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trriviall · 1 day ago

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OFFLINE CHAPTER 1

Summary: a 2000's pazzi au where azzi just won a championship and paige is a ceo of a nonprofit and runs downtown LA nightlife

warnings: none

wk: 4.3 k

Azzi is on a high right now.

She might also be high.

But who cares? The locker room is loud, music and screams are bouncing off the walls, champagne is being thrown in the air, and Azzi’s cheeks hurt from her non-stop grinning.

It’s 2001 and the L.A. Sparks have just won the WNBA championships, defeating the Charlotte Sting. And Azzi? Azzi was at the center of it all. Her buzzer beater 3-pointer was what the purple and yellow team needed to win the second game, declaring them rightful champions.

For the Sparks, the first game was fairly easy. The first half was gritty; bodies flying on the floor and arguments exchanged. But by the second half, Azzi’s shots were falling, Dearica’s defense was rock solid, and Cameron was putting up points inside the paint like it was nothing.

The second game looked very different.

At halftime, the Sparks were down by 13. The locker room was silent while Coach spoke. The game didn’t start turning around for the Sparks until the fourth quarter. By then, the Sting had gotten comfortable with their lead and started playing sloppy. And if the Sparks knew how to do one thing, it was to put up a fight.

So fight they did. Every time a cut was too slow, a pass too low, or a rebound gone long, the Sparks were there. And when the clock winded down, they were down by two. So of course Dearica managed to find Cameron in the paint, who managed to find a wide open Azzi Fudd in the corner. Rookie mistake on the Sting's part, really.

So now, press was done, and the team could really celebrate. They were all in various states of undressed, champagne and sweat soaked closed tossed aside. Azzi had lost her jersey and her shoes in the chaos, sauntering around the locker room in her uniform shorts and a champagne bottle, her charming smile displayed on her lips. Cam, miraculously, was still in her jersey, though her shoes and socks were lost. Once the blonde’s eyes landed on Azzi, she stood from her locker and wrapped her slender arms around Azzi’s shorter frame. Cam smelled of sweat, lingering floral body spray, and bubbly champagne. Azzi guessed she smelled just about the same, so she had no room to complain.

“To the people’s princess!” Cam said, raising her arm that wasn’t around Azzi in the air. The rest of the team follow suit with cheers, sticky, half empty champagne bottles being raised in the air.��

“For saving our asses out there,” Dearica said, a full grin on her face. Her championship t-shirt was soaked with champagne. “Still can’t believe they left you wide open.” Azzi blushed, her cheeks flushing.

“I’m surprised it went in,” Azzi replied. Her soft voice a little more hoarse than normal. The combination of being drunk, a little high, and screaming the entire game catching up to her. Beside her, Cam scoffed, shaking her head.

“Ever humble,” Cam grumbled. She turned back to the rest of the team, a sly grin making its way to her face. “I think we should celebrate.”

“I thought that was the plan,” Rae spoke up from her locker, a blunt dangling from her slender fingers. Azzi was amazed that her lashes stayed on throughout the brutal champagne shower. “Go on a little bender. Party tonight, wake up for the parade tomorrow, party after that.”

“Where are we going to go on such short notice?” Azzi said, always the voice of reason. No club would have enough space in their VIP section for an entire team at this time of night. The locker room fell silent, Azzi’s words settling in.

“We could just push it to tomorrow night,” Dearica said, shrugging her shoulders. “I need food before I drink anymore.”

“Nah,” Kelsey said, standing up. Azzi wondered what happened to her uniform, the guard standing in a sports bra and spandex. “Cam’s got connections. She can get us into any club in L.A.. For free.”

The team eagerly turned their heads towards the blonde, who was taking a large sip from her bottle. Azzi subtly rolled her eyes, before turning her attention to her best friend. She too wanted to know what this “connection” Cam had could do for the team.

“Connection?” Cameron asked, sounding as confused as the rest of the team looked. “I don’t have any connections.”

“Cam, your sister runs the downtown nightlife,” Kelsey said. “Give her a call, I bet she can get us a VIP table somewhere nice.”

“Who’s your sister?” Sarah Ashlee-Barker asked. For once, Azzi wasn’t annoyed at her nosy questions and naturally curious vibe. She had been teammates with Cam for two years, and didn’t know who this connection was, or who Cam’s sister was. Cameron shook her head, before pulling away from Azzi. Her arm left a wet feeling on the back of Azzi’s neck, and she couldn’t tell if it was sweat or champagne. She didn’t want to know.

Cameron plopped down in her locker cubby, rummaging around in her locker before pulling out her phone. It was an all black Nokia, one of the newer versions. Azzi wasn’t even sure the model she had was out yet. Come to think of it, Azzi could confidently assume that Cam got it from another connection she had. After the press of a few buttons, Cam put the phone up to her ear, the line ringing. The locker room was silent, every player eager to catch a few words of Cam’s conversation.

Azzi wanted to know who was on the other end of the line, simply because she wanted to know what she was getting herself into. If Cam’s connection was some shady guy who only accepted payments in the form of good deeds, Azzi was more than happy to get take-out on her way home and crash in her apartment.

Azzi didn’t know if it was possible, but the locker room went even quieter when they heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line after the call connected. Azzi couldn’t make out any words, but the voice was deep yet soft at the same time. She figured he was some L.A. playboy, the type MTV wanted for music videos and girls fawned over in rom-coms.

“I need a favor,” Cam said. The room was silent, and Cam made an offended face before speaking up again. “You’re speaking to a champion right now. I just need one favor for tonight so we can all celebrate. We can’t get a good table for the entire team on such short notice, you know this. Help your sister out?”

Azzi smiled to herself when she heard the person on the other end of the line go silent, before they let out a long breath. Thirty seconds later, Cam snapped her phone shut and turned to the team with a wide grin.

“Congrats champs. We just got a VIP table at 5 Nights!”

Azzi wasn’t too sure she knew what 5 Nights was. She wasn’t even sure she had ever even heard of it. Azzi didn’t go out a lot, and never without a reason. When she did, it was mostly to her brothers club just three blocks away from her apartment. That way, if she had one too many drinks, she could stumble the quick walk home. And if she was too far gone, her brother was right there.

Cam had told the team to put on their sluttiest outfits and meet at her apartment in an hour. Which meant they would be meeting at Azzi’s apartment because Cameron lived right across the hall from Azzi, and always seemed to be over.

Azzi wanted to roll her eyes when Cam walked into her room as she was getting ready, and told her that her outfit was too modest.

“You have an ass and abs babe, show them off,” Cam said, before tearing apart Azzi’s closet. Clothes were spilling out when Cam returned with an outfit for Azzi to wear. Azzi’s jaw dropped, and she immediately shook her head.

“My entire ass will be out, no way.”

“That’s like, the whole point,” Cam said. “Besides, everyone else is bringing their A game. Kelsey called me, she’s wearing leather shorts. Short shorts.”

“This isn’t college,” Azzi said, turning back to her vanity to finish her makeup.

“Exactly. So we can reveal a little more.” Cameron sighed when Azzi didn’t respond. Cam sat down on the end of Azzi’s bed, crossing one leg over the other. Azzi glanced at her through the mirror, her high boots falling just below her knees. Her jean skirt was teetering on the edge of too short, making Azzi have to glance twice to make sure nothing slipped.

“I have a reputation to uphold.” Azzi finally said, turning around on her stool to face the blonde. Cam glanced at her low waisted jeans and full length top, shaking her head.

“It’s like you said, this isn’t college. This is your third year in the league, venture out some more. People aren't going to try to torch you for showing some skin. Besides, who’s going to see?”

“Tabloids?” Azzi said, confused. Cam scoffed, waving a hand in the air.

“Screw the tabloids. Get sexy. Show off that ass and those abs, I beg. Take someone home. You’re a girl with needs, babe.” Azzi rolled her eyes, but there was no heat behind them. Azzi watched as Cam left the room, tugging down her skirt as she went.

Azzi had spent the past season focused on nothing but basketball. The whole team did, really. They knew that this could be their year. So she curved everyone that came her way, and anything else that could be a possible distraction. She turned up the princess charm, throwing charming grins at reporters who doubted her and the team's ability to win it all this year.

Azzi sighed and stood up, having basked in enough silence. Azzi threw on the skirt and top Cam picked out for her, before slipping on white kitten heels. Azzi grabbed a bag and threw her lip gloss and phone inside, as well as some cash before leaving her room, shutting the door behind her.

She was in for a night.

Paige was tired. 5 Nights seemed to be more packed than normal for a Thursday night, even in LA. Paige had already had to deal with an almost fight, a couple hooking up in the bathroom, and a girl crying so hard her tears were coated in her running mascara. Paige was just glad that Cam would be here soon and she could unwind.

She was also glad that Nika was right by her side, reminding her that despite the current chaos, she did like her job. Sometimes.

“How long?” Nika asked, settling across from Paige in the rounded booth. Paige glanced at her watch, squinting to read the time through the club lights reflecting off the silver.

“Should be any minute,” Paige said. “Cam called almost two hours ago.” Nika nodded before flagging down one of the bottle girls walking around with a tray. Nika grabbed two shots from the tray, before winking at the girl and sending her on her way. Nika placed a shot in Paige’s hands, and they clinked their glasses together before knocking them back in sync.

Nika placed her now empty glass on the table, Paige following suit, before crossing her legs and looking at her best friend. “How do you feel knowing you’re going to be surrounded by hot basketball girls all night?” Paige scoffed, shaking her head at Nika’s words. Nika laughed to herself, a sly smirk on her face.

“I feel indifferent.” Paige said shrugging her shoulders, though Nika saw right through it.

“Indifferent my ass,” Nika scoffed. She leaned forward, crossing her arms over the table. “You’ve been obsessed with Azzi for months now. Honestly? I’m surprised it took you this long to meet her.”

“I have not been obsessed,” Paige tried to defend, but it fell upon deaf ears.

Nika quickly picked up on Paige’s sudden interest in the WNBA over the past few months. Sure Paige had always watched it and kept up with their season considering Cam was her sister. But recently, she wanted to watch a lot more games, forcing Nika to miss her nightly episodes of Temptation Island. It was easy to pick up on Paige’s sudden interest in keeping up with Cam’s teammates stats, something she never cared for in the past.

And it was so easy to pick up on Paige’s sudden interest in the sports section of the newspaper. Nika didn’t read the newspaper, and Paige didn’t care for it, so it typically piled up throughout the week in their mailbox until one of them caved and cleared it. However, Nika has been greeted by the sight of Paige drinking her plain black coffee in the morning while reading the newspaper, instead of arguing with her assistant on many occasions over the summer.

“Paige, you bought season tickets to Sparks games.”

“And?” Paige shrugged. “What’s the harm in supporting my sister?”

Paige could care less about supporting her sister. Well, she could care less about supporting her sister’s team. Paige had kept up with Cam’s stats and how she was doing ever since she entered the league. She knew Cam’s practice schedule, game schedule, helped her with tunnel fits, and even worked out with her sometimes. But Paige never cared to learn Cam’s teammates names, their stats, or anything about them. She had never even met them.

And it wasn’t that Paige didn’t care. It was that she didn’t care enough to work in another social group into her busy life. She had clubs and bars to manage, a company to run, a dog to tend to, and parents to please. She didn’t care to make time.

But that all changed a few months ago ahead of the 2001 season. Paige had been working out with Cam at Paige’s private gym, when Cam mentioned how excited she was for this upcoming season. Particularly, how excited she was for the return of her favorite teammate.

“I’m so excited for Azzi to be back on the court,” Cam had said, making small talk to make the minute plank go by faster. “She looked really good during training camp. Her shots were crisp and falling every time.” Paige really wasn’t paying attention, so Cam kept talking. “We would have gone a lot farther with her last year. But that’s in the past. I can tell she wants to win this year even more than the rest of us.”

Paige glanced at the clock above the door, dropping to the floor. Cam followed suit, groaning loudly and complaining about sore limbs. Paige had rolled her eyes and grabbed a sweat towel and wiped her face down.

“Not to mention she looks great,” Cam continued. “Taking a season off treated her well. She’s all long legs and charming smiles now. The paps love her. She doesn’t have a bad side, I’m telling you.”

“I’m pretty sure if the paparazzi loved her, I’d have seen her by now.” Paige said. With as many high end bars that Paige owned and ran, she had celebrities coming in and out. She liked to keep up with everyone coming in and out of her bars and clubs. And she had never heard of this Azzi girl, so how popular could she really be?

“You better look her up,” Cam had said, standing up. “She is everything everyone wants to be. I’m just glad I don’t have to guard her.”

So Paige had gone home and looked her up. And it’s safe to say that was the day Paige decided she would keep up with the rest of Cam’s team.

Now, sitting in a booth in 5 Nights, Paige was giddy on the inside. Cam was right. Azzi was everything everyone wanted to be. She had a charming smile she knew how to use, kind eyes that caught everyone’s attention, and a clean form that everyone wished they had. Paige hadn’t even met her, and she was ready to risk it all for her.

Paige spotted Cam the moment she walked in the bar. Her tall frame stood out amongst everyone else’s. Paige caught her eyes, and tilted her head, signaling she could come back. The bouncer in front of the VIP section, Morgan, didn’t even stop them. She let them right in, closing the rope behind them. Paige stood to greet Cam, the taller girl wrapping her arms around Paige. Paige could tell Cam was already a little tipsy, if her stumbling over her own feet was anything to go off of.

“Paigey!” Cam said, rocking the pair back and forth. Cam pulled back, a dopey grin on her face. “Thank you so much for getting us in. I seriously owe you.” Paige shook her head, shoving her hands in the pockets of her loose slacks.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Perfect,” Cam grinned. “First round on you then.” Cam patted Paige’s shoulder, before turning towards the booth to greet Nika. Paige rolled her eyes, but gestured for one of the bottle girls to bring a round of shots for everyone.

“Paige, these are my teammates. Everyone say hi,” Cam said, standing behind Paige. “This is her best friend Nika, she’s the nicer one.” Paige rolled her eyes again, something she often found herself doing anytime she was around Cam.

Cam insisted she introduced Paige to everyone. So for the next hour, Cam drunkenly tugged her by the arm so Paige could meet her teammates. Paige was pretty sure almost everyone was very drunk, because most of the conversations consisted of Cam’s high pitched laughter, whichever teammate they were talking to joining in, and Paige staring at them confused. Paige figured she would be the only one to remember these interactions the next day.

That was until Cam pulled her back to the booth two hours later, making Paige sit down next to her. Across from the blonde pair, Nika chatted animatedly with Azzi fudd. Paige had missed her when the team first came in, most likely hiding in the back.

The tabloids didn’t do her justice. No blurry photo online or a colorless printed one in the newspaper could compare to Azzi Fudd’s real life beauty. Her smile was radiant, and her skin was glowing. Something about her was warm, she felt like the type of person anyone would get along with. Her curls, slightly damp from her shower, sat on her shoulders, complimenting her cheekbones. From across the table, Paige admired her white top. It was the kind that was basically a bra with mesh covering the torso. Paige couldn’t see what bottoms she was wearing, but she assumed they were criminal.

