the famous soccer player Sae Itoshi, how he had given you his phone number and made you go on runs with him, how together, you and him had eaten lunch and dinner and breakfast and several meals that you were convinced he had just made up to have an excuse to buy food for the two of you — brunch, linner, midnight snacks and third desserts.

There were other things that you wouldn’t tell them, too, things that Sae had not necessarily said to you in confidence but which you sensed were held close to his heart and which you would therefore hold close to yours. His little brother was named Rin, and they had the same eyes, though Rin’s were quicker to water and perpetually had hair falling into them. He still watched the same shows he used to when he was very small, because they reminded him of his parents’ home. He thought that a person’s athletic potential could be determined by the shape of their butt, but he tended to avoid looking as a form of respect for others.

“That’s a pretty cool skill, Sae! What do you think my athletic potential is?” you had asked when he had revealed that last fact.

“If it’s possible for a person to have negative potential, then that’s about what yours is. If it’s not, then you’re definitely at a zero,” he had responded.

“You didn’t even look,” you had said, shoving a French fry into his mouth as punishment. He hated French fries for how unhealthy they were, and you had half-expected him to lecture you about fats and oils and salts, but instead, he had dutifully chewed and swallowed without any theatrics.

“Don’t need to, and don’t plan to,” he had said, and that was that. “I’ve already seen you run, and that told me all I needed to know about your athletic skills. Or, in this case, your lack thereof.”

If you took his words at face value, then you would’ve thought he truly hated you. He never missed a chance to make fun of you, and you were the same way — certainly, anyone who overheard your conversations would’ve been convinced that you and he were bitter enemies. But that was because they didn’t see the way he always positioned himself on the sidewalk so that he was between you and the oncoming traffic. They didn’t see the way he’d pull out your chair and only pretend to frown when you’d thank him for it. They didn’t see the way his ears would turn pink if you dared to smile in his direction or, heaven forbid, agreed with what he was saying instead of arguing, as was your go-to.

No, you were pretty confident that Sae Itoshi did not hate you. It was just that soccer was his thing and all other areas were beyond him, areas which included such fields as emotional awareness and sensitivity.

Maybe you might tell the friends you were particularly close to about that. Sae Itoshi treated me pretty well, you’d say, with grand, sweeping hand motions to emphasize the point. As well as he knew how to, which was well enough for me. If I ever get a boyfriend, they’ll have a lot to live up to. Seems kind of unfair to whatever poor schmuck gets stuck with the task, don’t you think? Considering the two of us never even dated…

“I'm going home tomorrow morning,” you said. The sun was setting, and the two of you were walking along the same stretch of beach that you had first met at. “I finished packing all of my things before dinner. It’s surreal, almost. I feel like an entirely different person now, compared to when I came here.”

“Is that so?” he said, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “I wonder why.”

“Did you just smile?” you said. Immediately, he scowled.

“No way,” he said. “I’d never smile because of something you said.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, you definitely smiled. I made you smile! I made you smile! I made you smile!” you said, poking him in the cheek repeatedly. Sae’s expressions were so subtle that it was easy to overlook them before they had vanished, but there was no overlooking what you had just seen. He had definitely smiled at you, or at least he had been about to.

“Stop poking me,” he grumbled.

“No,” you said, poking him again. “Only if you smile again.”

“Hell no,” he said. You poked his cheek again. “Y/N. Stop it.”

“Will you miss me?” you said.

“Not if you don’t quit that!” he said, grabbing your wrist when you prepared to poke him again. Heat rose to your cheeks at the way his thumb rested against your pulse, and when he realized he was holding your hand so familiarly, his own cheeks flushed. “No. I won’t.”

“I’ll miss you,” you said, digging your feet into the sand, turning out to the sea because you couldn’t stand to look at him when you were being so vulnerable. “I’ll tell everyone I know about you, of course, but it won’t be the same. Something funny will happen, and I’ll think to myself, oh, Sae would’ve snorted at that — but not laughed, because you don’t laugh. Or I’ll order shitty French fries, and it’ll remind me of how much you’d scold me for eating them. You’d say something like, those are basically heart attacks in a box, and then you’d pour a bottle of salted kombucha down my throat to cleanse my system.”

Somewhere in the distance, a seagull squawked, reminding you of the fateful encounter from so long ago. You wished you could go back and get to know Sae all over again. You wished you could ask him the same questions and not know the answers, so that you were surprised when he told them to you. You wished you could argue with him for a little bit longer. You wished that, one more time, you could imply he was short and ugly and slow and a thousand other rude adjectives, even if he was really none of those things, none of them at all.

“I’m going to ask you one last question, okay?” you said. “Please think over your answer carefully. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he said, uncharacteristically gently. “I’ll really consider it well.”

“What’s your favorite animal?” you said.

“Seagulls,” he said immediately, directly contradicting his solemn oath. You laughed at this, burying your face in your hands to hide the hitch in your throat.

“You traitor,” you said. “You know all about the feud between seagulls and I, and yet you’re still claiming they’re your favorites?”

“They always have been,” he said. “I like migratory birds, how they don’t stay in one place but are always moving around. It must be such a blissful life.”

“But it’s probably pretty lonely, too,” you said. “They don’t have anywhere to call home.”

“I like lonely things,” he said. “That’s why the end of the summer is my favorite season.”

“Hm,” you said. “Then, if I tell you that I’ll be lonely once I leave here, will you like me, too?”

He looked at you, but you stared resolutely ahead, your gaze trained on the horizon, the way his had been on the day you had run into him. It was such a kiddish question, and internally, you were beating yourself up for asking it, but deep down, you wanted to know, so you did not move to retract it.

“Well, I like seagulls for a different reason now,” he said.

So that was your answer, then. The waves crashed against the shore, and a balmy wind blew through your hair and clothes, carrying the light scent of Sae’s cologne to your nose, the same one he had worn for as long as you could remember.

“I understand,” you said.

“These days, it’s a specific seagull I’m fond of, actually,” he said.

“Huh? Like a breed or something?” you said.

“No, just one bird in particular,” he said. “It did me a really huge favor recently.”

“What are you talking about? You always say that you suspect I was dropped on the head as a baby, but between the two of us, I think the one that was dropped was you,” you said, the fraying ends of your rejected feelings driving you to irascibility.

“A while ago, I was standing on the beach, feeling pretty annoyed with the world — as usual,” he said. “I had had to run from the paparazzi in order to go on this vacation without being bothered, you know, and I honestly was starting to question if I’d ever be seen as a normal person. I get that the only thing I’m good at is soccer, but it’s pretty tiring to be thought of as a guy who kicks balls around and nothing more.”

Unbidden, you inhaled sharply, because the story was starting to sound familiar. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of Sae smiling shyly, peering down at you through his unfairly long eyelashes.

“That seagull must’ve known how I was feeling. There’s no other explanation for it all. It must’ve known how I was feeling, and somehow, it managed to find the one person in the entire world that saw me as something other than that. Do you know what it did next? It stole that person’s sandwich, and it led her right to me,” he said.

“Are you talking about me?” you said.

“How many people do you think have called me a short, ugly, D-list celebrity instead of asking for my autograph upon meeting me?” he said.

“Probably not very many,” you said. He chuckled.

“Probably not any,” he said. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“Probably not,” you said. He stroked your hair, though his motions were like a marionette’s — he was not very used to this type of relationship, after all. But he was trying his best, and you found that to be far more endearing than any suave gestures might’ve been.

“I know you have to go soon, so I was planning on not saying anything,” he said. “What would be the point? I figured this was just a summer fling for you. But then you had to go and be all sentimental, and I had to say something.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said. “It would’ve been worse if I had returned home without knowing at all. Where do we go from here, though?”

“Where do we go from here? Let me think. Well, I’ll ask you to be my girlfriend,” he said. “And you’ll say yes, because who would ever reject me? Then we’ll talk on the phone every day, and you can send me photos of things you find funny, and I’ll have a sixth sense for when you’re eating French fries and I’ll send you strongly worded texts in reprimand. You’ll fly over to watch my matches whenever possible, and when I’m on my next break, I’ll come visit you and meet your family and friends properly.”

“Getting a little presumptuous, aren’t we? What if I say no?” you said.

“Will you?” he said.

“Not sure. How about you ask and find out?” you said.

“If you’re going to say no, then I don’t want to,” he said. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I can’t be with a man who’s afraid of rejection. It was nice knowing you, Sae,” you said. “See you around. Hope you lose the Champions League.”

“Wait! I’m not afraid of rejection,” he said. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? Officially, I mean.”

“Yes, of course,” you said. “But you’re going to have to buy my plane tickets if you want me to watch you. Even with frequent flier miles, I doubt I can afford coming to see you that often.”

“Consider it done,” he said. You grinned at him.

“You know, if you’re my boyfriend, then you’re going to have to keep paying for our dates, as well. My mother said that’s the gentlemanly thing for you to do,” you said.