“Azzi! This is my sister, Paige,” Cam said, extending her arm across the table to tap Azzi’s arm and grab her attention. Azzi’s eyes bounced from Cam to the figure next to her. Azzi’s expression didn’t change, not allowing Paige to get a read on what she was thinking. Paige extended her hand, holding it out for Azzi to shake. Azzi glanced at it, before extending her own hand.

To Paige’s surprise, Azzi’s hand was soft. Paige figured anyone with handles as good as Azzi’s would spend hours in the gym, making her hands calloused but hardworking.

“This is Paige’s club!” Cam yelled over the music. “She owns this one and a few others downtown.” Azzi glanced at Paige with an impressed expression, one brow raised. Paige blushed and shook her head, offering up an explanation.

“This is the only club I own. Nika helps me run it. Me and Nika just sponsor a lot of bars and clubs downtown.” Azzi nodded her head, picking up her drink and taking a slow sip before responding.

“Sounds like the humble way of saying they aren’t anything without you.” Paige laughed to herself, surprised at Azzi’s ability to be blunt in the softest way possible.

“Pretty much.” Paige replied. Her eyes never left Azzi’s, watching the basketball star examine her. Paige was doing the same thing. Her eyes traced the cure of Azzi’s lips and watched her long lashes flutter every time she blinked.

“What else do you do?” Azzi asked, her soft voice managing to reach Paige over the bass of the music.

“I’m the CEO of a non-profit.” Paige said.

“What does your company do?” It was a miracle Paige was still talking when Azzi’s velvety smooth voice was practically taunting her.

“We help provide therapy to kids.Especially any kid going through a rough time.” Azzi nodded her head like she approved of Paige’s company. And honestly? Paige was glad. Azzi smiled softly at Paige, before taking another sip of her drink.

“Come dance!” Cam said, scooting all the way around the booth to push Nika and Azzi out on the other side. Nika choked on her drink before stumbling out of the booth. Somehow, Nika’s low waisted pinstripe pants looked perfect for the setting, fitting right in with everyone else’s more skimpy club outfits.

When Azzi stood up, Paige had to do a double take. She wore a mini leather skirt that sat just below a dangly belly ring. Her long legs made the skirt look even shorter than it was. But Paige wasn’t convinced it was very long at all, considering she watched as Azzi tugged it down when she stood up. Cam slid out of the booth next, grabbing Azzi’s free hand that wasn’t holding Nika’s.

“We’ll be back P,” Nika said, before leaving the VIP section to join the rest of the team on the dance floor. Paige shamelessly watched as Azzi’s hips swayed as she walked away, her flip flop heels making her walk look more attractive. When Paige finally tore her eyes away from Azzi, she was met with Cam glancing over her shoulder at her, a sly smirk on her face. Paige knew she was caught. But for some reason she couldn’t care less.

Azzi was at the level of tipsy where you were more loose than normal, able to let go, but you were still conscious enough not to make bad decisions. She knew she was tipsy, which was how she knew she wasn’t drunk enough.

She checked her gold watch as Nika dragged her to the dance floor, making Cam have to raise her hand. It was just after one, which meant Azzi would probably cool it off the drinks. Azzi felt Cam lean closer to her over her shoulder, and something told her Cam wanted to start something.

“What do you think of Paige?” Cam asked.

“She’s cool,” Azzi replied.

“What else? I was catching hella vibes from you two.”

“From what? Our two minute conversation about her job?” Azzi asked with a laugh.

“No, from your intense eye contact and the way she eyed you walking away.” Azzi scoffed, shaking her head.

“As if. Get a grip, Cam.”

“I’m just saying, I caught mad vibes between you two. It wouldn’t hurt to get with a baller.” Azzi glanced over her shoulder with a bored expression.

“Bite me.”

Cam snorted, before Azzi fondly rolled her eyes, no real harm behind her words. Nika stopped, pulling Azzi and Cam closer to her. Azzi vaguely recognized the song being played through the loud speakers, the bass making her head buzz. Even though she was only tipsy, the loud music combined with Cam and Nika’s energy put Azzi in the right mood to let go and truly celebrate.

So when “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-A-Lot came on, Azzi screamed, turning to Cam with wide eyes.

“Biatch! This is your song!” Cam yelled. Nika, even though she didn’t know what was going on, was matching the two girls' energy. Azzi, with a grin on her face, turned around so her back was pressed to Cam’s front, two two girls moving their hips in sync. Azzi was met with Nika’s front, who was dancing in sync with the two basketball girls.

Going to college in the middle of nowhere, UConn, there wasn’t much else to do besides party when you weren’t in class or at practice. All throughout college, “Baby Got Back” had been Azzi’s anthem. It was what got her going and brought out her best moves. Azzi had lost count on how many people she grinded on when this song started playing. Most of the time, it was her best friend Caroline when they were out celebrating wins.

Azizi felt Cam place her hands on her hips, before she turned Azzi around. Now, Azzi’s back was pressed to Nika’s front. The three girls kept it up, passing Azzi back and forth between the two. Azzi got lost in the music, her skirt riding up slightly, grinding on Nika and Cam. After all, Baby’s got back, right?

From the VIP section, Paige was dying. She had never seen anyone dance like Azzi. With the good girl narrative the tabloids portrayed her as, Paige was one of the imbeciles who fell for it. Never in her life would Paige think she would meet the “people’s princess” and then catch her grinding on two girls in the same night. Azzi carried herself with so much poise that Paige didn’t think it was something the curly haired girl had in her.

Paige quickly looked away when Azzi caught her eye from her position between the two girls, and her full lips curved into a smirk. Paige quietly cursed to herself. Never in her life would she imagine a girl would have her blushing.

Paige was never the chaser. She was always the chased. The media portrayed her as a playboy who had a different person in her bed every night. And while that was not true, Paige was the one luring in one night stands just to never call them back. People fell at her feet, and she let them. Just because Paige wasn’t picky on who she slept with didn’t mean she was run through. She did have standards. Most of the time, whoever landed at her feet that particular night was disappointed. All Paige really craved was a good makeout session. Once she got that, she sent the person on their way.

Paige was never the one falling at someone else's feet.

But right now, Paige would happily fall at Azzi’s feet. Heck, she would get on her knees and kiss them if Azzi asked.

#paige x azzi #pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconn wbb #pazzi fics #pazzi is real #paige bueckers fic #azzi fudd fic #wbb #uconn #wnba #whitechocolate535

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httpknjoon · 3 days ago

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the princess and the rockstar | jjk [1]

plot | Once upon a time, there was a crowd-favorite crown princess who found herself romantically involved with a famous rockstar. See how they will try to navigate the world and maybe live happily ever after.

w.c | 3.3k

genres | angst, fluff, modern royalty!au, celebrity!au, established relationship!au

pairing | rockstar!jungkook x princess!reader

note | oh my god, finally. i'm here, it's here. almost took me years to finally write the chapters. this is the first chapter, I just broadened the spotted drabble. but I hope you'll enjoy reading it :)

main masterlist | series masterlist | spotify playlist

[AN EXCERPT FROM THE INTERVIEW]

Growing up in a palace may seem like a fairy tale for most people, but for Queen YN, the Sapphire Palace is home. Born a year after her father was crowned as the king, Queen YN of Zafiro was introduced to the royal lifestyle before she could even learn how to talk.

“I think I learned the royalty’s etiquette first before saying my first words,” she quipped with a small smile. “This might come off as unexpected, but my mother is much stricter than my dad when it comes to our behavior. She was my first teacher in everything and made sure that we followed every rule in the book.”

With her mother’s strict upbringing, Queen YN was already aware from a very young age that she was not just like any other kids in her old preparatory school. She shared how her mother will teach her about royal traditions and responsibility, while her father will balance everything out by organizing a weekly family event like a movie marathon night, where they would just watch films Queen YN and Princess Astrid chose until they fall asleep on their unusually large couch.

“Maybe it was because they grew up in different status of life. Mom always wanted me to be a great example and do no wrong since I am the model for young Zafiroans… But now that I’m older, I thought of it as a result of the scrutiny she got as a young commoner who suddenly got everyone’s attention after marrying one of the world’s most eligible bachelors back then.”

“Isn’t this whole outfit a little too inappropriate?”

Looking up from your sketchpad, you see Astrid standing before you, rocking a themed outfit with her favorite platform boots. She looked amazing and prepared for tonight’s concert, the one she begged you to chaperone her in. But based on your mother’s tone through the video call, your sister might have to change her clothes later. She always does outfit checks whenever someone in the family has somewhere to be, wanting to make sure everyone is well-dressed.

“Sweetheart, I think it’s very much appropriate. They are going to a rock concert for Pete’s sake, everyone who’s coming will be sporting that style.”

Your father comes on the screen, saving his princesses as usual. You and Astrid shared a knowing glance as you knew what your father was doing. Even though they are a million miles away from their royal duties, you two can still sense the awkward air between your parents’ differences.

“But not everyone is a royal princess, sweetie,” your mother replied, not wanting to back down from her initial opinion.

Now this is where you step in, “Hi, Papa!”

“Hello, my princess.” Your dad waved. “And what are you wearing tonight?”

You stood up from Astrid’s bed, the one you have been lying on ever since the call started, and distanced yourself from the camera to show them the Prada dress you have on. In your mother’s standards, it’s perfectly appropriate. Covered shoulders? Check! Almost knee-length? Check! Classy and graceful? Check!

Although the dress fits your mother’s standards, you did not wear it specifically because of that. It’s just that you wouldn’t know what to wear to a rock concert, you've never been to one. Your closet lacks the style of clothes Astrid has, and even though your sister is wonderful in what she’s wearing, you don’t think you can wear something like that comfortably. It’s something new, and new is always uncomfortable to you. And the Prada dress is something familiar to you. It’s better.

“See! That’s how I want you to dress up as a princess, Astrid. Very elegant,” your mother told your sister, who’s standing next to you.

Knowing how the comment might make your little sister feel, you gave her a side hug, “Mooom, this is my style, and I think Astrid looks exceptional with her outfit. She’s so much more stylish than I am. I’m sure Vogue will write her an article as soon as they see her outfit later.”

Your mom hummed for a few seconds, “Okay. But don’t take the jacket off when you’re out of the venue.”

You felt your sister perk up beside you, “How about during the concert?”

“Fine, but no taking pictures with the leather jacket off,” she said sternly, but you and Astrid were already smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you, Mom!”

“Okay, my loves. We have to go now, and I think you two should too. Don’t make your Uncle Eddie wait, you should be ready before 7,” your father reminded you.

No matter how high his position is in Zafiro, he makes sure that his family doesn’t cause any unnecessary inconvenience to his staff members, including his courtier, whom you and Astrid always called Uncle Eddie. He has been your father’s best friend ever since middle school, where they met. They were so close that you and Astrid, the royal princesses, attended his wedding as flower girls, which was the first time that considered to be a commoner’s wedding was considered.

“We’re just going to touch up our hair and makeup. Then, we’re good,” you smiled. “Please take care there.”

“And please get me one of their wool scarves, Papa!” your younger sister exclaimed.

“We will keep that in mind, Dee-dee.” Your father smiled, calling Astrid by her childhood nickname. “Enjoy your night, okay? Listen to Eddie’s instructions—”

Your mother cuts him off, “And Astrid, listen to YN. Okay?”

“Yes, Mommy,” she nods.

After some goodbyes and ending the call, you and Astrid found yourself finishing your looks in her room. Loud music, which you assumed to be by the band you’re about to see tonight, played in Astrid’s speakers while you looked through her closet to find something that could make you fit in even a little.

“Does this go with this?” You turned around, holding her black knee-high boots next to your dress.

Astrid looked back, holding her eyeliner just above her right eye, “Yes.” She grinned, “But this isn’t a country concert, YN.”

You sighed, “Come on, I’m trying. I don’t want to look like a sore thumb in the crowd.”

“As if being the crown princess of this country is not enough for you to stand out,” she teased, making you roll your eyes. “Wear it! It goes with your dress, and I swear no one will bat an eyelash at your outfit. Everyone there will focus on the sweaty guys playing on stage.”

Sweaty guys playing on stage. The thought somehow made you cringe. What does this band do on stage anyway? You barely have any idea about Sweet September, even though they fill Astrid’s playlist in almost a hundred percent. You only read their name before in a news article about their work with the UN against cyberbullying. But other than that, nothing. Boy bands (Astrid claims they are a man-band, like, based on her words, they play real rock music.) rarely interest you. Starting when you were younger up to now, the only type of concerts you’ve been to were orchestral and jazz concerts, which are more tranquil than a rock concert.

“Do you think it will piss Mom off if I go with a black lipstick?” Astrid breaks out of your stream of thoughts.

“Definitely.”

“Perfect,” she laughed before swiping the jet-black lipstick over her lips.

You chuckled, shaking your head, as you sat on the edge of her bed to zip up the boots, “Can you, like, give me a quick briefing about this band before we go there?”

“Hmm, okay.” Astrid remained focused on the mirror. “So, Sweet September is a four-member pop-rock band that was formed two years ago. Carter is their drummer and the oldest member of the band. He’s usually the more chill and caring one, like an old grandpa,” she laughed. “Then, we have Woosung, who’s the sarcastic one. He plays the bass guitar and also produces and writes most of their songs. There’s Mingyu, their lead guitarist. He’s the funniest one and like the co-founder of the group. His sister was dating Carter, who’s now like his brother-in-law.”

“And who’s the other founder? Carter?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Astrid shook her head, “No. That would be Jungkook.”

“And what about him?” you asked after the sparkles in her eyes got brighter.

She had to pause and look at you. “He’s the lead vocalist. Also, their frontman. Really, really talented, but one of his main skills is like pulling new fans into the group. So be careful out there.”

You chuckled, figuring that she was probably just exaggerating over the guy, “Is he that good?”

“Oh my god, YN. You have no idea. He’s the face and the voice of the band! I personally love Mingyu, but man, Jungkook can easily make me switch lanes if he wants me to. That face? With that voice?! He’s God’s favorite.” Astrid went on before squinting her eyes at you. “I swear, if you see him perform tonight, you’ll get me. You might even fall in love tonight.”

“Yeah, right.” You stood up with her heavy boots and checked yourself out in her full-length mirror.

The boots feel different, but you’ll get used to them. Hopefully. You don’t have a pair since you usually opt for shoes and sandals that complement your dresses and other formal wear. For tonight, for the sake of fitting in, you wanted to mix Astrid’s fashion style with yours. Even a little.

“Your Royal Highnesses, Sir Edward asked me to tell you that your ride’s waiting outside,” a royal servant knocked on the door.

Astrid picked up her leather jacket while you reached for your purse. Smiling at her, you asked, “Let’s go?”

A thin sheet of smoke almost veiled the ‘No Smoking’ sign in the green room as Jungkook took a hit from the freshly lit cigarette stick between his fingers. He exhaled slowly, hoping that every drag would calm down his nerves.