“Right, I was expecting that,” he said. “Don’t you think there’s a reason why I haven’t let you buy anything yet?”

“Then how am I ever supposed to apologize to you for the circumstances of our first meeting? I mean, I was pretty harsh,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said. “Let me think.”

“Mhm,” you said. “I know that that’s out of your comfort zone, so I’ll give you a minute.”

“I have an idea,” he said, though it was accompanied by a slight glare at your jab.

“What is it?” you said.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You obliged, squeezing them shut, though not without widening your feet into the defensive stance he had demonstrated to you on the day he had attempted to teach you basic soccer skills.

“What are you going to do, tackle me or something? I’m using the position you taught me, but please be gentle, you’re way more muscular than—!”

You were cut off by him pressing his lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, gentle and light, like feathers in the air or water against the sand, and he pulled away before you could really react or reciprocate. He had left you wanting, and you knew he knew that, because there was a smugness to his voice when he spoke next.

“Apology accepted,” he said as you blinked at him in shock, your mind still lagging well behind your body. “Now we’re even.”

“Hold on,” you said. “I’m suddenly feeling very repentant and remorseful. Are you quite sure you forgive me with just that?”

He laughed. It was such a lovely sound, his laugh, and you would’ve told him so if you weren’t afraid that he’d stop when you pointed it out.

“Maybe not,” he said. “You might have to apologize a bit more.”

“That sounds doable,” you said. “Yeah, I might be able to work that in. It’ll be agonizing, but a wise man once told me that that’s just the nature of apologizing, so it’s the least I can do, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, holding your face in his hands and leaning in. You did the same, your eyes closing all on their own as you sought out the connection he had deprived you of earlier.

As the sun set over the horizon and the seagulls settled in for the night, he kissed you again.

BURNT SUN-KISSED POPPIES. mydei

summary, to be the childhood sweetheart of Kremnos‘ heir came the times where he sought comfort in you for all his tragedies.

mydei x gn!reader. fluff content. childhood to adulthood. secret pinings. puppy love. yearning. teasing. quality time. princess treatment. hurt with comfort. historical!au not canon compliant to amphoreus lore. written before version 3.0. [3.6k wc]

What are the chances you get to visit Castrum Kremnos during your father’s many business trips?

By the Gods above, luck was in your favor that day.

Because visiting Castrum Kremnos meant being able to see their renowned young crown prince Mydeimos, rumored to be one of the future heroes of Okhema city and the lion of Kremnos—and in secrecy to you, also the receiver of your affections for as long as you remember.

You aren’t certain when this unimaginable pull happened, was it the way you first saw the dawn captured red upon his braided hair? Or was it his big eyes that furnaced and melted into gold ingots with flicks of honey?

Your heart flutters at the thought of simply just encountering him, your fingers bunching up your fabrics as your carriage arrives at the city gates.

With a table full of wine, goat cheese and fruits—it was easy to slip away from your father. He was too busy settling jovial talks about the kingdoms’ flourish with Kremnos’ leaders to realize your absence. The unfamiliar palace is bigger than you expected, grandeur even, completely different from your home city. When your eyes trace the intricate patterns upon their pillars you can immediately seize out the lion from its marble carvings. But despite its size, it was no challenge to locate the prince.

The sound of clashing wooden swords would indicate where he was since you are aware of his duties to fight—and it is said that crown prince Mydeimos is usually seen spending his leisure on swordsmanship practice with young lord Phainon.

At times, you envy how often Lord Phainon is mentioned around the prince.

They both seem really close.

When the harsh clacks of wood on wood floats around your ears, your hurried paces falter into quiet footsteps. You find yourself sneaking under an olive tree and peeking through the shrubs, eyes landing on two boys on the garden with cobblestone beneath their leather boots—they seem entirely engrossed in their sparring. Under the honeyed heat your lips purse, watching Mydeimos dance around Phainon, wooden swords blurring your vision, swishing and parrying in front of them as each boy exchange light blows with one another.

An exhausted rasp of a chuckle comes spilling down Mydei’s lips, he angles his sword to block when Phainon leans forward, cutting down hard in his direction. You’ve noticed their manner in fighting and can weed out the difference in an instant. Lord Phainon is calculated with his movements, there’s stability in his balance, reassurance woven into the sinews of his back beneath his white tunic. Prince Mydeimos on the other hand is more fluid, he makes use of his dynamics and his footwork is unpredictable, but there’s grace captured in it—like he’s dancing—lunging forward in strict confidence then sidestepping, bouncing back then spinning.

Mydei smiles—a boyish grin that crinkles his eyes—seemingly setting the whole place an inch brighter than before and you’re blinded by the setting sun. You tilt your head more, unable to deny the warm flush from the pillows of your cheeks when you see the hint of dimples on his face, dimples.

The prince is truly astonishing.

Years you were under the tutelage of different priests, learning about prophetic dreams and imagery and clairvoyance—but maybe you were too dizzy watching the boys zip around the gardens, or maybe you were too into your daydreams you didn’t notice how they had hastened their attacks. Mydei was now attacking Phainon in quick succession, seemingly drunk under the thrill to notice Phainon’s stuttering words of take a break or slow down your highness. You were too distracted to notice how the prince swipes up, cutting the atmosphere—the lord’s wooden sword flies out his grasp and comes spinning in your direction.

Oh.

You feel the solid plank crash against your forehead—barely registering the shock that jolts through the two boys when you stumble onto the marble floor, holding your face that seems to quickly heat at both the pain and the embarrassment.

Oh.

“Oh, lord what have you done—“

“Me?” Phainon panics. “You were the one that didn’t stop attacking, I told you numerous times how I prefer a great sword than a simple one. I’m unfamiliar with the weight.”

“Well, I—“

“Ow…”

Their attention snaps back to you. Mydei tosses his wooden sword onto the cobblestone uncaringly and along with Phainon, comes to your aid.

“Hey, are you okay?” Both holding out their hands when they ease you back to your feet. Phainon leans down to brush the crumbs of dirt from your attire, checking to see if you have other injuries whilst Mydei winces at your reddening face.

“I—truly, I apologize.” You can hear the sincerity and guilt in the young prince’s tone. “I didn’t mean…”

“No, I—“ you were quick to speak up as well. Your face furnacing even more when his concerned honey eyes latch with your own—to think your first interaction with each other would be this, how humiliating.

“I was the one who intruded.” You murmur, leaning down to bow. “I apologize for getting in the way, young lords i didn’t want to disturb—“

“Oh gods.” Phainon curses.

You lift your head, confused, until you feel something hot trickling down your nose. Both your hand and Mydei’s fly up to your face, barely containing the blood that rolls down your chin.

“Prince, I think we are in trouble.”

“Stop saying nonsense, Phainon. Tell a servant to fetch us a cloth and a basin of water immediately.”

He didn’t need to be told twice and he was swift, his feet tapping along the marble as he sprinted down the hallway and now you were left alone with Kremnos’ young heir.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Luck was definitely not on your side today.

“Hey, uhm…” Mydei trails off. You see the cogs in his head turning before he gently lets go of your face, you feel a soft pressure at the back of your skull instead as the prince beckons you to lean down towards him.

“Here, press your nose on my tunic. It would be a problem if we don’t add pressure to stop the bleeding—“

Your eyes widen, cheeks hot as coals. You find yourself shaking your head fervently, using the young prince’s shirt to help your nosebleed? if your reputation hadn’t sunk to the bottom of a seabed, it had now. How could you, and to Prince Mydeimos of all people?

But Mydei is persistent, somehow unaware that your flushed face is more likely due to the shame you felt than your injury.

“Please.” He pushes gently. “I insist.”

His palm on the back of your head is steady, fingers rubbing the hair there, his other hand pinch his fabric shirt and tugs it up to press against your bleeding nose. ”Lord Phainon will be back soon, so rest assured. I truly apologize for my lack of manners today.”

It felt like a whole minute with you in close proximity with the Prince, then after that, when a servant came to tend to you—both prince Mydei and lord Phainon received an earful from the adults, to dare bring harm upon a young guest clergy from Janusopolis is an act of slander, they said to the young boys.

And you are no different as your father shakes his head at you, “you’re very lucky that they practiced with wooden swords, what were to happen if they were using actual weapons, what if it was a spear?”

You turn away, “I’m sorry, father—“

“That’s enough child. I should’ve known this would happen, especially with that curiosity of yours. I’ve told you time and time again to steer clear from training grounds, you are not fit for combat.” He pats your shoulder softly. “Come now, let’s not dawdle. We still have to visit the other cities.”

But father, it’s not mere curiosity. You wanted to combat but decide against it.

When you tag along with your father with flushed pink nose and defeated shoulders, you dare slip a glance from behind. Watching the young prince and the lord getting scolded.

But what you didn’t expect was Prince Mydeimos’ honey eyes already on you.

You turned away quickly and never looked back.

A week passes and your shame does not settle nor fade.

“Looks like you had quite a delightful time.” A throwaway comment from Anaxa, you don’t respond and he doesn’t even bother to look in your direction, flipping another scroll and perusing the text casually.

“What do I do, Anaxa, Hyacine?”

“What must you do?” Anaxa shoots you a puzzled look. “Bumping into Prince Mydeimos in Okhema is one in a million, and I am certain your father won’t take you back to Castrum Kremnos after that troubling incident.

“This is so unfair.” You bury your face onto your arms.

Your younger companion heartens over your shoulder, “Cheer up. I’m sure you’ll stumble into him eventually.” Hyacine smiles at you. “After all, Okhema is celebrating a festival. You never know.”

Your eyes gloss over the open window, from the distance you hear the alluring instruments hither thither in gracious waves, the warm winds gossip, the furors of the crowd echo, the clinking of wine and your companions’ soft murmurs from behind you. You lean your cheek against your arm, watching the sky like a meadow of blues.

Distracted, you don’t notice someone approaching until you see a hand come over your vision.

Your eyes flutter, tracing the calloused palm down the arm before meeting the face.

Honey eyes greet you back.

You jolt, Prince Mydeimos.

He sees the recognition spark in your eyes and he smiles, “So it was you.” He lowers his hand, tugging his cloak. “I thought I recognized someone familiar on the window, it’s nice to see you again!”

“Prin…Prince Mydeimos.” You've straightened now. “What are you doing here?”

Your heart seizes when you watch him lean close to you, his dimples are prominent from here, like an intentional dip on a carved marble. He presses a finger to his lips, his boyish grin almost contagious.

“I sneaked away.” He rasps. “It’s a little stiff to have servants follow you around in Okhema’s festival.”

“Oh, I see.” Your eyes fleet. It seems like it has caught the attention of your companions, for the young priestess and sage are now leaning against the wall beside the window, out of view from Mydeimos.

The prince places a hand on the windowsill. “Do you want to come with me?”

Your lips part. “Come with you?”

“Yes. I uhm.” Mydei turns away, then looks back at you. “I want to make it up to you, for what happened last week.”

“There’s no need for that, prince. I’m perfectly okay now and it’s my fault you and the lord got into trouble.” Despite your incessant shakes, he combats it with stubbornness.

“I understand. But I still feel responsible for what has happened.” He tells you. “Then, if not to make up for it, just keep me company?”

“I’m not supposed to…” You hesitate.

But then you felt a foot tap your ankle. Your eyes flicker briefly towards Anaxa and Hyacine—one giving you an encouraging nod and the other had apathy in the face, but he tilts his head on the window as if beckoning you to go. You crack a smile then turn to Mydei and nod.

His smile widens, then he hoists you out of the window frame, strong arms around your torso. Your cheeks darken at his actions.

When the two of you walk down the street, you are splashed with the joyful spirit weaving through the festival. You don’t usually participate whenever these festivals happen, you have no one to go with you. You never wanted to bother your father with your trivial requests, and you had your own duties to finish that you don’t have time for leisure.

The prince tries to match your pace, shoulders barely touching but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. In fact, Mydeimos has been kind to you which was far from the confident boy who held a spear in the arena.

He treats you as if you are something to him—you immediately shake such thoughts from your head.

Mydei taps your shoulder, pulling you out of your daydreams. “Are you hungry?”

In the young prince’s hands were two figs. You graciously took one from him. “Thank you, Prince Mydeimos.”

The honeycomb in his eyes softened. “Please just call me Mydei.” The fruit is brought to his lips, a crunch resounds when he takes a big bite.

During that time, under the golden festival hue—Mydeimos appeared like a brilliant child, the spirit still flickering a candle in his eyes and the looks he gave you, they were so undeniably soft. You both stopped at small stands, lingered at performances and smiled at the musicians playing instruments—all the while the prince made sure you were entertained and satiated with food; soft bread, cakes, olives. He even goes on a tangent when you had said you never tried specific meat before—those that were exclusive to the high and wealthy.

The prince would take each meat from the table, cupping a hand beneath your chin when you take a bite out of his portion.

You perk up. “It’s good.”

“Right?” Mydei laughs. “This one’s my favorite. We usually only have these in Kremnos during—“

“Are you eloping, my dear prince?”

Your attention is dragged to the owner of the quip. Lord Phainon appears from the thick of the crowd, and his teasing tone brings heat to your cheeks. Mydei scowls at his companion, “why are you here?”

Phainon greets you by ruffling your hair, “have you even an inkling of remorse for your pitiful servants?” His ocean blue eyes aren’t laughing despite his smile. “They’ve been looking for you for an hour or two, to the point it’s starting to spin into a commotion on the festival streets.”

This prompts Mydei to sigh. “Those fellows…”

A flute and strings draws their attention. Suddenly the crowd erupts into cheers, some step forth, dancing on the streets. You can feel Mydei’s eyes on you, then flickering to Phainon.

Maybe it was the expression on the prince’s face that Phainon let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll deal with your servants. You have an hour.”

“That’s all that I need.” Mydei smiles when Phainon turns on his heel to leave. “I owe you, my friend.”

“It’s nothing.” Phainon’s eyes flutter over to you, and his gentle smile returns, mouthing a take care of him before tugging on his hood and disappearing. At that time, you didn’t really know what the young lord meant with that.

And you didn’t have time to ponder, Mydei’s large hand is inching over yours, his fingertips brushing your skin. You look over to him and he asks, “do you know how to dance?”

You barely remembered what you responded back. The prince’s hands have captured your own, more of a soft caress than a hold before slowly pulling you onto the streets and the flurry of dancing citizens. The outside lights careens into the expression on his face when he tells you to dance with him.

You both circle each other and you watch his footwork—sidestepping, bouncing back then spinning—Mydei’s hand is not far from yours, and he pulls you into his dance, a palm seeking refuge on your torso and the other securing your hand, he spins you around and you cannot help the bubble of a laugh from slipping from your lips.

Between the flurries and the crowds there was nothing but you and the prince, everyone else was barely a splotch of watercolor on canvas.

An hour burns through quickly when you’re having fun. The sky began to dim and the festival had hushed, when his servants finally found him and he got in the carriage, he pops his head out the window, calling your name before you can leave.

You seek the honey in his eyes once again, and he leans into his open palm, “visit Castrum Kremnos sometimes.” Mydei grins. “It's a bore to always spend time sparring with Phainon and he’s not a great dancer like you are.

You mirror his grin with your own. “If this is what my prince wants, then I’ll obey.”

The brightened smile that Mydei gave you felt like he had shaved a piece of the sun and reflected it on his own expression. “See you.”

“Goodbye, Kremnos’ prince.”

That expression of his had engraved into your membrane as years shuffle and roll, it’s the exact same face he shows you when you finally visit him—not as a clergy guest of the city but Prince Mydeimos’ guest.

So it's very hard for you to believe in those rumours, rumours that stated that Castrum Kremnos’ hero had gone manic—the same as when the heretical black tide came and made the titans mad. It’s just difficult.

You’re aware that war and battles change a person. It came to make their blooming heart wither into a wasteland, but you know Mydeimos for so long.

You knew him as his childhood friend, as someone who had admired him and his heart for years on end—you never believed rumours about him and if it were true, you wanted to make your own judgement and witness it for yourself.

So when talks of Mydei’s arrival from the battlefield reached your ears, you did not hesitate to start packing for the trip.

Your journey to Kremnos was hasty. You had ignored the rebuttals your father threw at you and got on the carriage. As years passed, so did Castrum Kremnos. It did not beguile a glow like it used to, but your mind’s a raging storm. Your pace is impatient as you run down the corridors of the familiar city.

The sound of the steel sword would indicate where he was since you are aware of his duties to fight—and it is said that crown prince Mydeimos is usually seen spending his leisure on swordsmanship, alone.

Your hand is pressed against the olive tree bark, heaving heavy breaths as your eyes land on Mydeimos’ back, his muscles and sinews are hardened under the reddish hue of sunset, flexing as he moves his sword to cut the air. You barely notice the look on his eyes as well, gone were his large honey pupils and chub on his cheeks, now his gaze has sharpened into resin, narrowed with furrowed brows. He’s no longer as talkative or carefree as back then.

You take a step closer and flinch when Mydeimos turns to your direction, the sword lands heavy above your shoulders, almost grazing your cheek and ears.

The air hangs heavy with tension.

“It’s me, Mydei.”

At the sound of your voice, the prince wavers. The sword is immediately retracted and his heavy heaves are all that fills the air between you two.

“You…” Mydei runs his fingers through his wet hair. “You really do have the habit of just wandering into the practice grounds like this.”

You look away. “I’ll try not to next time.” You were just a little worried about him today.