“Hey, that’s not allowed here,” Carter comes in with his drumsticks in his hands. “Tara will kill you if she knew you’re doing that.”

Jungkook shrugged nonchalantly, “Just one.”

Carter, being the big brother he is, picked up something in their youngest’s behavior. He knew Jungkook did not smoke regularly. The last time he saw him smoke was earlier this year during the launch of their second album. Twirling his drumstick between his fingers, Carter sat back on the sofa.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook shook his head. “It’s just it’s a first show for this tour, and my heart’s already exploding.”

“Alright, that’s okay. But the moment you hit the stage, whatever you’re feeling will be gone anyway,” the older smiled, tapping his shoulder.

Jungkook smiled, but his shoulders remained tensed. When the door swung open, he immediately soaked the cigarette in the soda can on the table. He quietly hoped the air diffuser in the room would clear out the cigarette smell to avoid their manager’s reprimands. But it was Mingyu who came in, unaware. He has his eyes glued to his phone.

“Do you think they’re coming?” he suddenly asked, looking up at Jungkook as he sat next to him.

Jungkook raised a brow, “Who?”

“Zafiro’s royal family.”

That made the lead vocalist and the drummer chuckle, which offended Mingyu, who got defensive, “Okay, I am not being delusional here. But I think we all know that the younger princess is a big fan.”

“Doesn’t mean she’ll drag the whole family here,” Carter laughs, shaking his head.

“You never know… And you,” Mingyu points his finger at his best friend, “Don’t act like you will not be delighted if Princess YN shows up here tonight.”

The name is not new in Jungkook’s ears. Hell, even in his head, Princess YN is not a new visitor. He knew a few facts about her than a normal person would, but he can justify that by saying that she was (or is) basically his recent fascination. Is four years ago still considered recent?

He knew you were the same age as him. You have been in the limelight so much longer than him, and probably handle the attention much better than he does. He is aware of the royal protocols. Or that one Vogue article you wrote to raise awareness about Zafiro’s rising jewelry exports. You have your advocacy, just like any other royal family member, but something about you stuck with him the first time he saw you in a magazine interview clip years ago.

He remembered replaying that short six-minute interview over and over again, where you talk about things that Jungkook usually finds boring. But the smile that glows on your face as you tell stories pulled him in.

“She won’t,” Jungkook mumbled confidently, but he could feel his fingers itching for another stick of cigarette.

“You two will have your own entrance and exit spots. Ronnie and Ben would accompany you two to the entrance and would meet you at the same gate after the concert.”

Your father’s trusty courtier, Eddie, guided you and your sister on what you’re supposed to do. There were rules you had to remember, so you listened carefully to make sure you won’t forget a thing. Especially since Astrid practically begged your parents not to have bodyguards with her for tonight, wanting to feel that sense of normalcy for once.

“Is that all, Uncle?”

Astrid already had her arms crossed as she asked that. It’s been fifteen minutes since your car arrived in front of this secret entrance to the concert. But because of the King’s instructions, you two were held up.

Eddie smiled, noticing your sister’s tone, “I know you are excited about this concert, Your Royal Highness. But His Majesty still has one last message… and this is a very important one, so listen.” Your sister sighed, you leaned forward to hear whatever his about to say, “Please remind my lovely girls to enjoy the night amidst my tiring instructions. Take pictures and sing along. I would love to hear stories from them about this very important concert, based on what my Astrid said, when my queen and I get back from our short trip to Scotland. Follow what your Uncle Eddie says.”

A small smile formed on your lips with that. Finally, Eddie lets you two go with your bodyguards until the gate. Then, a nice concert staff welcomed you into the venue and led you and your sister to your seats.

“Oh, my god. I cannot believe Papa let us come here alone,” your sister said as she slipped the Xyloband into her wrist.

“I know…” Your voice trailed off when you heard the people singing along to the song playing not too far away. You turned to the staff, “Excuse me, is the concert starting already?”

“No, Ma’am. We’re just playing the band’s music videos before they perform on stage. But they will be performing in a few minutes.”

You nodded with that. It didn’t take long for you to get into your seats. The seats are not that close or far from the main stage, and it’s in the center. For safety purposes, your father and the security team agreed not to put you two in the floor area where you can see the band better and closer. Nonetheless, you knew Astrid would love any seat she would get in this place.

Since you heard from Astrid that the tickets were sold out as soon as it’s started selling, you assumed your father pulled some strings to make this possible. It made you wonder even more what’s good in Sweet September. Other than Astrid's introduction earlier, you made an effort to read a couple of articles about them, and you later learned that tonight is the start of their world tour. You learned that they have a huge following in your country, and fans petitioned for them to visit Zafiro, which resulted in tonight.

“Oh, look at that! Look at those signs!”

Your sister was laughing while she pointed her finger all over the crowded arena. The joy on her face was enough for you to smile. But still, your eyes followed where she was pointing. Each sign has big, bold, easily noticeable letters and words. They were aggressive and funny, with one of them asking to put oil on the lead vocalist’s body.

What was that supposed to mean?

You wanted to ask Astrid, but she was already talking to another fan who was sitting beside her. The fan seemed surprised and delighted at the same time when she locked eyes with you for a second. You just smiled. As a highly-regarded crown princess, you know that they least expect you to show up at a rock concert next to them. You then turned to your other side, where you immediately locked eyes with a lady who seemed a bit older than you. She instantly looked away and slowly looked back after a few seconds, thinking that you were not looking at her anymore. But you are. And you can tell who she is by her awkward aura and stiff movements.

As part of showing respect to a royal, a commoner cannot talk to you unless you speak to them first. So you decided to say something in a mumble, “Did the King hire you?”

You don’t want your sister to hear it. You want her to focus on the fact that she is free from your parents’ overprotectiveness tonight. You can read the hesitation on the woman’s face, but you can already tell that she is a secret security agent Eddie hired.

“It’s fine. I understand,” you gave her a reassuring smile. “Please, enjoy the concert too.”

The woman nods and bows subtly. Turning away, you see, Astrid had already made new friends. They were taking pictures and talking about their excitement for tonight until one of the girls told her,

“It’s a surprise to see you in here, Your Royal Highness.”

“Please, just call me Astrid, or you can add that princess title if you’re uncomfortable with calling me by name,” she quipped, and they laughed. “Actually, the King only let me come here when Princess YN agreed to accompany me.”

Her friends’ mouths all formed into a small o. You waved at them, and they bowed their heads. Suddenly, the lights slowly dimmed down, and everyone began screaming– including Astrid. To say that your sister is excited was an understatement. It’s like she slept with a hanger in her mouth with how wide she’s smiling. Your cheeks hurt for her. But you’re happy to see her happy.

Taps on the microphone can be heard before someone clears their throat, building up everyone’s excitement. You stood there, just listening to them and observing.

“Everyone, welcome to the denim jungle!”

Someone began playing a good riff on a bass guitar. The band’s silhouette is recognizable on stage over the thick, white smoke. In the first beat of the drum, the lights snapped open. There, your eyes spotted the lead vocalist. His hair is damp for some reason, yet it goes perfectly with his mostly dark outfit.

“Zafiro, let me hear you scream!” he growled into the microphone.

A fucking growl. A growl that basically popped everyone’s balloon, releasing a thousand screams and cheers from everyone in the Crystalline Stadium. Everything is so loud. You’re finding it hard to breathe. You can’t breathe, but you are enjoying it. It’s confusing. The screams. The instruments are playing. Your heartbeats thumping.

“I swear, if you see him perform tonight, you’ll get me.” You clutched your chest as you heard Astrid’s statement from earlier in your head. “You might even fall in love tonight.”

Oh, no.

additional note: i understand if some of y'all want to be removed from the taglist, it has been so long! feel free to reach out if u want to be removed <3

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#bts angst #bts humor #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts series #bts established relationship au #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook series #rockstar jungkook #the princess and the rockstar jjk

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dissociativewriter · 2 days ago

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hello my sweetheart, congratulations once again for 400 followers <3 you deserve many many more. <3 if possible, can i please get a fluffy scenario with me and caleb when his 3 yo daughter says “dadda” for the first time 🥹💞 you are free to ignore this btw should it get too overwhelming <3 have a lovely day ahead. here, have some snuggles from me!!

ahhhhhhh hi honey!! giving you smooches cause you’re so sweet <3 thank you so much and omg this is such a cute ask! i did change it a little bit, just so that the daughter is younger now. i hope you like this!

request event

Tensions were high.

You and Caleb had been in a cold war for weeks. It felt like all your tactics were falling short as you sat in a stalemate.

The battleground? Your daughter’s nursery.

Months ago, when you were 9 months into pregnancy and terrified for the baby’s arrival, Caleb was reading and re-reading all the parenting tips and baby guides. He was scared, paranoid. He might not say it, but you could tell.

And in his mess of tips and tricks, he read the cause of this competition: babies typically start speaking at around 7 months.

Neither of you had said anything at the time, or when your baby girl was actually born. There wasn’t time to think of that, not when she came out with his bright eyes and your nose. You didn’t have time think about first words, because now there were first tears, and the new life of parenthood was quickly sinking in.

Caleb was a great father, just like you told him he’d be through all his fretting. Everything was already baby-proofed, every decision made now had him taking your little girl into consideration. His life was irreversibly changed, and he knew that having this little family with you was the bliss he didn’t think he’d ever reach.

He’d offered to take nights, insisting you needed your rest. He’d be awake anyway, Caleb explained, so he might as well take care of the baby while he’s up. And true to his word, with Caleb at your side, you were able to sleep through most nights.

Caleb always seemed grateful to hold her, grateful that he could be there through all of this. His hands shook ever so slightly every time he reached for her, the disbelief apparent in his eyes.

Everything was as peaceful as it could be with a newborn.

But then six months rolled around, and it seemed the both of you began plotting. Your daughter’s babbling filled the house, incoherent now but you both knew that soon those babbles would be words.

You were starting to wonder if Caleb had offered to take nights with an ulterior motive. You’d caught him, one late night, repeating “dada” to her. Over and over again, like a mantra. “You’ve got to say dada first, alright, little apple?” He’d whispered. “I’ve got to beat your mother on this.”

The next day, you’d made a show of using ‘mama’ around your daughter as much as you could. If Caleb wanted a competition, then so be it.

It went on for what felt like an eternity for the both of you, starting just before she turned six months old and ending when she was seven and half months old. You were anxious with anticipation, waiting to see what would be her first word.

It was around noon and the sun was high, streaming in through wide windows of the Skyhaven apartment. Caleb was in the kitchen with your daughter, prepping her food while your lunch was still cooking on the stove. He had her far away from anything that could possibly hurt her, his watchful eyes constantly snapping back to where she was, prepared to use his Evol to steady her or pull her away.

Caleb was talking to her as he stirred and mixed. He’d made a habit of it whenever they were together, constantly going back and forth with her as if she was holding an actual conversation instead of giggling nonsense.

“Okay, little apple, I hate to tell you this but your mama was very mean to me earlier.” He said seriously. He nodded with her as she babbled something. “I know, it’s hard to hear, but it’s true!” Caleb then proceeded to explain your most recent quarrel to your daughter, which was more brought on by pettiness and stress than an actual problem. He’d nodded along whenever she babbled, agreeing and further explaining as if he understood everything.

“Now tell me, little apple, who do you think is right?” He asked as he walked closer with her baby food.

She beamed as he approached, a wide smile growing on her face as she giggled, “Dada!”

Caleb froze. Mid-step, it felt like everything stopped. You padded into the kitchen from the living room, disbelief written all over your face as well.

“Did she just…?” Caleb’s voice cracked. He looked up at you, tears brimming at his eyes. “She just said dada!” he exclaimed. He rushed forward, laving the food on the counter as he scooped her up in his arms, pulling you in as well as he peppered kisses over both your foreheads.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “My baby girl’s talking. I can’t—” Tears fell onto his cheeks as the words caught in his throat. “I love you, so much. Both of you.” Caleb kissed both of you again, barely able to hide his grin.

And staring at his triumphant, prideful smile, you decided not to tell him about all the days you spent whispering ‘dada’ to her, too.

thank you @syncaleb for this ask!

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

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taglist: @coffeedragonhobbyist @sleepykittyenergy @orbitraiden @dolledbunnytail

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miyasmagnolias · 16 hours ago

Text

𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𓂇⋆⭒˚｡⋆

miya atsumu x f!reader

you invite atsumu and the boys to your spring dance showcase to raise money for a good cause — and maybe get even after the viral video incident. meanwhile, atsumu is determined to ask you out and, if he's lucky, kiss you properly this time around.

part eleven of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

a/n: a tiny bit of lore, but i used to dance throughout college (and still do to this day), so this one was super fun to write. enjoy! ( ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

"So...what kind of dance does she do again?"

"Uh..." Atsumu blinked down at the bouquet of flowers like they might contain the answer to Suna's question. "Hip-hop, I think?"

Osamu locked his car and shot his twin brother a judgmental glare. "Haven't ya lived with her for, like, eight months now? Shouldn't ya know what type of dance she does?"

"How am I supposed to know?! It's not like she performs for me in the livin' room or anythin'!"

Osamu's face twisted in disgust. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't ya."

Atsumu's face turned beet red. "The fuck is that supposed to mean — ?!"

"To be fair," Aran interjected, ever the pacifist. "Modern dance can blend together a lot of styles — jazz, ballet, hip-hop. It's really not as cut and dry as people think it is."

"See?" Atsumu said, grateful to his team captain for coming to his defense. "It's not as cut and dry as ya think it is!"

Aran gave him a flat stare in return. "Still, I find it baffling that you didn't think to ask."

The four former Inarizaki boys began the long trek from their parallel parking spot to The Bloom Room — a seventies-inspired cocktail lounge nestled in-between campus and downtown. Your university dance troupe had partnered with the small business to host your annual spring showcase, the event doubling as a community-wide fundraiser for a handful of local nonprofits.

Invite the volleyball boys, too! you'd texted Atsumu a few weeks back, along with the link to buy tickets. We need as many people there as possible. The more drinks you buy, the more goes to charity!

Atsumu didn't exactly know who you meant by the 'volleyball boys' — Osamu and Suna didn't really count anymore, and Sakusa wouldn't be caught dead in a place like The Bloom Room. Aran, on the other hand, was a welcome surprise, the captain of the men's volleyball team happily agreeing to go when Atsumu brought it up to him after practice the other day.

"I'll do anything for a good cause," he'd said, though the fluorescent lights of the locker room did nothing to hide his amused expression. "Did you end up wooing her with your extensive knowledge of Pride and Prejudice?"

"I was not tryin' to 'woo' her — I was tryin' to help her with an essay!" Atsumu exclaimed, slamming his locker door shut. "There's a big difference."

"You stopped reading every other sentence just so you could ask me what it meant," Aran said dryly, recalling the two-hour flight back from their first away game. Off the court, he'd never seen Atsumu more concentrated.