When you feel a fingertip running down your jaw, you turn back to him.

Mydeimos’ eyes land on something on your face, his frown deepening. “There’s a cut.” He tells you. is there?

You cannot help the slight sting or wince when he presses the wound. At your reaction, he tries to pull away but your hands are quick to capture it, placing his calloused palms back on your cheeks.

“It’s okay.” You tell him but he’s noiseless.

Instead he tilts your head sideways, then leans down. His rough lips on your cheek is all you feel and you’re engulfed in Mydei’s scent of bonfire and wood and smoke.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, pressing another kiss to your other cheek and you told him it was fine. His head lands heavy on your shoulder so you don’t dare ask him how he’s been or how the battlefield was—you doubt he’d want to answer it right now.

“Will you stay for a bit?” He’d ask you and in response you’d embrace him.

“For as long as you wish.”

He pushes a bit. “Will you be by my side then?”

“If you command it, I will.”

Silence.

“Stay with me today?” Mydei adds. “Please?”

For a moment, Phainon’s words are on your ears: take care of him.

You tug him back and hold his cheeks on your palms, your eyes dissect his every fold and dip in expression, the downcasted frown and tired eyes. You give him a bright smile—a smile that flickers a glow on his honey pupils—then rest your forehead against his own.

“I’m here for as long as I live.” You murmur sweetly. “Even if it’s just us left, I’ll be with you.” because I love you, Mydei. For everything that I have.

You don’t announce it, but Mydei’s expression seems to shift when he gazes into your eyes, like he’d read the words written in them.

And holding him like this, you prayed to yourself—to wish nothing but endless glory and victory to Mydeimos for all the tragedies he’d witnessed.

You are not skilled in combat, but you’d hope your support and embraces can heal his wounds just as much. But when Mydei leans forward and presses another kiss on your forehead and two cheeks, your skin is matted and sun-kissed at the trail of his lips. It’s as if he’s telling you that yes, you’re healing him, you’re making him happy.

And you smile at the manner.

˚୨୧⋆｡🍓˚ all you want - itoshi rin.

in which: rin finds out what he is most terrified of.

themes - sfw. not proofread. gender neutral (i believe, lemme know if im wrong). rin is a loser in love so yay. | wc 0.6k

itoshi rin is an intimidating man. his tall silhouette adds to his unapproachable persona, which he embodies with a glued sore expression, almost always looking as if ready for slaughter. (he is)

rin himself has been aware of this fact; it is hard not to be after years of noticing the small mannerisms of nervousness people only tend to carry around him. he feels bad about it sometimes, but, oh well.

with such a demeanor, rin has the confidence to rarely ever think of what might spook him. truthfully, he cannot be blamed either. this man watches horror movies as a hobby, claiming "it's the only media that interests him". forget fictional horror, he isn't even bothered by realistic sights of blood, be it his own or somebody else's; a very small part of the reason why he didn't think twice before swinging at shidou during practice today.

itoshi rin terrifies everyone and is never terrified of anyone.

so why, why is he shaking in his boots right now at the sight of your stern expression?

"rin."

he held his breath, mentally preparing himself to confront the storm ahead.

"you forgot to buy strawberries."

crap. the ingredient had completely slipped his mind.

"sorry," he sighed, in transparent defeat. "i remembered your text after arriving."

"it's okay," you went back to shuffling through drawers like your usual self. except, it wasn't usual to rin. your cheeky smile he adored so much became replaced with a pout today.

no no no—please don't be sad. not over strawberries.

"i'll go back and get them right now," he shuffled in his trouser pockets for his car keys, determined to get you those red little troublemakers.

your hand clutched a flap of his jacket before he got moving. "rin, it's okay. really."

"i'll be back shortly," he glared daggers into your hand restricting him—conflicted if he is in a position to remove any willing touch you provided him at the moment.

he hoped you would just let go—which you did. but now, it wasn't just a hand clinging to him. it was your entire being.

"you don't have to," you hugged him, murmuring sentences with the same look from before.

itoshi rin sighed, his second time today, but this was out of pure endearment. "then stop looking so upset, dumbass."

though his words carried a harsh stream, his tender hands cupping your jaw contradicted all the possible roughness.

"i'm not upset," you claimed. "you're pouting," he swiped a thumb across your slightly fluffed up lips to prove a point you seemed to be missing. "well, i just wanted to make those cupcakes."

the stoic man's heart clutched again at your painfully adorable wish. slowly, he leaned to press his forehead against yours. "so, let me get them."

at his adamancy, you chuckled, a sound that melted away the tension in the room. "baby, you really don't have to go back for strawberries. i can survive a night without them."

"i know you can," he left a quick kiss on your lips. "but, i want you to have everything you want. especially the little things."

perhaps you grew accustomed to his physical affection, but his verbal love still held you captive after all this time. long gone were the sweetly sour fruits from your mind, all it consisted of was itoshi rin.

"what if i want something not so little?" you tip-toed to reach your boyfriend towering over you.

immediately, getting your cue, he grabbed on to your figure, bringing his lips to align with yours passionately.

"can give you that too."

10:30 am.

the next morning, as sunshine spilled through the kitchen windows, you found a crimson surprise awaiting you at the counter. three full containers of strawberries had been neatly arranged in a column and residing beside them were a pair of oven mitts. the last thing he left for you to spot was a note attached to the thermal gloves.

"for your cupcakes. don't burn yourself." — rin itoshi.

˚୨୧⋆｡🍓˚ in which: itoshi sae feels inferior to itoshi rin; even if for just a moment

includes: itoshi sae! x reader. 1.7k wc. fluff and humour (i promise the title is just dramatic). silly itoshi brothers but we love them. kind of ooc rin. includes some swearing but it's meant to be lighthearted <3

itoshi rin being sick was somehow more of an inconvenience to sae than it was to rin himself. his brother falling ill during his stay at sae’s place was already a disgusting coincidence. now, sae had to watch the unfortunate scenes unfold in front of him without a choice.

“woah, you’re burning up, rin,” your voice filled the room, holding the thermometer up to check it again, your voice laced with concern. rin only nodded, his quiet nature amplified by the haze of his fever. his half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks made him look pitiful, almost drowsy.

to sae, it was nauseating how pathetic he looked—and worse, how effective it was.

“here, i got you medicine,” you said, helping him sit up from a lying position. “say ahh,” you sang sweetly, holding an ibuprofen capsule to rin’s lips and following up with a glass of water. he obediently parted his lips without a word, swallowing with a slight grimace but no complaints.

meanwhile, sae stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, scowling like a cat. rin must have it so damn good right now, he thought bitterly. crashed out on his bed, coughing like a mess, and worst of all—being pampered by you! him spreading germs all over the room was annoying enough, but the fact that you were doting on him? that was the real problem. sure, rin was sick, but did you have to treat him like royalty? it made sae feel almost childish how much it irked him. he knew you were just being you—kind, caring, and attentive. you weren’t a complete jerk like sae; of course, you’d take care of your boyfriend’s little brother.

but still, the sight of you meticulously adjusting rin’s pillow, tucking him snugly into the blanket you and sae usually shared, and gently brushing his hair out of his face like he was some spoiled kid—it was enough to drive sae up the wall. and if all that wasn't bad enough, now you were feeding him. feeding him.

rin opened his mouth again without so much as a sigh, his quiet compliance somehow making the scene even worse. sae glared as you dabbed the corner of rin’s mouth with a tissue, your expression always remaining soft and tender.

sae’s patience finally cracked as he scoffed. “pick up your own damn spoon,” he muttered under his breath.

you finally tore your gaze from rin to look at sae, laughing lightly. “it’s okay, sae. he’s sick. it doesn’t bother me.” it didn’t bother you, but it sure as hell bothered him. watching rin quietly accept another spoonful while sae fumed in the corner felt like a fresh insult every second.

“is the soup good? i tried my best,” you asked, giving the bowl another stir, awaiting his answer. your expression was so stupidly expectant that it effortlessly tugged at sae’s heart. rin, naturally, noticed the way his older brother’s jaw tightened from the corner of his eye, sae’s glare sharp enough to cut through steel—nonverbally screaming at him to be nice. rin wasn’t dumb—he knew better than to even consider giving a bad review of your cooking, especially with sae simmering in his spot by the door. and besides, the soup was actually delicious. “it’s good,” rin said, glancing at you. he took another spoonful for good measure, his movements deliberately slow, before adding, “it’s like our mom’s cooking.”

your face lit up instantly, a warm smile spreading across your lips. “i’m glad! good thing i asked for her recipe,” you shared, feeling accomplished. then, after a thoughtful pause, rin continued, “nii-chan should try some.” that last line, paired with the smallest, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at rin’s lips as he subtly shifted his posture toward sae, was so perfectly calculated it could’ve been a soccer play. rin didn’t even bother looking at his brother; he didn’t need to. the strained silence from sae’s corner was reward enough.

sae’s knuckles flexed against the doorframe, his patience wearing thinner than ever. try some? was rin actually inviting him to participate in this ridiculous display? no way in hell. you turned to sae with an inviting smile, completely oblivious to the brewing tension. “sae, you can have some if you want. i made more just in case…” his eyes flickered to you for a moment, and he opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a quiet, disgruntled, “i’m fine.”

rin didn’t look up, but his breath released ever so slightly faster—barely perceptible—like he was holding back laughter. and yet, rin wasn’t done being petty. he shifted slightly under the blanket, letting out a low sigh that seemed almost contemplative. “my back hurts.”

he murmured quietly, drawing out the words just enough to give them weight. his gaze flicked briefly to sae—long enough for him to notice—before turning to you with a soft, almost too-casual tone.

“i think i need a massage.”

before sae could even process the audacity, you were already setting the soup aside. “oh no! here, turn around—” “it’s fine,” sae absolutely snaps, stepping forward and snatching you up from the bed. he firmly guided you toward the door. “i got him. just bring a hot towel, will you?” “huh? oh, okay…” you blinked, a bit startled by his sudden intervention, but nodded. “if you need anything—anything—just call, okay?”

you shot rin a sympathetic look as you left, sae’s hand still firm on the small of your back until you were out the door.

the moment the door clicked shut, it was as if rin’s back was in pristine condition—like he was born with the perfect spine. he sat up straight, stretching with ease, his back suddenly requiring nothing but a headboard to rest on. sae responded with nothing except his expression, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. without a word, sae lifted his leg and dug a kick square to rin’s back. “what the fuck?!” rin hissed, flinching forward. “back pain, huh?” sae asked flatly, mocking his claims. “you’re too old to be attention-seeking, dumbass,” he said, giving him another shove with his foot. “go back to okaasan, since you like being babied so much.” “fuckin’ hypocrite,” rin kicked back with both legs, shoving sae’s leg away with surprisingly good strength for someone whose supposed bones were crackling just a second ago. “you’re the one fuming for her attention.” sae rolled his eyes, unable to accept the fact that he was probably right. “she’s my girlfriend, you fucker,” despite the possibility, he defends, his voice sharper now. “and yet here you are,” rin said smugly, leaning back against the headboard, “competing with a sick kid.” sae opened his mouth to retort but froze. damn it. he was competing. and somehow, rin was winning.

“here’s the towel—” you finally walked in, but not without sensing the tension hanging in the air. “did something happen?…” you quickly remarked, in a suspicious manner. “no.” both rin and sae responded in perfect unison, their tone almost too quick, too practiced. you couldn’t help but feel like you were the only one who wasn’t in on whatever strange, silent competition they were having.

“rin’s feeling better,” sae suddenly spoke out, his voice way too casual, as he bolted for the door. “call if you need anything.” “ah, okay…” you blinked, eyes lingering on him watching him go before shaking your head. maybe you did imagine that awkwardness.

you quickly turned your attention back to rin and handed him the towel. “you should get some rest. i’ll attend to some chores.” rin gave a quiet nod, already looking more comfortable with the towel draped over him. you gave him a smile, relieved to see him at least looking better, before stepping out of the room. you found sae in the kitchen, carefully dishing out a bowl of soup. the act was too adorable; you couldn’t resist. you snuck up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a gentle backhug. “what do you want?” sae asked, his voice trying to sound neutral, but you could hear the softness underneath it. you rested your chin on his shoulder, feeling his warmth, and smiled. “why are you sulking?” you asked softly, your tone full of concern. “i’m not,” sae replied, though the words came out more quietly than he intended, a little hint of frustration still there. you could feel his tension, so you just squeezed him a little tighter, letting the silence settle for a beat. “i know you’re worried,” you said, voice gentle and sincere, “but it’s okay. he’ll be fine. i’m making sure of it.” sae remained quiet for a moment, but there was something different in the way his shoulders eased under your touch. he wasn’t used to this kind of reassurance, but somehow it always worked.

there was always something disarming about your presence, the way you seemed to understand him without asking for anything in return. he didn’t quite know what to do with this feeling—this overwhelming need to just be close to you. without making any effort to break the hug, sae's hands gently moved to rest on yours. he turned slightly so he could look at you, his eyes soft and filled with something tender you couldn't quite place. there was a subtle shift as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. he paused, just for a moment, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. the kiss lingered longer than usual, a silent reassurance in the simple gesture. “i’m not worried,” sae whispered firmly, trying his best to rely his feelings. “since you’re taking care of him, i’ll just take care of you.” you blinked, your chest tightening with warmth at his words. it was rare for sae to lose his guard, and in these moments, his affection always spoke far louder than anything he could say. you could feel the space between you narrowing as he moved even closer, his lips brushing near yours. “isn’t that right?” he whispered, his voice low and filled with a quiet confidence.

AH-CHOO! a loud sneeze rang through the hallway, shattering every sense of peace in the house. sae froze, his entire posture stiffening, as he shot a death glare toward the room where rin was.

god he’s gonna kill him.

a/n: this is such an old draft omg...finally got inspired to publish it bcz i currently feel like sae lmao. still figuring out my writing style so i hope nobody minds the randomness of my works T-T

ness, who last felt love in the warmth of his mother’s womb, feeling cold no matter the weather. he seeks that same warmth again; in kaiser, where he can be needed for the gentleness of his passes, but not cherished as the sweet, yet lonely child he is.

and when you finally meet his kindness with kindness in return, he’s instantly addicted again. that same warmth he’s craved for nineteen long years. in your embrace, he finally feels the comfort of summer, after being out in the cold winter snow for so long.

he can’t let you go now, not when he’s finally found what he’s hungered for— that drowning feeling of sweet syrup, causing his heartrate to skyrocket.

ness, my sweet little crack baby.

˚୨୧⋆｡🍓˚ darry rings - are limited to one per lifetime, emphasizing that love should be exclusive and irreplaceable. true love verification ensures each customer can only buy one ring.

includes: itoshi sae! x reader. 0.9k wc. fluff hehe

you are unable to believe the outrageous actions of your boyfriend. this time, his doings were diabolical to the point of no return. “get out!”

you push itoshi sae out the door in a fit of frustration. his sigh is so loud, it feels like it’s echoing in your head, only making your irritation worse.

“this is my bedroom,” he deadpans, as if stating the obvious will reverse his sudden eviction. it doesn’t work. you’re already diving into the duvets with a determined scowl.

“what are you even doing?” he asks, his tone tipping into annoyance. he narrows his eyes when you march a little closer and throw his pillow into his arms.

“you’re sleeping on the couch,” you declare, voice firm, matching his now sour expression. “and actually, that pillow is way too nice. hand it back.”

he blinks, baffled, before the "too nice" pillow is snatched away and replaced with a sad, flat one that looks like it’s seen better days.

sae stares at the new pillow and then at you. this is so absurd, so far removed from the usual luxurious facade of his life, that the ever-composed itoshi sae actually laughs.

“you’re forgetting something,” he says suddenly, catching your wrist and pulling you closer.

“sae! let go!” you yelp, squirming in his grasp.

“are you seriously this upset over that cheap ring?” his tone is somewhere between exasperation and amusement, as if he should've expected such a reaction.

“it doesn’t matter if it was cheap; it was mine!” you hit his chest with a fist, glaring up at him. “and you hid it!”

“because i got you a better one,” he says, his eyebrows raising slightly, as if that explains everything.

“well, you could’ve just said that!” you huff, shoving his arm. “i was freaking out, thinking i lost it!”

"why do you even like that ring so much?" sae asks, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s debating whether this argument is even worth his energy.

"because you gave it to me in high school!" you snap back, arms crossing dramatically. "i've spent more time with that ring than with you!"

he freezes, the weight of your words sinking in. the usual sharpness in his expression softens, and for a moment, he just looks at you—really looks at you. his gaze lingers on you, quiet and heavy with a mixture of guilt and something unspoken.

it's true. he knows it. he knows just how many times he’s failed to be present for you, how many moments he’s missed, how many nights you’ve spent waiting for him to come back—both physically and emotionally. each time, each goodbye felt like he was leaving behind another piece of you. your glassy eyes were all he would remember during those long flights.

but that's exactly why he's been wanting to do this for a while. because, although he might not make it obvious, itoshi sae is more attentive than you think.

he reaches into his pocket. the movement catches your attention, and when he pulls out a small velvet box, your breath hitches.

“is that...” you begin to question, even though the answer is obvious.

he opens the box, revealing a sleek, elegant darry ring. it gleams under the soft light of the bedroom—intricate, expensive, but graceful instead of loud, the kind of thing only sae could choose.

“i didn’t hide your ring to be an ass,” he says, a rare gentleness lacing his tone. his firm hand captures yours and slides the perfectly fitted ring on your designated finger.