Atsumu shot his team captain an offended glare. "At least I finished the damn thing. It got good — ya know, once I got used to all the ol' timey English."

Aran folded his arms across his chest and exhaled slowly. "Look, it's clear you've got feelings for this girl. So in addition to reading her favorite books and kissing her on the cheek after games, why don't you just ask her out?"

The setter shifted uncomfortably on his feet. It wasn't as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind before — just that every time it did, it was accompanied by the worst possible outcomes he could think of. Him, finally working up the courage to ask you out. You, laughing in his face. Him, having to sleep in the room next to yours every day while he died of embarrassment. Just thinking about it made Atsumu want to yak.

It was much easier to flirt with you than to actually admit that he liked you, he'd realized. In fact, Atsumu kind of hoped you'd be the first to acknowledge it. He'd dropped more than enough hints for you to catch on.

But as your spring semester continued without so much as a peep, Atsumu realized he didn't have much time left. He needed to fess up to you before you graduated and went on to become a publishing mogul or a Pulitzer Prize winner — or whatever the hell English honors students went on to do after college.

The plan was simple: get you alone after the show, hand you the bouquet he'd spent nearly an hour picking out. Pop the question while somehow keeping his ego intact. Easy peasy.

At least, he thought it was.

"Oh, are you here for Y/N?" a girl with large hoop earrings and a handkerchief for a top said when Atsumu approached the check-in table. "You're her roommate, right? She's told us so much about you!"

"She didn't tell us you'd be bringing a whole team with you," another drawled, twirling a long braid around her perfectly manicured fingers as she sized up his friends. "Sheesh."

Despite himself, a stupid grin broke out on Atsumu's face. "She talks about me?"

The two girls exchanged humored looks from across the table.

"Let's just say she's gonna really love the flowers," the one with the braids replied with a smack of her gum.

"Wish my boyfriend bought me flowers," the one with the earrings chuckled, stamping the back of Atsumu's hand. "Enjoy the show!"

The Bloom Room was bathed in sultry purple lights as Atsumu and his group navigated the crowd of friends and family that had shown up for that evening's showcase. The high-top tables and stools had been cleared out to make room for a dance floor, with rows of folding chairs now lining the perimeter of the space.

"It's awfully intimate, ain't it?" Osamu observed as he sat next to Atsumu in the row closest to the dance floor.

"I'ma grab a drink," Suna quipped, already making a beeline for the bar. Meanwhile, their phones pinged in unison. It was from you.

Are you here yet?? you'd asked in the group chat you had created with all four of them. Did you get good seats?

Atsumu's fingers were already flying across the keyboard.

Yep, front row! Break at leg! Then, before he could stop himself, he added a pink heart emoji and hit send.

"Whoa," Aran said, blinking back at the text message not a moment later. "A heart? Things must be getting pretty serious."

"Shaddup," Atsumu tsked, folding his arms across his chest. At Osamu and Aran's bemused stares, he asked, "What? It ain't the red one! The red one is the serious one!"

"Dunno, man," Aran teased as Osamu stifled his laugh. "A heart's a heart."

Atsumu's confident expression faltered as he said, "W-Well, do ya think it's too much? Should I edit it?

"I think it's a little late for that," Osamu drawled just as their phones pinged again. They all looked down at their screens.

Great! you'd replied, hearting Atsumu's message. Can someone take a video of me pwease?

On it, Suna texted back. He returned a few minutes later with a tequila soda in-hand.

"Dude," he murmured as he sat back down. "What was up with that frilly pink heart? Keep that shit to yourselves."

Atsumu rolled his eyes.

"Good evening, everyone! Take your seats, take your seats," the girl with the hoop earrings said into the microphone as the remainder of the crowd settled in with their drinks. "My name's Mina, and I'd like to personally welcome you to the Silk Club's third annual spring showcase!"

A wave of applause ricocheted through the venue.

"We've got an incredible lineup of talent here tonight representing several on-campus dance orgs, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the show," she said. "As a reminder, all ticket and drink proceeds go towards our city's women's shelter and the center for LGBTQIA+ youth, so I encourage you to get as drunk as humanly possible! It's for a great cause!"

Laughter and applause rippled across the crowd. Beside Atsumu, Suna tipped his cup back until all that was left was ice.

"Now without further ado, I have the pleasure of introducing to you our opening act," Mina continued. "The Silk Club is a group of young women whose mission is to feel empowered and body confident in their dance. This is their third year hosting their annual spring showcase in support of the local nonprofit community, and they are incredibly excited to perform for you all tonight. I myself have been a part of this team for two years now, and I can confidently say there's no other group I'd rather shake ass with to raise money. So without further ado, give it up for Silk!"

The crowd whooped and hollered as several silhouetted figures emerged from the back room and assumed formation on the dance floor. Meanwhile, Atsumu's heart kicked up a notch as he scanned the shadows to find you. Beside him, Osamu frowned.

"Shake ass?" Osamu repeated under his breath. "Don't tell me — "

He was promptly cut off as the opening chords to Mariah Carey's "Obsessed" blared through the speakers, the spotlight flickering on to reveal you — in the tiniest black tube top and skirt — staring back at the audience with a sultry pout on your face.

Aran's eyes widened. Suna nearly choked on his ice. Osamu ran a hand over his face and glanced toward his brother, who — for all intents and purposes — looked like he was about to have a stroke.

Because you were hot. Nay — you were hot as fuck.

And everyone in that room knew it, too.

"I thought she did hip-hop!" Aran yelled over the music as you danced across the floor in your stiletto heels, your confidence radiating with every body roll, every hair flip.

"Dunno what kind of hip-hop you're watching, but this certainly isn't it," Suna shot back dryly, having already hit the record button on his phone.

Except Atsumu wasn't even listening. All that occupied his brain was you. Batting your eyelashes at the audience. Rocking the headscarf you'd styled into your long hair. Touching yourself in places that made Atsumu feel faint. You looked like the seventh member of Katseye, only prettier. How hadn't he known this about you?

"Why you so obsessed with me? Boy, I wanna know..."

The crowd went completely ballistic as all the girls on your team planted their hands on the sticky floor and shook ass in perfect unison. Only then did Atsumu notice the phone in Suna's hands.

"Would ya not film my roommate's ass like that?" he stammered, doing a double-take.

Suna merely shrugged and said, "What? She asked me to."

Then, before Atsumu could argue further, you were sauntering up to him. Soft smile. Pouty lips. Eyes that could disarm him in an instant. You ran a delicate finger along the curve of his jaw, tilted his chin up to look at you. And winked.

For fuck's sake.

"I think you can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body," Suna deadpanned, scrubbing through the video after you and your teammates had struck the final pose to the sounds of ear-splitting applause.

Osamu elbowed his brother in the ribs and said, "Ya alright in there, Tsumu?"

Atsumu just stared at the dance floor as you and your teammates took your bows. Brain empty. Face steadily draining of color. His grip tightened around the bouquet in his lap as he tried to careen himself back to earth.

Asking you out was going to be way harder than he thought.

Atsumu's heart rate more-or-less returned to normal after that, the rest of the show featuring a variety of modern dance crews, cultural clubs, and K-Pop cover groups. Nothing as outrageous as the opener, but perhaps that was for the best. Atsumu didn't need his nervous system compromised for a second time that night — especially with the question he was about to ask you after the show.

The Silk Club closed the showcase with a much tamer, less anxiety-inducing routine to "Rocket" by Doechii, the choreography maintaining your team's signature charm while showcasing your versatility of style. Atsumu cheered for you as you danced your heart out in the center of the room, your energy infectious as the music coursed through your every muscle. From your cheeky smile down to the soles of your sneakers, it was clear you loved being up there. The entire time, Atsumu couldn't stop grinning.

He was the first to give you a standing ovation by the end.

"Seems like Atsumu isn't the only one who can work a crowd," Aran drawled in amusement, standing up so he could clap for you properly. Beside him, Suna snapped about a million pictures.

Osamu merely hummed in agreement and said, "Pretty sure this is the first time he's been more enamored by someone other than himself."

As usual, Atsumu didn't hear a damn thing — just clapped his brother on the shoulder and said, "I'll be right back."

Several families and friend groups had since flooded the dance floor to reunite with their performers, Atsumu shouldering his way through with the bouquet clutched to his chest. Your friend Haru had found you first and was currently gushing to you about your performance, Atsumu maintaining his distance for several nerve-wracking seconds before your eyes eventually latched onto his. Your face broke out into the sunniest smile he'd ever seen, and by God. You were beautiful.

You said goodbye to Haru and made your way towards him. His arms found purchase around your waist as he lifted you several inches off the ground and squeezed you as hard as you could.

"Hi," he murmured into your hair. It smelled of your sweat and shampoo.

"Hi," you whispered back, your voice warm and breathless. "What did you think of the show?"

"I..." Atsumu trailed off, the mental image of you throwing it back flashing across his mind. "I didn't know ya could move like that, that's for sure."

A chuckle rumbled out of you as he set you down. You adjusted the oversized jersey you had changed into for the finale and said, "Yeah. I'm a little embarrassed that you and your friends got a full view of my ass, but it's whatever."

"Well, for what it's worth, it looked good." Then, after realizing what the fuck he'd just said, "You. Y-You looked good, I meant. Shit."

You were full-on laughing at this point. "That's high praise, coming from the king of low sets himself."

The tips of his ears turned red as he finally remembered the bouquet in his hands.

"These are for ya," he said, watching your eyes soften as he gave them to you. You lifted your nose to the assortment of wildflowers like you did with all of your books. "Ya looked incredible up there, Y/N. Seriously."

"...thank you, Tsumu." A shy smile worked its way onto your features before you admitted, "No one's ever gotten me flowers before."

"Ya bein' serious right now?" he asked, equal parts surprised and pleased with himself. You nodded. "Well, that's only cause ya haven't invited the right people before."

You rolled your eyes. "The right people being you?"

"Damn straight," he said, already reaching for you a second time. "Come 'ere."

He wrapped his arms around you in the middle of the crowded dance floor, his cheek resting against the crowd of your head. Relaxing into his embrace, you listened to his heartbeat through this shirt. Steady. Grounding. A little fast. But then again, so was yours.

You craned your neck to look him in the eye. He gazed down at you like you were the only other person in that entire room.

Pulse picking up speed, Atsumu slowly leaned in until he was a mere breath away from grazing your lips against his.

But before he could kiss you, someone was already calling your name.

"Y/N!" Mina hollered, the both of you jumping backwards like two guilt-ridden teenagers. She scanned the dense crowd from the front of the room like a mother who'd just lost her child at the zoo. "Y/N, where the hell are ya?! We're taking a group picture!"

Clearing his throat, Atsumu adjusted the collar of his jacket and tried to channel whatever nonchalance was left in his body. Beside him, you haphazardly tried to fix your hair. The two of you locked eyes once more and, gradually, started to laugh.

"Go," Atsumu said, jerking his chin towards your teammates. "Don't keep 'em waiting."

Mashing your lips together, you looked like you wanted to argue. But your teammates were already calling your name.

"Come out to eat with us afterwards?" you offered, a hopeful expression on your face. "I think a handful of us are going to that new Korean spot downtown. You can bring the boys, too."

Chuckling, Atsumu nodded. "Sure. We'll be there."

"...okay," you eventually managed. It did little to mask the dazed, if not mildly disappointed expression on your face. "I'll see you soon."

And with that, you disappeared into the crowd.

"Ya boys in the mood for Korean food?" Atsumu asked his friends when he found them lingering outside the restrooms.

"Why, what happened?" Osamu asked, shooting his brother a grin. "Yer plan fall through?"

"Yep," Atsumu quipped, throwing an arm around Osamu's shoulders. "I'm 'bout to drown my sorrows in an army stew."

"At least you gave her the bouquet," Aran offered, drying his damp hands on his jeans. "You only spent half the afternoon trying to pick it out."

"Seriously," Suna mumbled, eyes never leaving his phone. "You owe us dinner for the amount of moral support we're showing you right now."

The three of them debated how many dishes to order the entire car ride there. Meanwhile, Atsumu stared out the window, wondering when the hell he'd be able to get you alone.

"I never thought I'd see the day someone actually outdrank Mina," you giggled, fumbling with your keys to the apartment. "How much soju did Suna have?"

"I dunno, but he was scarily composed after all those domino shots," Atsumu murmured as you both entered through the front door and turned on all the lights. "Passed out like a light in the backseat, though."

Even though he'd barely managed to talk to you during dinner, it was surprisingly fun to see you relax for once. You were excited to introduce Atsumu and his friends to the people you had danced with for the past several months, grateful to see everyone get along so well in between spoonfuls of bubbling hot pot.

"It's nice to finally meet the best roommate she's ever had," Mina had teased, already four shots in. She flung a sweaty arm around your shoulders and said, "Her words, not mine!"

At that, Atsumu raised an eyebrow and grinned. "The best, huh?"

Maybe it was the alcohol, but he swore your face turned two shades redder at that.

Now, Atsumu watched from across the kitchenette as you meticulously trimmed the flowers he'd gotten for you, your fingers nimble as you arranged each one into a vase. The gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the silence between you, along with the rhythmic snip of your scissors.

Without looking up, you said, "You're staring."

"Am I?" Atsumu drawled, a smile toying on his lips. "Was just admirin’ yer makeup. Is that what they call a full beat?"

You nearly choked on your laughter. "Where did you learn that from? TikTok?"

He lifted a noncommittal shoulder. "I have my sources."

Smiling, you said, "Well, would you be so kind as to grab my makeup remover from the bathroom? I've been dying to get this off."

Five minutes later, Atsumu poured himself a glass of water as you tried removing your eye makeup with a soaked cotton round, a dark streak of eyeliner now smudged halfway across your face.

"Did I get it?" you asked, blinking at Atsumu from where you sat atop the kitchen counter. Laughing, he put down his glass and began wiping it himself.

"I like when you look like this," he confessed, gently dragging the cotton round across your skin.

Frowning, you said, "Like a rabid raccoon?"

"No, ya twerp. Ya know what I mean."

You didn't say anything for a long while as he continued removing your makeup. You felt your face warm beneath his touch as he did so.

"Thank you for coming to the showcase tonight."

"Of course. I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Then, after a brief pause, "Ya know, as the best roommate you've ever had."

You groaned. "I'm never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Not a chance," Atsumu drawled. He cupped your cheeks with both of his hands and inspected your face from different angles beneath the warm kitchen lights. "There. Squeaky clean."

Neither of you moved as you realized just how close you'd gotten to each other. You, your knees grazing against his torso. Him, the warmth of his palms sending a pulse of electricity down your spine.

"Atsumu..." you breathed, your voice merely a croak.

"...yeah?" he managed, brown eyes searching yours for something — anything — to indicate that you wanted him closer.

"...is there a reason you're always so nice to me?"

Lips parting, he said, "I think ya know why."

You closed the gap and kissed him not a moment later.

Now, Atsumu had imagined what it would be like to kiss you — had even dreamt about it, embarrassingly enough. But nothing, nothing compared to the way your lips worked against his now, each movement slow. Deliberate. Almost like you were asking a question.