"i wanted you to have something better," he brings your jeweled hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss. "something worthy of you."

"i wanted to sign my name to you."

you blink, your chest tightening, and before you know it, you're rushing forward to throw your arms around him in an impulsive, tight hug.

"you're an idiot, sae!" you voice, sound coming out teary-eyed.

a moment passes without either of you saying anything. he just holds you tighter, as if making up for every moment he couldn’t be there. then, he chuckles softly, a low, soft sound that fills the space between you.

you pull back just enough to frown up at him, your hands resting on his chest. "you're laughing?!"

sae, with that trademark smirk, tilts his head slightly. "do you like it?" his voice teasing but with that edge of sincerity you know so well.

you scoff, still holding on to his shirt, a little stunned. "are you seriously asking me that right now?" you mumble, though your heart is already swelling.

"i love it," you finally smile, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. "i love it, sae."

he leans forward, the tug of his smile remaining. "yeah?" he inches closer, grabbing you, leaving no room for escape. "how much?"

"so much.." you manage to whisper against his lips before he fully dives in for a kiss.

his lips move gently against yours, tasting the words you just spoke, savoring your happiness. it’s soft and tender, and deliberately slow, as he prefers.

when he finally pulls back, you're left breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. you glance up at him, suddenly shy, feeling a soft blush creeping on you.

"you're still sleeping on the couch," you point and smile, face full of mischief.

sae shrugs, his expression slipping into one of playful indifference. “fine. but you’re joining me.”

before you can even protest, he scoops you up effortlessly, your squeals of protest only providing him amusement as he holds you securely in his arms.

"okay, okay! you can sleep on the bed!"

a/n: me ignoring my 1k wc essay to write a 1k wc sae fic 👍🏼

"don't you think you should say thank you to me?" chigiri watches as your eyes light up and you grab the popsicle in his hand, shoving it into your mouth like it'll disappear if you don't consume it immediately.

you roll your eyes, ice balancing on your tongue. "i ask you to buy me one thing-"

"a kiss will do, you know." he arches his eyebrows at you, waving his matching popsicle in the air. "i'm not picky."

"you think you're so smooth, don't you? don't your friends call you princess? no wonder you want a kiss."

chigiri smirks at that. "can't be a princess when i'm with you, then there'd be two of us, and then who'll buy your popsicles?"

you look at him like he's just given you a new fear, so adoringly sweet that he brings you in close with a laugh.

"besides," he tilts your hair back over your shoulder, fingertips gently brushing against your neck. "i'm not the kind to just lie down and take it. a girl like you though…"

you shove him, your face heating up, but your hand meets hard muscle and he doesn't budge, just smiles wickedly.

★ silly stickers — itoshi rin

꠴ itoshi rin x fem!reader

content: established relationship, mentions of bruises and fights, stickerzz!!

"you're silly."

rin doesn't respond, as he has the last two times you've said that. aside from your occasional repeated comment, the only sound filling your small kitchen was the clattering of rin's chopsticks against the bowl in front of him, and the sticker sheets that fill the rest of the table.

with a bored pout on your face, you peel off a particularly glittery sticker, not hesitating to boop it right over his bandaged nose. "silly."

his eyes lift from his food to glare at you, which is also what he's done for the past three— now four times you've called him that. the two of you stare at each other silently before you break the eye contact, peeling off a heart sticker and smacking it right on his forehead. after all, it's kind of difficult to find him intimidating when his cheeks are stuffed with food.

right when you were going to pull your hand back, he grabs onto your wrist, stopping you midair. "stop it." his voice sounds slightly muffled to your ears as he's shoved whatever was in his mouth into one cheek.

"why?" you shimmy your arm out of his grasp, picking up another fresh sheet. "you didn't stop when i told you not to get into another fight."

silence. that one got him.

three seconds pass. rin's eyes narrow at you, then averting his gaze as he continues chewing. the air didn't feel as tense as you thought it would be, as if rin's managed to find a way to telepathically communicate that he's sorry in some way.

he really is silly, getting hit in the face like that. is he not worried about injuries? is he not worried that his poor attempts at hiding the bandage would cause his own girlfriend to be so pissed at him? seriously... you don't even want to imagine what that bruise looks like right now.

and here you are, using stickers to take out your frustration. "silly, silly, silly." your insults are starting to sound more sweet, lips curling from how cute he looks being all grumpy.

your canvas knows no bounds as his face runs out of space, expanding to his neck and hands. he can only sit there and endure your "punishment", because he'd rather have stickers all over him than have you genuinely upset with him.

a/n: plot? whats that? we dont need that...

My Sinful Little Angel

a short AU fic featuring secret priest! Sunday of a small village x baker! gn reader

"Thank you again, Mr. Oak," you said as Sunday, the town's resident tailor finished repairing the frayed hem of your apron. "Here," you offer him a half dozen of today's special treat, powdered sugar shortbread cookies filled with raspberry jam.

"Thank you," he gave you a soft smile that made your heart melt. "Here," he offered you up some coins, more than he should but still a paltry amount the judgmental villagers would consider good and proper.

It was part of your little arrangement. You showed up one day out of nowhere, and the town's bakery took you in. You had a roof over your head and a belly full of food, but they paid you next to nothing.

"Tomorrow we're going to be maki--" a knock interrupted your sweet little announcement. It was the baker's son. Sunday didn't miss how your gaze fell to your hands clutching your newly repaired apron, how you seemed so very bashful in the presence of your peer. Oh God in heaven, please smite this wicked fool who dare intrude upon your shared sacred peace and tempt you so.

You gave him a small wave as you headed for the door, "I have to go Mr. Oak, duty calls." You were always so polite and sweet to him, so diligent, always doing more than you should. Sunday noticed the powdered sugar you had graced him with when he paid you for your work and brought it to his unworthy tongue. An ambrosia he didn't earn, one he didn't deserve. You were an angel made flesh, and far too good for a backwater place like this. One day, he swore, he'd do something about it.

As the sun set, he flipped the sign in the window from open to closed before heading off to his second job. Every flock needed a shepherd, and who better to play the role as he? And so the town's church offered a confessional booth service where he served as the confessor.

He settled in behind the screen and prepared his heart for the service. People always had such ridiculous things plaguing them so, but who was he to deny them salvation?

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

It was the sound of your voice. He held his breath. He couldn't help but hear how nervous and deflated you sounded. What heresy could you have committed to feel so low? "Speak freely, child," he spoke in an unrecognizable drawl. Sunday preferred anonymity. It was better when people didn't know who they were speaking to.

You sigh inwardly and steel your resolve, "I've been having sinful thoughts about another. One of my fellow peers."

Sunday has heard those very words before, and he didn't like where this was going. He was quite fortunate to be able to steer you away from such an unholy sin. "What sorts of thoughts?"

He listened to the sound of fabric brushing against the confessional screen, the sound of you squirming from discomfort. "Carnal ones I'm afraid. Whenever I'm with him, I pray his hands linger more than they should. Every night, I dream of clandestine meetings -- of the perverted sort."

Sunday hears how very affected you are, and he isn't going to allow some degenerate sully your pure soul and infect your mind. He was almost certain it was that baker boy with the way you could scarcely look at him, but if he were to do anything about it, he would need to be sure. "Those are quite heavy sins, my dear, but the lord forgives all who wish to repent."

"Thank you Father." He can hear the smile in your voice and he has you right where he needs you.

"To repent, it would be best to disclose the name of this wolf in sheep's clothing that assaults your thoughts and faithful heart."

Yes, give me a name. This whisper campaign to your excommunication will be as delicious as it'll be unsurprising. It'll be my revenge for whoever dares touch you so frivolously, my sweet angel.

You got quiet, the sound of conflict. Sunday's chest tightened, anguished by your misplaced sense of guilt. You were trying to shield whoever this dastard was by the kindness of your soul. He knew you needed one final push. "The lord forgives all who sin, even the serpent who tempts you so."

"Well," you swallowed thickly. Agony permeated your words as you work up the courage to oust the blasphemer, "it's Sunday Oak."

sometimes a girl just gotta lay down in a dark room and play the same 8 mitski songs over and over

Yotasuke Takahashi: Why “Talent” Will Never Be Enough

Picture this: 

You’re Yotasuke Takahashi. You leaned into drawing when you were young because maybe at that time, you do like it, you scribble what you like on the paper, a childish but a pure intention to immortalize the things you love. You never had big ideas on being an artist — Hell, even the day you picked up a pencil was probably just coincidence. You have no drive nor passion behind your actions, it was just something you do. 

But then, people started labelling that as “talent”. And all of a sudden, you were being expected to be an artist because of what they call “talent”. Your identity shifted to that of “someone who draws well”, the lingering silhouette that was imprinted on others’ mind. Your fate was decided on your behalf when you didn’t even know what fate was. There was no choice, for better or worse. You will be an artist. 