You like me? you seemed to ask, fingers curling into his t-shirt, pulling him closer. Atsumu merely cupped the back of your head and deepened the kiss, the feeling of his tongue against yours extinguishing all doubt from your mind.

Yes, he thought, melting into you completely. Yes. I always have.

He braced his hands on either side of the kitchen counter, boxing you in. Your hands slid into his hair. A low moan escaped the back of his throat when you parted your legs for him and wrapped them around his waist. Fuck. He couldn't believe this was happening right now.

But before he let himself fall any further, he had one thing left to ask.

"Wait — wait," he stammered, pulling away from you suddenly. Lips swollen. Hair disheveled. Heart hammering in his chest.

At your confused expression, he asked, "Will ya go to dinner with me?"

Your chest rose and fell as a bemused expression crossed your features. "Are you asking me out right now?"

Atsumu gulped back and said, "I just...I wanna be sure I do this right."

Heart twinging at his words, your hands gently traveled down from his hair to cup both of his cheeks.

"You know, I thought you'd never ask," you drawled, eyes gleaming in adoration as you beheld him. Your roommate. Your friend. Your best friend, if you were being totally honest. "I'd love to."

The stupid grin that broke out on his face had you pulling him in for another kiss.

a/n: thank you for the love on these past couple of chapters, y'all! i'm slowly but surely responding to messages and comments — but in the meantime, please know that i appreciate all of you for reading this sappy lil' fic of mine. it means the world to me.

(next chapter will cover atsumu and y/n's first date mwahaha. stay tuned.)

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

118 notes · View notes

flyingbanananas · 1 day ago

Text

Accidental Courting (Izou x Reader)

Sharing food, exchanging gifts… You only want to be kind and show Izou how much you appreciate him and his willingness to share his culture while visiting Wano with you. But every gesture seems to draw stares and knowing chuckles.

Are you accidentally being rude, despite your best efforts?

If so… why does Izou look at you with such soft eyes instead of scowling?

_____

~ 8.000 words

Part One of the “It’s Never Easy” Series

The moment you set foot on Wano soil, it’s like stepping into another world.

The air smells like cedar smoke and summer rain while mist curls along distant hills and crimson torii gates stand like sentinels along the winding path that leads toward the capital. Moreover, a procession of paper lanterns sways in the breeze as you and the others disembark from your small, hidden ship.

Your jaw drops instantly. “It’s… beautiful.”

Izou glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Still want to come?”

“Are you kidding?” you breathe. “This is incredible.”

Next to you, Ace stretches his arms behind his head, already looking somewhat bored. “The trees are cool, but where’s the food? I heard they’ve got sweet buns the size of your face.”

Whack.

Thatch smacks him on the back of his head with a huff. “Stop only thinking about food. I’m pretty sure the point of this trip isn’t stuffing our faces. Right, Marco?”

Marco is already scanning the treelines. “Right, yoi… Izou wants to visit family, so we keep a low profile, stay out of trouble, and let Izou enjoy himself for once.”

You nod. “Right. We let Izou do all the talking then.”

“Why does he get to talk?” Ace instantly grumbles.

“Because if you talk,” Marco says calmly, “we’ll start a war yoi.”

You stifle a laugh while Izou doesn’t even glance at Ace as he leads the group forward, robe swaying with every step. His posture is straighter here, and his expression quieter like something in him slots back into place just by being home.

You fall into step beside him, your boots crunching the gravel path.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods. “Haven’t been here in a long time. Feels… strange.”

You look at him for a second longer, watching the way the breeze brushes against his dark hair and the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. “Well, thanks for letting us come with you. I feel like I’m walking through a painting.”

He doesn’t smile exactly, but his eyes soften.

“Just… mind your manners,” he murmurs.

You travel for nearly thirty minutes before encountering the first locals—a small group of older people standing near a roadside shrine, their voices hushed, their movements slow. One of them, an elderly woman, spots Izou as you approach. Her expression shifts from curiosity to recognition, and she bows. Deeply.

You stop, startled, and watch.

Izou returns the bow, his spine folding forward with elegant ease, hands folded neatly at his waist. The others pick up on the gesture and follow suit, if a little awkwardly. Thatch tries to match the depth, Marco bows with precision, and even Ace gives it an honest attempt.

You’re the last one just standing there like an idiot.

Panic rises. You bow quickly, clumsily, but now your brain’s screaming: How deep? How long? Too short? Too stiff?

Then, just as you start to straighten up, a hand presses gently between your shoulder blades. Not forceful, just steady. Guiding.

Izou.

“Lower,” he murmurs, voice barely audible. “Just a bit.”

You freeze in place, heart skipping in your chest, and adjust yourself with a muttered apology.

The elderly woman says nothing, and the others don’t seem to react, but you swear one of them gives you a look. Not cruel. Not judging. Just… assessing.

You feel your cheeks heat.

When the group moves on again, Izou falls into step beside you once more. He doesn’t say anything about your awkwardness. Doesn’t tease. But his shoulder brushes yours, just barely.

You get the sense he’s watching your every move - not to scold you, but to make sure you’re okay. And somehow, that makes it worse. Or better. You're not sure yet.

“You did fine,” Izou says calmly.

“I short-circuited, Izou,” you mutter, still warm in the face from the encounter. “You all bowed and I just stood there like a statue. I might’ve actually squeaked.”

“I noticed,” he says dryly, though there’s no real judgment in it.

You groan. “Great.”

“You’re not from here,” Izou says simply, like that settles it. “No one expects you to get it right.”

You glance at him, squinting. “But you fixed it anyway.”

He lifts one elegant shoulder in a soft shrug. “Couldn’t let you keep bowing like that. It looked like you were apologizing for murdering someone.”

Marco’s voice pipes up just behind you. “To be fair, you usually are.”

You swat him without even looking back. “Not here, I’m not.”

Ace snorts. “Give it time.”

“I’m trying to respect the culture, thank you very much,” you huff, crossing your arms as the group continues up the path.

The path narrows as you wind deeper through the countryside. The scent of smoke and incense thickens, and soon the trees thin to reveal a small cluster of wooden buildings nestled at the foot of a hill.

Izou slows his pace, gaze drifting over the buildings with something like nostalgia softening his features.

Then someone bursts out of the front door.

A young woman in a pale kimono practically flies down the front steps, long dark hair streaming behind her. She looks so much like Izou, with the same dark eyes and elegant bearing, that you blink in surprise.

“Izou!” she gasps, voice high with joy.

He barely has time to react before she throws her arms around him, hugging him so tightly he actually takes a step back. His arms come up automatically, one hand cradling the back of her head as he laughs—a real, full laugh you’re not sure you’ve ever heard from him before.

“You got taller,” he murmurs into her hair.

“You got slower,” she sniffs, squeezing him tighter before finally pulling back. Her eyes are shiny, but her smile is huge. “You didn’t write, you didn’t send a message, I didn’t even know if you were really coming until I heard rumors!”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he says gently.

She swats his arm. “Idiot.”

“Definitely related,” Marco mutters behind you.

You grin.

Izou turns toward you, still smiling in that quiet way of his, the kind of smile that seems rare enough to feel important when it happens.

“This is my little sister,” he says, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “Kikunojo.”

"Nice to meet you," you smile and glance at Izou. "Should we bow again?"

Kikunojo lets out a soft, melodic laugh. “You don’t have to. This isn’t an audience with the shogun.” She bows to you anyway, graceful and deep, with hands folded over her stomach. “But it is a pleasure. Izou rarely brings anyone home.”

You bow quickly in return, not quite as fluid but sincere. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Kikunojo’s smile softens further. “You must all be exhausted from the journey, and hungry, I imagine. Please, come inside. You’re just in time. Dinner is nearly ready.”

The moment the word hungry leaves her lips, Ace lights up. “Finally,” he groans. “I was about to start chewing on my own arm.”

Whack.

Thatch doesn’t even look at him as he smacks the back of Ace’s head with ease. “Have a little grace, would you? We’re guests.”

Ace scowls, rubbing the spot. “I was being honest!”

“Try being quiet instead yoi,” Marco mutters, brushing past them both.

Kikunojo giggles behind her sleeve, her expression unreadable and amused all at once. “You brought quite the lively group, brother.”

Izou exhales through his nose, his tone dry. “They grow on you.”

“I believe you,” she says, stepping aside to let you all pass through the inn’s doorway.

The air inside is warm and softly lit, the floors polished to a gentle sheen, and the scent of simmering broth drifting in from the back. You slip off your shoes, following Izou’s lead, and step up onto the raised wooden floor.

The place feels lived in but not worn down instead it appears to be quiet and welcoming. Like someone took the time to make sure everything was ready for your arrival.

But you’re not the only one taking it in.

“Wow,” Thatch murmurs, glancing around. “This is… way nicer than I thought.”

Ace’s jaw drops. “They’ve got yukata ready?!”

Sure enough, a small wooden rack nearby holds a variety of neatly folded yukata—indigo, cream, deep green, patterned with delicate motifs. Without hesitation, Ace grabs the brightest one he can find: a bold red with orange wave patterns.

“This one’s mine,” he declares.

“Of course it is,” Marco says dryly, though you catch the faintest twitch of a smile as he surveys the room.

Kikunojo steps in behind you. “I’ve laid out a few things to make you comfortable. Please, feel free to choose whichever yukata you like. You’ll find washing basins and fresh towels through the hallway to the left. When you’re ready, we’ll be in the main room for dinner.”

You nod quickly, bowing your head again. “Thank you. Really. This is… amazing.”

She smiles, and something in her eyes suggests she’s glad you’re being sincere about it. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay. And don’t worry about formalities too much while you’re here. Just try not to break anything.”

Ace already has one arm in his yukata, half-spinning in the middle of the room. “No promises!”

“Ace,” Thatch groans.

You’re guided to a smaller adjoining room, divided by sliding paper doors - simple but elegant. Inside are bedding rolls tucked neatly to the side, low lacquered furniture, and enough space for each of you to rest in separate areas without feeling cramped.

As you gather your chosen yukata and step toward the changing area, you glance back at Izou. He’s standing just off to the side, watching the group settle in with a mix of fondness and mild disbelief.

“Go on,” he says, catching your eye. “We’ll eat soon.”

You nod again, clutching the fabric in your arms.

____________

A low table is set in the center of the main room, surrounded by floor cushions, each place set with care. There are ceramic dishes arranged with seasonal vegetables, simmered fish, miso soup, and delicate pickles.

Moreover, a warm clay pot steams gently in the center, its broth bubbling as Kikunojo ladles in thin slices of meat and tofu with ease.

You sit beside Izou, mimicking his every move like it’s a test you desperately want to pass. When he folds his hands and bows slightly toward the food, you do the same. And when he uses chopsticks, you mirror him, resisting every urge to fumble.

Across the table, Ace is already digging in, slurping noodles and humming with his mouth full.

“This is amazing!” he exclaims, eyes sparkling. “Is this lotus root? What is this WHACK Hey!”

Thatch swats him again. “At least try to act like you weren’t raised in the wild.”

“I was raised in the wild!”

Marco sips his tea without comment.

You manage to hold back a laugh and return your attention to the food, trying not to seem too wide-eyed at how beautiful everything looks.

Carefully you pick up a delicate slice of fish glazed in something sweet and smoky, and when it hits your tongue, you actually pause.

Oh. Oh, that’s good.

Then, without thinking, you reach for another piece and gently place it in Izou’s bowl.

“You have to try this,” you murmur, leaning in just a little, your voice softer than before. “I swear, it’s perfect.”

You expect a quiet thank-you, maybe a nod, but what you don’t expect is the softening of his whole expression.

He pauses, just for a heartbeat. His eyes flick down to the fish, then back up to you, softer now. There’s something gentle there, almost guarded, like a secret he’s not ready to share. And then, a small smile, almost like it’s just between the two of you.

“Alright,” he says, and picks up the piece with his chopsticks like it’s nothing.

But across the table, Kikunojo has stopped mid-pour, her eyes sharp with sudden interest as she glances between the two of you.

She notices the way Izou’s shoulders relax ever so slightly, how his voice carries a different warmth when he talks to you. And when he tastes the fish, he doesn’t comment on the flavor; instead, he offers a small, satisfied nod, like he’s savoring more than just the food.

Then in the corner of your eye you catch Kikunojo watching you – just briefly – before she looks away, but not before her gaze makes you question yourself and your gestures.

“…Did I do something wrong?” you ask softly, careful not to make it obvious. Your eyes flick to Izou’s bowl. “I… was that rude?”

Izou meets your gaze, his brow lifting slightly. He studies you, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with the faintest shrug, he replies, voice steady and soft. “No. Not rude.”

“Really?” You glance at Kikunojo this time, your expression openly concerned. “Please tell me if I did something out of line. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone.”

She looks at you for a long moment. Then at Izou.

There’s a beat, where she seems ready to explain something. But the way her brother looks at you—quiet, unreadable, yet undeniably tender, makes her pause.

“No worries,” she says at last, her voice smooth and kind. “No harm done.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the tension easing from your shoulders. You smile again, lighter this time.

“And here I was thinking I accidentally called you an idiot or something,” you say to Izou, half-joking, half-trying to hide your earlier nerves.

Izou chuckles, low and easy. “No... nothing even close to that.”

His eyes flicker toward yours, linger for just a second too long, then drop back to his food like he’s trying to play it cool.

You smile, turning back to your own plate… only to be interrupted by no other than Ace.

“Hey, was that the fish you gave Izou?” he grins, leaning across the table. His eyes gleam with mischief. “Come on, share some with me too!”

You turn to him, unimpressed, and gently push his chopsticks aside. “Get your own. I’m not your personal waitress.”

Ace blinks, a little surprised by your edge, then smirks, delighted. “Oh? But it’s totally fine when it’s Izou, huh? Playing favorites.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are!”

You roll your eyes, trying to dismiss it with a scoff, but your ears burn all the same.

As you continue to eat you don’t seem to notice how Kikunojo continues to watch you closely. But eventually she shifts her gaze to Izou and raises a single, knowing eyebrow. It’s a silent question, not teasing exactly, but close.

”Why don’t you say something?”

Izou doesn’t answer with words. He only offers the faintest of shrugs, eyes still on his tea as he lifts the cup to his lips. But his smile lingers a little longer this time. And it’s different, not one meant for the table, or even for Kiku.

It’s the kind of smile you offer when something quietly matters. When you're not ready to name it out loud, but you’re already holding it close.

And Kiku sees that, too.

She hums under her breath, almost like a laugh, and finally looks away.

_____________

Later that evening, when you return to your room well fed and tired, you find a small hand-painted charm in the gift basket left in the corner of your room. It’s a delicate little thing – red, gold, and black, strung with a paper tag that reads “for protection and sincerity”.

You think of Izou, how gently he’d touched your back, how he hadn’t laughed when you messed up. How he looked like someone caught between two worlds and carried himself like he belonged in both.

So, you pluck the charm from the basket and tuck it into your pocket. He needs this more than you do right now… so maybe you’ll give it to him tomorrow.

_____________

The next morning, you find Izou standing alone beneath a flowering tree behind the inn. Soft petals drift around him, caught in the breeze, and scatter across the surface of the koi pond below. He’s watching the water, arms folded neatly, his face unreadable.

You shift the little paper-wrapped charm in your hands and step closer, careful not to crunch the gravel beneath your feet.

“Hey,” you say gently.

He glances over. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admit. “Too many crickets. Loud little things.”

You come to stand beside him, the silence stretching out in the way it only can with someone you trust. A comfortable quiet, filled with birdsong and the ripple of fish in the water. And after a few beats, you hold out the small bundle.

“I found this in the gift basket in my room. Thought you might like it.”

He raises a brow, but takes it from your hands without question. His fingers are warm against yours, and as he peels back the paper, his expression stills. Inside is a deep red omamori charm, threaded with gold and marked with two careful ink strokes: protection and sincerity.

He studies it for a long moment.

“…You’re giving this to me?” he asks, voice lower than before.

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly unsure. “I figured, with us being here and… probably messing up a bunch of stuff culturally without realizing, you might need it. I mean… not need it, but maybe it’s, like, a nice buffer? I don’t know. Is that not okay?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours.

“No,” he says firmly, and closes his fingers around the charm. “It’s not rude. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

You blink. “Really?”

Izou nods once. He doesn’t smile, not quite, but the edges of his gaze soften. Then, to your surprise, he tucks the charm into the inside fold of his kimono close to his chest, pressed over his heart.

“I’m planning to go to the temple today,” he says after a pause. “If you want to come.”

You blink. “Oh.” Then you smile, bright and open. “I’d like that very much.”

Izou returns your smile, though his is more reserved. Softer. “Me too… If it’s not too much to ask we could go now… You know… before it gets crowded. It’ll be quieter.

You blink again, then nod quickly. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. I’m gonna get dressed then!” you say quickly, practically bouncing. “Give me ten minutes!”

You rush back inside before the excitement can bubble over. Your room is still dim with morning light, and the scent of tatami mats and sakura hangs in the air. You go straight to your luggage and pull out two kimonos you’d set aside the night before.

One is pale lavender with delicate silver cranes stitched along the hem, airy and graceful. The other is a deeper shade of indigo with subtle plum blossoms curling around the fabric.

You hold them up in front of the mirror, shifting your weight back and forth.

“They both look nice,” you murmur to your reflection, but the mirror is no help at all.

So, you purse your lips, glancing toward the door. Izou’s room is only a few steps away, and you know him well enough to know he wouldn’t mind.

Probably.

You pad quietly down the hall, barefoot, the fabric of your robe rustling softly as you go. You knock lightly, but don’t wait long before sliding the door open.

“Izou?” you call gently, poking your head in.

He’s already dressed, standing beside a low table adjusting the sash at his waist. His kimono is dark with soft floral patterns stitched in faded silver and violet. It fits him perfectly, of course.

He looks up the moment he hears your voice. His gaze drops to the two kimonos in your arms, then back to your face.

“I can’t decide,” you confess with a sheepish grin, stepping inside. “Do you think the lavender or the plum one suits the temple visit more?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just steps forward and gently lifts the plum kimono from your arm. His fingers brush yours briefly, a warm touch that lingers longer than it needs to.

“This one,” he says softly.

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, looking between the one he’s holding and the one still in your arms. “I thought you might say that actually… It’s a bit more traditional-looking, huh?”

Izou’s lips quirk, but he doesn’t explain further. His gaze flickers over your face, then down to the fabric again.

“We’ll match if you wear it,” he says softly.

“Match?” You blink, then look at his kimono. Sure enough, plum blossoms. “Oh! That’s adorable. We’ll look like a set.”

He chuckles, low and smooth, but there’s something else behind it. Something softer. Fonder. “Yes… a set.”

You beam without catching the subtle shift in his expression. To you, it’s just a cute coincidence. But to him…. To Izou it means something more… because matching outfits are a sign of commitment.

A subtle declaration, but of course you don’t know that.

“Thanks, Izou!” You tell him and rush off to change with a smile.

_____________

Even though it is rather early the road through the village is busier than you expected.

Many stalls line both sides of the path, vibrant and loud, filled with vendors shouting over one another to sell fresh peaches, steamed buns, trinkets, and charms. Moreover, children run between adults, chasing kites and each other.

You walk beside Izou, your sleeves brushing now and then. The road is just crowded enough to press you closer than usual.

Every so often you glance to the side, eyes catching on something you think might make a good souvenir — a little frog-shaped coin purse, or a painted wind chime that jingles softly in the breeze. You're in the middle of admiring a delicate porcelain tea set when movement at a nearby pottery stall catches your eye.

To your left, an older woman glances up from arranging her wares. Her gaze sweeps over you Izou briefly, then lingers a little longer than necessary. She takes in your matching colors, the slight closeness, and the ease in your movements beside each other.

Then she offers you a small, knowing smile.

“Oh,” she says softly, to no one in particular, but clearly aimed in your direction. “How lovely! Plum blossoms for both. A sign of harmony, you know.”

You blink. “Huh?”

The woman doesn’t explain further just tucks a strand of silver hair behind her ear and returns to adjusting a small clay vase like she hadn’t said anything at all.

You glance at Izou, puzzled. “What did she mean by that?”

He’s quiet for a beat longer than expected. Then his lips quirk faintly, and he says far too casually, “Just an old saying.”

“If you say so…” You push the rising feeling of unease down and keep walking.

But it happens again.

A man selling persimmons catches your eye. He gives you a knowing smile - small, but unmistakably amused, and nods politely as you pass. You blink, confused, and glance behind you to check if he is looking at someone else.

Unlikely, there is no one, but Izou beside you, close as ever, with his arms tucked neatly into his sleeves.

“Odd,” you think, and try not to think about it too much. After all, Izou doesn’t seem to be concerned, so why should you be?

But then a few steps later, a mother walking with her child suddenly slows as you approach. Next, she leans down and says something in a soft voice, too fast for you to catch, but the child giggles and stares right at you. Then at Izou. Then back again.

“What was that about?” you murmur, trying to smile politely as they pass.

Izou shrugs, face neutral, but his eyes are almost too calm. Like he’s holding something back.

”Why do I get that feeling that everybody knows something I don’t?”

Luckily, you’re finally nearing the far end of the village, the crowds thinning out, the temple just visible beyond a row of trees. Only a handful of stalls remain between you and the quiet ahead.

But then one of the stalls catches your attention immediately. The air around it smells of something grilled and sweet, a smoky, nutty aroma that makes your stomach twist in a pleasant way.

You pause without thinking.

“Smells amazing,” you murmur, already stepping closer.

The vendor beams at your reaction and begins wrapping one of the rice cakes before you even ask. And before you can pull out your coins, Izou’s hand moves quietly between you and the vendor.

“I’ve got it,” he says simply.

You blink, surprised, but say nothing as he pays.

The vendor chuckles softly as he hands the rice cake to you, not unkind by any means, but with the kind of knowing smile that makes your stomach flutter for a different reason. His eyes flick from you to Izou, and there’s a warmth there.

“Enjoy,” the vendor says. Then, with a subtle smile, “She’ll love it.”

You feel your ears go warm.

Izou only offers a polite nod and turns to continue walking, his expression unreadable save for the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.

You scramble to follow him, clutching the warm bundle in your hands. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

His tone is casual, but your heart skips anyway.

And behind you, the vendor chuckles again low, amused, and just loud enough to feel like the punchline of a joke you weren’t meant to hear.

But then finally the road leads you to the edge of the village, and the noise of the stalls fades behind you. Ahead, a stone stairway leads up the hill, flanked by carved lanterns and shaded by tall pines. The temple you two plan to visit sits above, overlooking everything.

You slow at the base of the steps, still holding the rice cake. The warmth has soaked through the paper by now, soft and steady in your hands. A harsh comparison to the chaos inside of you that you can no longer ignore.

“…Are people staring at us?” you ask quietly.

Izou doesn’t look away from the path ahead. “Mm.”

“…Why?”

This time he glances at you, brief but deliberate. “Why do you think?”

You frown, uncertainty knotting in your chest. “I don’t know,” you mumble, heat blooming across your face. “I must’ve messed something up again. Maybe I did my hair wrong, or it’s the kimono’s color, or I wore the wrong sash, or…” Your heart suddenly drops. “Should I go back? I can change!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “I picked the kimono, remember?”

You blink up at him, that spiraling panic softening just a touch. “I know, but—”

“Why don’t you take a bite,” he says gently, nodding to the rice cake in your hand. “Might help settle your nerves.”

You glance down at it, the scent drifting up—sweet and warm and toasty. You take a slow bite. The crisp edge gives way to soft chew and sweet red bean paste, and despite everything, a tiny noise of approval escapes you.

“…You’re right,” you murmur, chewing. “That actually helps.”

Izou hums, watching you with the faintest smile ghosting the corner of his lips. The breeze lifts a lock of his hair and carries with it the distant sound of wind chimes.

You take another bite, then hold the rice cake up to him, offering it wordlessly.

He raises a brow. “You’re sharing?”

“Of course,” you smile up at him, trying to cover the quiet flutter in your chest.

“I bought that for you,” he says quietly and you would have assumed that he truly doesn’t want to take a bite if it weren’t for that lingering look in his eyes.

“I’m offering a bite,” you chuckle softly, “not the entire thing. Come on. It’s really good.”

Izou hesitates for a moment but then leans in slightly and takes a small bite close enough that you feel his breath brushing your fingers, warm and brief. Then he pulls back, chewing thoughtfully.

“…You’re right,” he says. “It is good.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out too breathless.

Luckily Izou doesn’t tease. He just watches you for a moment longer, then reaches out with two fingers and adjusts the edge of your sleeve where it slipped slightly off your wrist.

He doesn’t say why. He doesn’t need to.

You look at him, heart suddenly full of something you don’t have words for, and in that moment, the noise of the market fades completely. The laughter, the whispers, the tension from before, it all disappears into the quiet space between you and him.

Izou’s voice breaks the silence, soft and almost hesitant: “Do you still want to go to the temple?”

You blink, surprised by the question, by how careful he sounds. Do you?

“I can take you back to the inn,” he offers gently. “If it’s too much… if you’d rather.”

Your eyes drop to the small, warm remnant of the rice cake in your hands, then up to the stone steps ahead, the temple looming just beyond. You take a slow breath, then shake your head.

“No,” you say quietly, but with certainty. “I still want to go.”

Izou studies you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as if weighing your words.

You offer a small, shy smile. “You wanted to go. And I don’t want to ruin this for you.”

Izou’s brow furrows, and he steps closer. “You’re not ruining anything,” he insists firmly. “Whether you stay or go back, it doesn’t change anything. You don’t have to worry about that.”

You bite your lip, uncertain.

He softens, voice dropping to a gentle rumble. “If you want to go, then we'll go. If you need a break, we can turn around. Either way, it’s fine.”

You smile again and shake your head, pushing down the soft giggle that dares to escape your tight lips.

You move on.

_____________

The temple sits quiet at the top of a stone path, surrounded by wind-chimes and willow trees. It isn’t grand or towering. It feels lived-in, loved. Worn wooden beams curve softly under carved tiles, and paper lanterns sway between weathered posts.

You climb the last steps slowly, trying not to let your thoughts race ahead of your feet. Izou walks beside you, hands folded neatly in front of him, expression unreadable but unmistakably calm. Always calm.

Naturally, you fall into step just half a pace behind, unsure where you should be.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. Every step he takes seems sure, quietly measured, and respectful. You watch the way he holds his hands, how he walks without rushing. It feels like there’s a rhythm to it, one you weren’t taught.

So you copy him.

Or try to.

Hands folded the same way. Stride small and even. You don’t want to risk doing something wrong, not in a place like this not when it clearly matters to him.

At the main hall, Izou slows, then stops just before the offering box. He bows once—deep and respectful, and steps forward silently. You mimic the bow a beat after, not quite as fluid, but earnest.

He pulls a small coin from his sleeve and drops it gently into the box, the sound barely a whisper against the wood. You fumble for your own coin, offering it the same way.

Izou brings his hands together in front of his chest, fingers lightly touching, and bows his head in prayer. His eyes close. Shoulders still. He doesn’t rush.

And of course, you follow every movement. Match the shape of his hands. Lower your head. Try to still your breath the way he does.

Eventually, he opens his eyes, and for a moment his gaze flickers toward you. Feeling his stare you look up, half-expecting him to look surprised or annoyed. But his gaze softens… just slightly… just for you… and a small smile flickers across his face, brief but real.

You blink at him. “What?” you whisper, uncertain. “Did I mess it up?”

He shakes his head slowly, that tiny smile still curling at the edge of his mouth. “No,” he murmurs, “you’re doing it… perfectly.”

And then he turns to light incense, stepping quietly to the side.

Of course, you follow. Just close enough to match his pace. Just close enough not to lose your place beside him. And together, you place the incense upright in the ash bed. Side by side. Your hands nearly brush.

You keep your gaze lowered, but movement catches at the edge of your vision.

Two older shrine-goers, praying near the incense trays, glance up. One smiles. The other leans toward her and whispers something beneath her breath. You catch the phrase “still so traditional” before it’s lost to the wind.

You blink. Traditional?

You’re just trying not to embarrass yourself further.

Still, your steps stay cautious. You keep your hands folded the way Izou does. You walk in silence.

You want to do it right.

Then, when the offering is done you two turn to leave. Still, you can’t help but look over to the older women again and notice how one bows her head while the other smiles as she watches you both pass, like she knows something you don’t.

So, you glance at Izou and lean toward him, keeping your voice low. “Are you sure I didn’t mess anything up?”

He hums lightly, almost amused. “You didn’t.”

“Because…” You glance back again. “They keep looking at us like we just announced something. Or agreed to something. And I… I don’t know what I’m missing.”

Izou doesn’t answer right away. But his pace slows just enough that you notice.

When he does speak, it’s quiet, thoughtful. “They probably saw something familiar.”

You blink. “Familiar?”

“Something they remember,” he says. “From when tradition wasn’t just formality. When it meant something.”

You glance sideways at him, brows still slightly knit. “Is that a good thing?” you ask, still not completely understanding.

Izou doesn’t look at you right away. His gaze stays ahead, fixed gently on the path winding back down through the trees. But the corner of his mouth lifts, not a smirk, not teasing. Something softer.

“Yes,” he says, and this time, he does look at you. “One might say that.”

His voice is steady, but there’s a glimmer of something behind the words something you can’t name yet, but it feels warm. Quietly proud. Maybe even fond.

But you don’t press. You just walk the rest of the way beside him, wondering what, exactly, they all saw that you didn’t.

_____________

What a day… You enjoyed experiencing the culture and interacting with the locals, but once evening comes around, you’re truly happy to be back in the inn.

The inn’s common room glows with golden light, lanterns swaying gently as night folds over the village outside. The table is already full with ceramic dishes piled high with leftovers, cups clinking softly as another round of sake is poured.

Thatch leans back, laughing at something Ace just said, something loud and ridiculous, at Marco’s expense, judging by the exasperated look on his face.

You smile faintly, letting their voices fade to a low buzz and not really listening, thoughts bouncing from memory to memory, replaying the day’s moments over and over.

Eventually, you glance to Izou, who’s sitting next to you. He hasn’t said much all evening.

But to be fair, you haven’t either.

“Izou,” you murmur, low enough that only he hears. “Can we talk?”

He looks at you then, eyes steady. “Is something wrong?”

“I just… Please…” You nod toward the hallway, and he follows without a word.

You end up near the edge of the garden, where the paper walls let in the soft sound of wind chimes and the distant laughter of your friends. It’s dimmer here, quieter. And when you turn to him, your hands are folded tightly in front of you.

“I’m not stupid,” you begin, voice soft but firm. “I know something’s been going on.”

Izou doesn’t respond, he just watches you, unreadable.

“People stared,” you go on. “They whispered. They laughed. At us. And you…” your voice catches, “…you won’t tell me why. I’ve asked. I’m asking again now. Just once more.”

Still nothing.

You exhale, starting to turn away, but then Izou reaches into his sleeve and pulls something out. A small, rectangular parcel, neatly wrapped in deep red cloth.

He holds it out to you.

You blink, confused, but take it carefully. Your fingers unwrap the cloth slowly, revealing a slim wooden box. You open it.

Inside is a hairpin.

Delicate and exquisite—silver inlaid with lacquered flowers, with a tiny crane poised in flight at the end. It glimmers faintly in the light, too beautiful to be anything casual.

Your breath hitches. “Izou, this is…”

He cuts in, voice low but clear. “In Wano… when someone wants to court another person, they don’t use words at first.”

You look up sharply.

“They offer gestures,” he says. “Meals. Walks. Small touches. Gifts. And eventually… a hairpin. It’s the final step before the proposal.”

The silence that follows is thick. Dizzying.

You stare down at the hairpin, its delicate craftsmanship glinting in your palm. The crane’s wings are outstretched mid-flight, caught in a moment of motion, and yet your whole world feels like it’s holding its breath.

When you speak, your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Izou’s gaze lifts to meet yours, but he doesn’t answer right away. You push, just a little more, because you need to understand.

“All those times I asked if I did something wrong,” you murmur. “If I offended anyone. You could’ve told me what it meant. That I was…” Your words falter. “That I was doing all that by accident.”

Still, he says nothing.

Your voice sharpens, not with anger but with hurt. “Why didn’t you explain it to me?”

Izou finally exhales, slow and quiet, like he’s setting something down inside himself.

“Because it wasn’t wrong,” he says simply. “It never felt wrong.”

You blink, startled.

“I liked it,” he continues. “Being looked at that way. Being given food, and walked beside, and…” He hesitates for a moment, then finishes softer, “It felt like I was being chosen. And I… I wanted to pretend. Just for a while.”

Your breath catches in your chest. He’s looking at the floor now, his voice low, unsure. Like he’s afraid to look up and find regret on your face.

And maybe you should be angry, or embarrassed, or feel tricked. But you don’t. You’re just quiet for a long moment.

Then, with slow, careful fingers, you lift the hairpin from the box and hold it out to him.

Izou freezes.

His eyes drop to the pin, to the crane resting in your open palm, then to your expression. Whatever he sees there makes his jaw tighten. He doesn’t reach for it at first.

You give it a little nudge toward him.

And finally, he takes it.

His hands are shaking.

You see it, the tremble in his fingers as he wraps them around the gift he gave you. The way he holds it like it’s something fragile, something breaking.

Like he thinks you’re handing it back.

“I just…” You start, then pause. You turn away, looking down toward the wooden floorboards, suddenly very interested in the weave of your sleeve. “I don’t know how to put it in.”

You don’t see his face, but you hear the breath he lets out. A sound caught somewhere between disbelief and relief.

“Could you…?” You swallow, still not facing him. “Would you… put it in for me?”

Silence stretches just long enough that you wonder if you misread something until you feel him move.

He steps behind you, slow and steady. And when his hands rise to gently brush your hair aside, your whole body goes still.

His touch is feather-light, reverent. He gathers your hair with more care than you thought possible, pulling it back just enough to find the right place near your ear. You feel the cool brush of metal as he slides the pin in.

And he sees it, then—your ears flushed bright red, the blush creeping all the way to the tips. Your shoulders tense under his touch like you’re trying to hold yourself perfectly still, even though you’re clearly on the edge of bursting into flames.

Izou smiles.

It’s soft. Private. A little stunned.

“Adorable,” he can’t help himself from saying it out loud.

He lingers just a moment longer, smoothing one last stray piece of hair away from your cheek, his fingertips ghosting across your skin.

And when you finally turn to look at him again, your blush hasn’t faded, but there’s something proud in your eyes now, too. Like you’ve chosen this. Like you’re not afraid of being seen anymore.

The crane glints in your hair between you.

And Izou… he just stares at you, utterly undone.

Then, like his body moves before his mind can catch up, his thumb brushes softly across your cheeks, tracing skin like he’s memorizing it.

You stay still, heart fluttering like the crane resting just above your ear.

Your breath catches when his hand tilts ever so slightly, his fingers cradling your jaw now. You open your eyes to find him already looking at you—closely, deeply—like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Izou,” you whisper, though you’re not sure what you meant to say. Maybe just his name. Maybe just to breathe it into the space between you because you need him to know how you feel without saying anything else.

“I know,” he murmurs, just as quietly.

But he still doesn’t move.

Not yet.

There’s a reverence in the way he waits, giving you time… always giving you time. And it’s that patience, that gentleness, that makes your chest ache with wanting.

So you tilt your chin up. Barely. Just enough.

His eyes flick to your lips. Just once.

And then he leans in.

The kiss is slow, almost tentative at first. A brush of lips, soft and searching, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to have this… if you’ll stay or pull away.

But you don’t.

You lean into him, one hand rising instinctively to grip the front of his kimono, grounding yourself in the warmth of him. And that’s all the answer he needs.

His other arm curls around your waist, drawing you closer, holding you steady as his lips press more firmly into yours—still tender, but now with more weight. More intent.

It’s not a kiss meant to steal your breath.

It’s a kiss that gives it back to you.

When you part, neither of you speaks right away. Your foreheads rest together, the hush between you humming with something alive.

But then a sudden gust of wind chills your skin, making you shiver beneath the soft night air and Izou feels it instantly.

His hand presses to the small of your back.

“Come on,” he murmurs, already shrugging off his haori. “Let’s head back. It’s getting cold.”

The walk back is slow and quiet, your steps unhurried, your heart still fluttering from the kiss and everything it meant. The hairpin glints gently in your hair as you lean a little into him, warmed more by his presence than the borrowed fabric.

When you return to the inn, laughter and voices are already spilling out of the common room. Inside, Ace, Thatch, and Marco are sitting cross-legged around low trays stacked with sake cups and half-eaten snacks, joined now by Kikunojo.

The moment you and Izou step into the light, Kiku looks up. Her gaze sweeps over you both—your flushed cheeks, the borrowed haori still wrapped around your shoulders, and then... the crane hairpin gleaming in your hair.

Her expression shifts immediately, all amusement and recognition. “Well,” she says, eyes dancing. “Congratulations.”

You blink, not expecting anyone to figure out what just happened by looking at you for less than three seconds.

Ace immediately pauses mid-sip and whips his head toward her. “Congrats for what?!”

Thatch nearly chokes on a rice cracker. “Hold on, hold on, what did we miss?! You two were gone for, like, five minutes!”

Kiku smiles behind her cup, absolutely enjoying herself. “Look closely.”

Thatch squints. “What am I looking for…? Oh. OH.” He points dramatically at your head. “The hairpin. It must have something to do with the hairpin!”

“Exchanging gifts, especially hairpins and other accessories are a sign of commitment, yoi.” Marco sips calmly. “It’s the final step in a Wano courtship ritual.”

Ace screams. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN FINAL STEP?! WHEN WERE THERE OTHER STEPS?!”

You burst into laughter just as Izou casually sits down and pours himself a drink like nothing is happening. You slide down beside him, flushed but smiling, and reach for his hand your fingers linking without hesitation.

“Oh my god, it’s real,” Thatch whispers. “It’s actually happening. I thought you two hated each other.”

“We bickered like once,” you say, amused.

“Which is flirting, apparently!” Ace gestures wildly between you. “Since when? No one tells me anything! Was this happening under our noses the whole time?!”

You’re laughing into your sleeve, but Izou’s hand is still in yours, steady and warm. He watches the chaos unfold with a faint smirk, as though this is exactly what he expected from his loud brothers.

“Okay but LISTEN,” Ace says, suddenly pointing between you and Izou. “We need a timeline. When did this start? When did you fall in love? WHO confessed? Was it dramatic? Did someone cry?”

Thatch slaps the table. “Did you hold hands before this? Kiss behind the inn? Is there a secret love letter somewhere? I need to know everything.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Ace cuts in again.

“Oh my god… NO… did you accidentally court him? Was it one of those ‘oops we’re married now’ situations?!”

“Well…” you begin and than look towards Izou for help, but he doesn’t answer, just raises his sake cup to his lips and takes a slow sip.

“Oh no,” Thatch groans, smacking the table again. “That’s what happened.”

Ace gasps. “And he knew the whole time! Maybe even planned it!”

“I didn’t plan anything,” Izou says smoothly.

“I don’t believe a single word that’s coming out of your mouth !!” Ace howls, flailing dramatically. “I swear, if one more surprise drops on me tonight, I’m throwing myself into the koi pond.”

You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt, but there’s a fluttering warmth in your chest you don’t want to let go of. You look at Izou - his eyes, his steady presence, the way his thumb gently brushes your knuckles beneath the table.

And maybe he feels it too, because he leans in and murmurs, just for you: “You’re glowing.”

“Blame the sake,” you tease.

“No,” he says softly, his smile deepening. “It’s not the sake.”

“STOP WHISPERING SWEET THINGS WE CAN’T HEAR,” Ace yells.

“WE’RE YOUR FAMILY, DAMN IT,” Thatch adds. “WE DEMAND TRANSPARENCY.”

“You two are the worst,” you say, still smiling.

“No, YOU TWO are the worst,” they shout in unison.

_____________

The docks are bustling as you prepare to leave, the sails of your ship tugging gently in the wind, and the early morning light painting everything gold.

You hug Kikunojo tightly, your voice soft. “Thank you. For everything.”

She squeezes you back just as firmly, a warm smile on her face. “Take care of him,” she whispers into your ear, then pulls back with a glimmer in her eyes. “And keep wearing the pin. It suits you.”

Your hand instinctively touches the ornament tucked neatly into your hair, and you nod, throat tightening a little.

Izou stands nearby, exchanging quiet farewells with a few other locals, and when your eyes meet, his expression softens in that way that makes your heart flip all over again.

But the moment is short-lived, because as soon as you both step aboard the ship, you can feel that chaos is about to start.

“Alright, listen up!” Ace announces, sliding down the mast with exaggerated flair. He plants himself firmly in front of you, arms crossed. “New rule: no sneaky late-night strolls, no romantic moonlit talks, and absolutely no eloping behind our backs!”

You blink at him. “We’re not… Ace, seriously?”

“I mean it!” he insists, pointing between you and Izou. “If we give you two even an inch of privacy, next thing we know, you’re getting married in the middle of the night by candlelight with no witnesses and we’ll all find out from a note taped to the mast!”

You can’t help laughing, lifting your hands to try and calm him. “Ace, come on, it’s not like that. We’re not planning anything. I swear.”

Thatch strolls up behind him, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the drama. “That’s what they want us to think. But we’ve seen the signs. The blushes. The stolen looks. You’re one quiet dinner away from exchanging vows.”

“Exactly. Therefore, I will sleep outside your door,” Ace threatens dramatically. “I will do it. Just try me.”

You open your mouth to protest again, but you feel Izou shift beside you, entirely too calm. In fact… smug.

“Well,” he says smoothly, folding his arms, “technically… I could marry her right here. In my cabin. Doesn’t even need to be formal. Quiet. Private. No interruptions.”

You turn to look at him, eyes wide. “Izou!”

But he’s smirking now, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. He’s enjoying this.

Ace gasps loudly enough to echo off the sails. “OH HELL NO. You are NOT sharing a room! Not unless I’m sleeping between you two from now on!”

You sigh through your laughter, watching as Ace frantically starts drawing diagrams in the air with wild gestures while Marco walks away in the opposite direction, pretending not to hear a word.

Through it all, Izou’s hand remains firmly in yours.

You glance up at him, smiling despite the ridiculousness of it all. “You really like riling him up, don’t you?”

His smile softens. “Only a little.”

And even with Ace shouting about curfews and Thatch declaring himself your “maid of honor just in case,” it’s quiet between the two of you in that one perfect moment, like the chaos only makes it sweeter.

You glance up at Izou with a snicker you can’t hold back, eyes still bright from laughter. “Just wait until the others hear about this.”

He lifts a brow, returning your grin with a gleam of mischief in his gaze. “And Pops.”

Your expression shifts into a mixture of amusement and mock horror. “Oh, Pops is going to love this.”

Your laughter softens as Izou turns toward you, the teasing fading into something quieter, gentler. The breeze tousles his hair, and the warmth in his eyes isn’t playful anymore… It’s something deeper.

You don’t need words.

His hand rises, fingertips brushing against your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, lingering there as if afraid the moment might slip away. You tilt your face up instinctively, breath caught between heartbeats.

And then he kisses you.

It’s slow, tender, full of the kind of affection that’s been building in quiet glances and stolen moments. The world around you fades away… the sway of the ship, the distant shouting from below deck, even the sound of the sea. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in that single, perfect kiss.

Until…

“OH MY GOD IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN!!”

#fanfiction #fanfic #one piece #op izou #izou x reader #izou one piece #whitebeard pirates #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece wano

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emskryptonite · 2 days ago

Text

Heartbreak

a/n: ahhhhhh my first fic here!!! i'm a teensy bit nervous but mostly excited!! this was written for my bestie @heartsforjh but i hope everyone enjoys it!! also just a psa: if you enjoy feel free to drop a follow! my inbox is always open so feel free to come chat whenever!! MWAH ❤️

Summary: Being best friends with Dick Grayson was easy, and falling in love with him was even easier. Everything gets a lot more complicated, though, when you realize you have a disease that can only form through unrequited love.

Pairing(s): Dick Grayson x fem!Queen!reader, Wally West x fem!Queen!reader if you really squint

Word Count: 3.6k

Content/Warnings: Hanahaki AU, unrequited love, angst, not really any comfort, Dick isn't present the entire way through (mostly by mentions until the end), not proofread, reader is described at Oliver Queen’s daughter but it only says it once (i think) so it’s easy to ignore (otherwise could be read as gn!reader), I think that's all but if I missed something let me know!!