So, you started to do what artists would, but only under the command of others. Because they were the one who laid down this path you never choose, but it wasn’t like you had any other paths to walk on, so you can only string along with heavy, unwilling footsteps. You couldn’t help but feel contempt, and yet — you keep walking. 

You slowly realize this road you were taking was getting harder to walk on.

You started to notice your pace was falling off, despite getting a head start. There were peers on this road, who feels vastly different from you, who you look at in jealousy because they didn’t have to choose art, the thing you were good at and struggling to love so hard. Yet they are still surpassing you, without the “talent” you have. 

You’re afraid now. 

The fear that always broiled in the back of your mind started to leak out, that without your “talent”, you will be no one — the thought that was supposed to be comforting suddenly feels so terrifying. You desperately wanted to widen the gap, but you never knew how, and you couldn’t bring yourself to work hard on the very thing you dislike. So, you just stand and look at the gap closing in.

Because you know you were lacking something from the start. 

And talent was never enough.

Mirrored Reflections pt. 2

Yotasuke Takahashi, Blue Period // Le Christ au Jardin des Oliviers by Eugéne Delacroix

Comfort

hello hello!! congrats on 3k. i love your work so much so you deserve it!! ^_^

if it’s okay could i request luka from alien stage with miscommunication & high school au? ( ´ ▽ ` ) and if it’s okay could the reader be amab? thank you!!

congrats again!!ヽ(；▽；)ノ✨✨💖💖

“but we can’t take back all the words that we said!”

show: alien stage

character: luka

summary: you overhear luka tell his friends that he missed being in ‘the single league’.

warnings: g/n! reader, no pronouns used (i didn’t end up put any gender indications at all, i hope that’s okay!!), miscommunication, high school! au, hurt/comfort, angst/comfort, reader is very self-conscious, established relationship, popstar! luka, he’s nicer in this au LMAO

"are you kidding me?" luka laughs out from inside the classroom.

you recognised that sound from anywhere. it was lunch time and you had told your boyfriend that, as class president, you had to prepare some things for the upcoming school festival during lunch, so you wouldn't be able to eat with him. he was a bit whiney and teasing, but soon let you go. you thought he'd be with some of his friends from his choir class, but no; he was in the classroom with a few of his peers.

you stop before you enter to talk to him for a bit. you were wondering what he was doing here.

"i mean, it's a bit hard, isn't it?" someone says.

"i wouldn't say it's hard," luka sighs out, "it's just a bit of a hassle trying to work around other people."

you're even more curious now. you hold your clipboard to your chest and wait to hear more.

"do you ever miss it? being on your own?" another person asks.

you stop, even halting your breathing in case he would stop talking because you were there.

dating someone as popular as luka was hard, but it was worth it. he was such a handsome guy and had an even sweeter voice. it was hard not to fall for him. you felt lucky enough that he loved you too. he was always on tv or always in the studio, and he brought you along too. you wondered the same thing sometimes; did he miss not being in a relationship?

you weren't a jealous person, but you didn't enjoy luka having a partner in music videos or anything. you had told him such, and he told you that he could fix that. maybe he didn't like the hassle.

"oh, of course," he replies far more quicker than you'd like, "i'd much rather be a single idol. i could do whatever i want, but now… i always gotta’ think of others. such a pain…"

the others around him begin to ask questions about why, but you only stand still. hearing it for yourself only confirms it; luka didn't really want to be with you. it only made his life harder. you somehow always knew that.

he probably didn't want to be rude in fear that you might spread something around to everyone that he was a bad boyfriend and ruin his reputation. or maybe he was just bored.

after all, you weren’t a popstar like him. you were just another student.

“y/n, hey,” mizi and sua turn the corner to see you. the pink-haired girl holds out a pamphlet to you with a smile. “here, this is what we came up with for the concert. is it okay?”

you take it from her and try to ignore the tears threatening to spill. you don't care to stay and listen to more. instead, you turn around and walk away with the girls at your side. you couldn't let him know that you knew, not until you were ready.

after school, luka is waiting at your locker. he is leaning against the wall and scrolling on his phone with his bag on his shoulder. once you're close enough, he tucks his phone away and smiles.

"hey, pretty thing," he greets you as you put your books away, "how was your little presidential duty?"

"it was fine," you retort shortly as you pack up your things, "don't you have a recording today?"

"oh, uh, yeah," he says as he watches your face, "it's later though, i can walk you home."

"it's okay, luka, i need to do some things before i go home anyway," you state as you shut your locker. you look back to him and his pretty face that tilts at you. it takes everything in you to not show that you’re upset. “i’ll see you on monday.”

“hey, wait,” he grasps your wrist as you try to walk passed him. he’s a music sensation, he knows when people are upset and when people are angry with him. you have both of those looks on you. “what about…?”

you two are supposed to go out together on sunday. you had organised something this time — a nice picnic by the lake. the both of you were so excited for it. until now, that is.

“oh, right,” you sigh out. he freezes as you lean closer to him and press a kiss to his cheek. “have fun.”

with that, you slip out of his grasp and leave. luka doesn’t call out. maybe you were just not in the mood, or it slipped your mind and you would come to your senses later.

he texts you when he gets home, when he leaves two hours later for his recording session, and when he gets home. he even sends you photos of his dinner with him and his new band. you only heart the photo and reply dryly. you’ve never acted like this.

you just want to make it easier for him to break up with you. maybe if he realised how little you added to his amazing life then he’d finally agree to let you go.

saturday comes and goes, and finally sunday does too.

sweetheart

sorry, can’t come today, i have some things to organise before the school fest next week

luka stares down at the text with his other hand holding the picnic blanket. he stands outside his door in dismay. at this point, he’s had enough.

love

seriously? whatever.

there, you think, he’s finally done with you.

he's gotten annoyed with this change of pace. you weren't acting like yourself, and he hasn't had any good time to ask you about it properly. you just shrug it off and then leave.

he tries to think about what he did, if he did anything, and nothing comes to mind. maybe he forgot to pick something up for you? or maybe he made you miss an important meeting? he couldn't think of anything.

monday comes around and you’ve prepared yourself. you two haven’t spoken since sunday morning and you’ve found it a bit hard to do so.

luka is upset with you, and you feel unable to be enough for him. so you put your things away, attend homeroom and explain the plans for the festival that runs from wednesday to friday, and head off to help your peers.

“y/n,” a voice calls from the doorway. you glance up from painting something. luka stands there with crossed arms. “can i talk to you for a sec?”

you stand up and and follow him out to the school yard. everyone else is planning their things for the festival, so nobody would be out yet.

“okay, out with it,” he grumbles with furrowed brows, “what’s going on with us? you’ve been totally gone and i have no idea why. did something happen?”

you don’t say anything, despite what you want to say. and that makes luka a bit more upset.

“y/n, seriously. can you just talk to me? i really wanted to see you yesterday and…” he holds his breath as you continue to stare at the floor, “why are you being so distant? you act like you want nothing to do with me! and instead of talking to me, you just—”

“you’re the one who wants nothing to do with me,” you grumble out with a hot face. luka stops. “you and… you just want to be by yourself, you don’t want to be with me anymore, luka.”

“what are you talking about?” he questions, now even more confused.

“i heard you!” you say as you jab a finger into his chest, “you told your friends that you missed being single and—and you didn’t like having me around. so i… i just thought that if i stopped being around you so much, that you would break up with me. at least then it would make sense.”

you have tears pricking your eyes. luka is almost the same, simply by looking at you. he knows what you’re talking about.

“i know it’s impossible, but i sometimes wish you and i were the same,” you mumble out, “it’s hard for the both of us, i guess. i’m sorry.”

he lets out a small sigh to himself before a smile dawns on his lips. he pushes his hair back and tugs you closer, gently.

“c’mere,” he mutters out. you’re reluctant, but seeing him with a sorry smile makes you step forward and wrap your arms around his waist. he holds you around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of your head. “oh, you poor thing. that must’ve been holding you down all weekend.”

“luka…” you say against his shoulder as tears stain his blazer.

“i know, baby, i’m sorry,” he shushes you, “i didn’t know you were nearby when i said that, i confused you. i wasn’t talking about you, sweetheart. i was talking about how much i missed being a solo idol.”

you blink and slowly lift your head from him. with slightly puffy eyes and an embarrassed look on your face, you stare at him.

“solo idol?” you repeat.

he chuckles and reaches a hand up to brush away the tears from your cheek.

“yes, i was talking about music,” he states, “not you, my love. i’m sorry that i said it that way, i didn’t intend on making you feel that way. i would’ve never said something like that if i knew it would make you feel like this.”

you can’t even look at him anymore. you cover your face with your hands.

“ah, i’m so sorry, luka,” you mumble into your hands, “i made a big deal out of nothing.”