You really shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, only you could love someone so strongly, despite the feelings not being returned, that you would contract a disease so rare that some people still think it to be folklore.

You met Dick Grayson when the both of you were nine, right after Bruce adopted him and he officially became Bruce’s ward. The billionaire had wanted the young boy to have a few friends his age, hoping it would help him adjust. So, he got Barry Allen to bring over his nephew, Wally West, and Oliver Queen to bring over his daughter, you. The rest was history after that; you were three peas in a pod, rarely ever seen without the other two.

You suppose it was inevitable for you to fall for one of the two boys as you all grew older, and of course, it had to be Dick. How couldn’t it be, though? He was effortlessly beautiful, and he knew all the best ways to make you laugh. He brightened up the room every time he walked in, having the radiance and the gravitational pull of the sun. Wally was wonderful in every way, no matter how talkative he can be, but Dick Grayson is just way too easy to love.

Unfortunately for you, you would spend the majority of your teen years loving him from a distance, while he spent the majority of his going from relationship to relationship. You had been forced to watch from the sidelines as he went from one girl to the next, and of course, you couldn’t even hate a single one of them because heaven forbid he dated outside of your extensive friend group. From Zatanna to Barbara to Kori, you stood aside and watched the boy you love fall in love with others over and over and over again. Eventually, you had sort of made peace with it; that is, until last week when you coughed up a flower petal.

You were nothing short of confused as you stared at the pink petal resting in your palm. Honestly, you weren’t even sure what type of flower the petal was from at first. It took days of research to find out that it belonged to a primrose. Shortly after, the internet informed you that primroses (specifically pink ones) are often a representation of unrequited love, and that’s when it clicked for you.

You were quite the reader; your father highly encouraged gaining as much knowledge as possible. You read about the disease before, but you, like most of the world, believed it to be a made-up story, something to ease the minds of people whose love isn’t returned. You figured it was a sort of legend, thought up to more or less say, “Yeah, sure, they don’t love you back, but hey, at least you don’t have flowers growing from your lungs because of it!” Except, you do. You do have flowers growing in your lungs, taking up all the space where the air you breathe in should be.

Since you had read up on the disease years ago, you were more than aware of the two options you have treatment-wise. You could get surgery before the plant grows too large, but you’d lose all memory of the person you love. That means you wouldn’t remember a single minute of the time you’ve spent with Dick, none of the laughs, none of the tears, none of the slow patrol nights spent on rooftops, knowing one of you shouldn’t have left your city to go hang out with the other. Besides, what does that mean for Wally? Half of your memories with him overlap with half your memories of Dick. Would there just be bits of your friendship that you would never be able to recall?

As unnerving as all of that is, and as much as you don’t want to lose your memories, you know the only other option is letting the plant continue to grow until it completely takes over. Yeah, you could either completely forget the person you love the most (and quite possibly parts of other relationships you have), or you could die because a primrose plant took over your lungs.

Of course, there technically is a cure, but you’re not getting your hopes up any time soon. If the one you love gives you a confession, a real one, one that they mean, the plant will die, and you’ll go back to life as normal. However, you’ve silently loved Dick Grayson for ten years now. You’ve watched as he’s loved every girl your age except for you for ten years now. If he wanted you, he would’ve made his move by now.

You know what your options are, but more importantly, you know that no one under any circumstances can know of your condition.

Wally found out. You swore you could make it through one movie night, but halfway through the first movie, the coughing started, and but the time it stopped, you’d coughed up two entire flowers’ worth of petals. Wally was freaked out at first, to say the least.

“Oh, my god. Are you alright? You could’ve told me you were sick. We could’ve just reschedu- Are those flower petals? Where did flower petals come from?” His voice halts to a stop when he sees the drained look on your face as you stare up at him. “Are- Are they from you?” His brows are high on his forehead, and you can’t help the guilt that crawls up your spine from making him worry.

“Wally, please don’t worry-” He’s quick to cut you off.

“Don’t worry? You’re coughing up flower petals! Why would I not worry about that? You know what? I’m calling Dick. You’ll listen to him.”

“No!” His head snaps toward your direction, “You can’t tell Dick! Please don’t tell Dick, Wally.” Tears are brimming in your eyes now, and it breaks Wally’s heart a bit.

“Okay. Okay, I won’t tell him, but you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on, alright? We’re best friends, so whatever this is, I’m gonna help you through it. That’s what I’m here for.”

You hesitate, but you know deep down that you need the help and, more importantly, the reassurance. “Alright, I’ll tell you everything, but I’m being serious, Wallace, this stays between us. No one else can know.” You level him with a glare, letting him know how serious you are.

“You have my word.”

“I, um, I have this really rare disease. It’s called Hanahaki. Basically, when you really love someone and they don’t love you back, flowers will begin to grow in your lungs, until eventually, they take over.”

“So, what do we do? Is there a cure? Or- or some kind of treatment?” He shifts closer to you, and you see the worry deep in his eyes again.

“The only real cure is if the person I love feels the same way and confesses to me, but I know he doesn’t. So, that’s off the table,” you sigh.

“So, what’s left. You just deal with this forever?”

“Not exactly…” You trail off a bit. “I could have surgery done to remove the plants from my lungs, but in doing so, I would lose all memories of the person I’m in love with.”

“I’m assuming you don’t want to do that, then?”

“No. Not particularly.”

“Where does that leave us- you?”

You stare at Wally for a long moment, knowing that the next thing that comes out of your mouth just might break him. You don’t want to hurt your friend, but you know that he deserves to know. “The flowers will eventually take over my lungs, and I’ll… I’ll die, Wally.”

“What?” He stands from the couch, his voice rising once more. “So, that’s it then? I just have to sit around and watch my best friend die! You can’t do that to me, to any of us! You have to get the surgery. There’s no way this person is that significant. I’ll help you recover. I’ll-”

“It’s Dick.”

His head whips in your direction once more, the worry and stress on his face giving way to something more solemn, more serious, so not Wally. “What?” He practically whispers the word, more shocked than you thought he would be. Apparently, you had hidden this crush pretty well.

“I’m in love with Dick. That’s why I don’t wanna forget. I can’t- I can’t forget him, Wally. I can’t.” You’re breaking down now, and your best friend is quick to gather you into his arms, reclaiming his seat on the couch.

“That’s why you didn’t want him to know. I’m sorry, so so sorry.”

You both know there isn’t much more to be said after that. So, that’s how your movie night ended, with a movie paused halfway through and you curled up in Wally’s arms, crying until you couldn’t anymore. And if Wally shed a few tears of his own after he was sure you were asleep, he’d never tell a soul.

It had been a couple of months since that night, and your condition was worsening. The petals you’d been coughing up were now covered in blood when they surfaced. You knew you were running out of time, but you didn’t want to admit it.

You had gotten good at dodging Dick’s offers to hang out, and it had gotten easier when he got back together with Kori. There was a small part of you that was hurt, the part that had the tiniest sliver of hope that maybe he did love you back and that all of this would go away soon. Needless to say, that part of you had been squished like a bug. The rest of you, though? The rest of you couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. The rest of you wanted to hate him for not returning your feelings, wanted to blame him for the condition you’re in, but you couldn’t. You know better than anyone that you can’t help how you feel. You can’t help that you love him with every fibre of your being, the same way that he can’t help that he’ll only ever see you as a friend.

The most difficult part of all of this, though, has been avoiding Dick’s family and your own family. They weren’t buying your excuses any longer, and honestly, you were running out of them anyway. You missed them all dearly, so you decided you would just have to tough it up and power through it for the day. Bruce invited you, your dad, and Roy over to the manor for dinner, and you were much more excited than you like to admit. Dick was tied up in Bludhaven, so you didn’t have to worry about him. It was all going so well; you should’ve known that something would go wrong.

“So, Ollie, how is Queen Industries doing?” Ah, yes, you’ve reached the point of the evening where your father and Bruce talk business because they really can’t help themselves. It would’ve been fine, albeit boring, if you and Tim hadn’t started snickering. It choked you up a bit, the air catching in your throat to make it tingle, and then the coughing started. You tried to run to the nearest bathroom, hoping you could hide it, but it was no use.

This was easily the worst coughing fit you’d ever had, and although it started as the usual bloody petals, it only multiplied from there. You were only able to stop coughing and catch your breath when an entire pink primrose landed on the table in front of you. You slowly look up, taking a weary look at the faces around you through teary eyes. You’re met with nothing but concern and fear, and it makes you feel even worse. You want to say something, to try to make things better, but the room starts spinning. You’re only able to get out one word before you collapse into your father’s arms, “Wally.”

When you wake up, you find Wally on one side of the hospital bed you're on and Roy on the other. You look around to gather your bearings and see your father leaning into Dinah’s arms, most likely for comfort. You can clearly see the concern on everyone’s faces, and that same guilt kicks back up. Sure, it’s not your fault that you’re in this condition, not really, but you should’ve told them, warned them. You know that now.

As you look back at Wally, Roy notices that you’re awake, “Hey, how ya feelin’?” His voice is soft, uncertain.

“Uh, not great, right now.” You wince as the two men help you sit up.

“Yeah, that was pretty scary for us. I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt,” Wally chimes in. It’s that your father realizes you’ve woken up and makes his way to the foot of your bed with Dinah close by.

“I wish you had told me,” he says, solemnly.

“Dad-”

“No, it’s alright. I know you had your reasons. Bruce looked into your diagnosis and briefed us all. Please, please, tell me you’re getting that surgery.” There are tears in his eyes, and for once, Oliver Queen is struggling to keep it together.

“I, um, no, I hadn’t planned on it.” You turn your head to your left, unable to look your father in the eye.

“Sweetheart-”

“I don’t want to- I can’t forget him, Dad.”

“Honey, I know this person is obviously very important to you, and I understand. I know how it feels to love someone, but think about everyone else in your life. You have so many other people who love you, and it would really hurt them to lose you.”

The two of you stare at one another for a short while. Your father’s eyes were pleading, silently begging you to consider his side. You were consumed with thoughts, caught in the middle. Finally, you make your decision.

“Alright. I’ll have the surgery, but only on one condition.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart, I’ll make it happen.”

“I have to talk to Dick. Face to face.”

“Are you sure?” Roy questions from beside you.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go call him now,” Wally says, although he seems a bit unsure.

The next half hour is filled with the others taking turns checking up on you and trying to lift your spirits. At some point during that time, Bruce called Dr. Leslie Thompkins to come perform your surgery, assuming the conversation with Dick goes well.

It’s nice, really, to have all of them here with you. You’ve missed them the past couple of months, and now more than ever, you regret avoiding them.

Soon enough, the man of the hour walks in, and of course, Kori strolls in behind him. You feel horrible for being so disappointed that she’s here; after all, she probably wanted to check on you as well. You just wish Dick would’ve come by himself.

Everyone, thankfully, is more than aware that this conversation should be private, and they all leave the two of you alone without having to be asked. The worry is evident on Dick’s face as he nears your bed, and suddenly, you’re not sure if you can hurt him like this. Honestly, no matter which option you go with, it’ll do some damage to your best friend, but which one would be easier for him to recover from?

“Wally said you’re sick? That you collapsed at dinner? What’s going on?” His brows scrunch together, and he reaches his right arm out to lay a hand on your shoulder.

“I, um, I have Hanahaki, Dick. It’s a really rare disease that can only form out of unrequited love.” You play with your fingers in your lap, refusing to look at your best friend.

“So- So you’re in love with someone, and they don’t love you back? Who is stupid enough not to love someone as amazing as you?” He seems utterly shocked, and the irony of his words isn’t lost on you. In fact, it hits you so hard that your throat starts to tingle, and before you know it, you’ve coughed up another whole primrose. You catch a glimpse of Dick’s stunned expression, and you realize just how little he knows.

“I have primroses growing in my lungs. Eventually, they’ll take over, unless he magically begins to love me back.”

“Wha- So, you know he doesn’t? Like for sure. There’s zero chance that this guy returns your feelings.”

“I mean, I haven’t outright asked him, but it’s obvious. He’s never seen me in a romantic light, and he never will.”

“So, what are your options?”

“Well, there’s only one other option, surgery. Dr. Thompkins is actually here to perform it now, but I just wanted to ask your opinion.”

“I’m assuming there’s some kind of downside, then.”

“Yeah. I, uh. I wouldn’t remember him at all.”

“Look, I know this guy is really important to you, and the thought of not remembering him probably really hurts you. But, no matter who this guy is, the rest of us need you here.”

“So, you really think I should go through with the surgery, no matter who the guy is?”

“No matter who it is.” He seems so sure, so confident that this is the right move that you almost want to tell him. You almost do. You lay your right hand over his own, ready to lay out your feelings, to see if that changes his mind, but as soon as you open your mouth, your mind is rushed with memories of every time you had watched him love someone else. You relive every time he called you a “good friend” after you consoled him after a rough breakup. You recall every time he excitedly told you which one of your friends he was dating. It makes you sick to your stomach, and you have to hold back another coughing fit.

“I’ll go through with the surgery then,” you settle for. You give him a tight-lipped smile. You know this would hurt him, but you couldn’t bear to continue to live through the torture of loving him while knowing he’d never truly see you.

Just moments later, your friends and family were ushered away as Dr. Thompkins began to sedate you before the surgery.

“We’ll be right here when you wake up,” Dick smiles warmly at you, attempting to bring you comfort.

You wake a few hours later with a headache, a scratchy throat, and the odd urge to breathe as deeply as you can. You hear people shuffling all around you, checking your vitals, making sure everything has gone well; someone even hands you a glass of water. You take a few sips while your eyes adjust, the blurriness slowly dissipating. When your eyesight is back to normal, you take a slow look around, smiling at the fact that so many people came to be sure you’re alright.

However, as you glance around, there’s one face that you don’t quite recognize. You don’t question it for the moment. You recognize the woman under his arm as your friend Kori, so you reason that she must have brought her boyfriend along.

You’re quite shocked, however, when he steps forward with a bright smile on his face.

“See! I told you everything would be fine and dandy!”

You furrow your brows, and your head tilts to the side a bit. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

You watch as his face falls, and you notice your best friend, Wally, walking up behind the strange man. The man’s mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but Wally grabs his shoulders, gently tugging him into another room. You shoot your father a curious look, and you receive one that says he’ll fill you in later.

“She was messing with me, right, Wally?” Dick is pacing in front of one of his best friends, hands running through his hair, mind going a thousand miles a minute.

“It was you, Dick.” Wally doesn’t know what else to say. He knows you might be a little mad at him later, but Dick deserves an explanation.

“What?” He turns toward the redhead, breathless.

“She was in love with you. She had been for, like, ten years, since we were teenagers.” Wally watches his friend completely deflate, a man who once brightened up every room he entered, now overcome with the shadow of grief, mourning a friendship that you couldn’t even recall.

“So, she doesn’t remember me at all? We’ve been friends since we were nine, and now there’s just nothing?”

“It looks that way, yeah. I’m so sorry, man.