“it’s okay, i understand, sweet thing,” he replies to you, “you can make it up to me with that picnic date if you feel so inclined.”

you nod your head at him before luka begins pressing chaste kisses to your tear-stained cheeks.

“aw, look at you, my poor baby,” he says to you, “don’t ever think i’d say such a thing. you’re my favourite person in the world, okay? don’t want you thinking otherwise.”

you wipe away your tears and nod your head again with a smile. luka grins as well at your return of personality. he leans forward and finally presses a sweet kiss to your lips.

“now c’mon,” he says after he pulls away from you, “let’s skip the planning stuff and go get something to eat.”

“no, luka," you chuckle out as he tries to drag you away. he forgets that you take your job as class president seriously. "i need to talk to class c's representative about their event."

"ivan's such a bore," he groans, "hang out with me instead."

you have to pull him by his blazer back to his classroom as he sulks behind you. you were glad that things were back to normal, at least.

SPARKS AMIDST THE SNOW

scaramouche x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, second chance romance ⤀ synopsis: he meets you again for the first time since erasing himself from irminsul, and new hope flickers in the barren cold. ⤀ notes: for the best reading experience, pls think of the outro to all too well (10 min version) while u read this !

When Scaramouche inevitably accompanies the golden haired traveller on their journey to Snezhnaya, the last thing he expected was a pit stop in your little village on the outskirts of the capital. and although his puppet body does not shrink in the face of this nation's biting cold, his skin burns under the curious, yet cautious, gaze of those once familiar to him.

He keeps his head down, dipping his hat so that its large brim might hide his visage, eager to avoid any unwarranted attention. Still, his eyes cannot help but wander and his heart, imaginary as it may be, cannot help but wonder.

Were you well? The last he'd seen of you, he had promised to return a god — one who would whisk you away from the barren cold of Snezhnaya to live out your days in glory as his mortal consort. But for all that had transpired, and then that fateful traipse beneath the Irminsul, he's now no more than just another stranger passing through — fleeting as the falling snow, just another memory to be buried in the desolate stillness of winter.

He cares not for the stars in the sky, yet somehow they still dictate that his traveling companions would task him with purchasing commodities, of course from your family's stall. He's long grown out of his naivety; knows that in this infinite realm of possibilities, there’d always be the chance of meeting you again, slim as it may be. If it really came to, he had been prepared to let you live your life, free of him this time around, but it seems this world has its own twisted sense of humor, for he cannot tear his eyes from the ring that sits upon your finger.

"That ring. Where did you get it?" He's never been one for small talk, but the biting curiosity rivals that of the wind, as it chips away at his exterior. He keeps his tone even, ignoring the multitude of emotions whirring in his head, though irritation clearly seems to buzz the loudest.

It should have been impossible that a ring he'd forged with his own hands should still exist, but as the fate of this world has yet to reflect that… if he hadn't given you the ring, then how? Or perhaps even who... the cold, gunmetal glint laughs in his face as your swift fingers wrap up his purchase.

The stranger's question takes you by surprise, and you look up, taken aback by the intensity of his indigo gaze — beautiful, and bitter, and so blatantly familiar, yet you cannot quite figure out why.

Your village is nowhere near the main road, so it isn't often that you'd host any foreign guests; even if you did, you're sure you'd remember if someone like that were to ever have passed through. Nevertheless, you flex your fingers, pulled out of your thoughts by his impatient sigh.

"I'm not sure. I've had it ever since I could remember."

You're the same as he remembers, he thinks. A rose amidst the snow, with frost resting in your hair and on the curls of your lashes. Out of habit, he takes your hand, inspecting the ring at a closer proximity.

'How rude,' you think. and yet your hand in his, feels comfortable, and warm, and right. Like an electric charge drawing two magnets home to the other. It’d be blasphemy to pull away, but you manage to do so anyway, furrowing your brows at his boldness, the frown on your lips more so a reflection of your confusion, rather than displeasure.

“If you wanted to look, you could’ve just asked,” you mumble, as you slip the ring off your finger, offering it to him in the palm of your hand.

The detailed metalwork, the particular branding imprinted in the iron… there’s no denying the influence of the raiden gokaden, though it was perhaps, a subconscious decision made from muscle memory. In hindsight, he thinks that, in the moment, he must have felt—still feels—that same overwhelming affection that came as second nature to kabukimono. after all, it was forged as a promise of his love, and there’s no question about it when, hidden beneath his clothes, its pair hangs on a chain around his neck.

"It’s made with excellent craftsmanship," he boasts, "any merchant worth their weight, would give you a good price for it." He figures you might as well get something out of it, and a piece like this, though meaningless now, is still sure to last you until at least the next winter.

But a stubborn pout is painted across your snow-kissed features. "Absolutely not! it’s actually quite dear to me, you know..."

Scaramouche scoffs at the irony. ‘Why?’ he wants to ask. He is not foolish enough to believe himself an exception from the rules of this world; not when he's already convinced himself to give up on chasing the impossible. Still, here you are, turning destiny on its head — his heart, right within reach.

“It can’t be that dear, if you’d so willingly hand it off to a stranger.” his face reveals nothing, though he cannot say the same for the bile that rises in his throat. He crosses his arms, a brow raised in skepticism. "How do you know I won't run off with it right now?"

“I don’t,” you start, “so I suppose you could call it a leap of faith.”

“Or a doomed attempt at flight,” he counters. “You’d leave something so precious up to fate?”

You ponder for a moment as to why you feel so drawn to this stranger, why this back and forth comes so easily, why you seem to somehow just trust him.

"We don’t get many visitors here,” you start, “and as fate should have it, the day we do, it happens to be someone as interesting as you. that must count for something, no?”

The realist he’s learned to embody rolls his eyes at such ridiculous notions: your blind optimism… putting such faith in these false stars…. but the tenderness he had buried begs to differ, planting roots between the cavities of his chest, sprouting until it breaks through the surface.

He takes a further study of the intricate details, the careful inazuman script engraved on its body. ‘My heart,’ he had wrote.

Scaramouche dips his head as his fingers close a fist around the piece, the large brim of his hat hiding the fondness glimmering in his eyes, and the ghostly smile settling on his lips. He does not cringe as he recalls the lingering remnants of Kabukimono's innocence: stubbornly deluding himself to believe that his hollowed chest was naught for his natural lack of a heart, but because fate had dictated you to be its keeper.

Perhaps the warmth of sumeru had indeed rubbed off on him — melted the frost that crawled upon and tore his skin, whilst teaching him to hope again, not for anyone else’s sake, but for his own. What was that Vahumana saying? It’s difficult for people to truly understand themselves — and as much as he’d like to disagree, judging by his current predicament, he knows he cannot.

“Have you ever considered that this ring might be one half of a pair?” he tosses it in the air, nonchalantly, as if he were merely flipping a coin, catching it mid-way before you have the chance to swipe it back.

“What do you suppose fate would have to say about that?”

It’s almost impossible to tell whether he’s truly genuine in his queries, but the mischievous gleam in his bright eyes, and the smug look on his face, seem to nullify any regards you may have had. Your brows twitch in vexation. was he not just here to buy provisions? And yet he toys with you so…

“Well if that were the case, then it would be between me and whoever owns the other half,” you huff, reaching over once again in an attempt to snatch back your belonging, only to miss by mere seconds thanks to a quick slight of his hand.

Breathing out something between a chuckle and a scoff, Scaramouche tugs at the thin chain around his neck, hard enough for it to snap right off, and toss in your direction.

"A leap of faith," he says plainly. it lands in the palms of your hands: a ring, near identical. 'My soul' it reads. If he lacked a heart, then it could only have been forged from his soul.

A flurry of questions swarm in your head, as you stare at his ring. you want to ask him why and how, but he's already pivoted away, the tassels of his hat barely missing you by inches, as he quickly grabs his purchase.

“Who are you,” you manage to blurt out, calling out to him, and asking him to wait, so he might answer these questions he’s planted in your heart, but he only bids you farewell with a lazy wave of his hand.

Though there's nothing he'd like more than to hear the sweet song of his name falling from your lips, he's learned it best to leave the past where it belongs. once he's settled his scores... Then he'll get his second chance with you—he'll make sure of it, vowing to come back for you, not as Kunikuzushi who you had once known him, but he hopes you might one day be able to love him as he is, as well.

‘My soul’ your new ring reads. You shake your head, pursing your lips at the mysterious wanderer, wondering if you’d ever see him again, but a gust of wind blows your way — not a prickling cold as you’re used to, but a warm summer breeze that seems to caress your cheeks so sweetly.

Perhaps it's only in your head, but you swear the wind seems to carry the whisper of a name in its flurry. 'And don't you forget it,' it seems to say.

notes2: pleaseeee associate this with the outro of all too well (10 min version) like imagine the camera slow panning out amidst the falling snow, to the hopes of another chance together (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄‸o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝) anyways, tysm for reading, reblogs/feedback vry much appreciated ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform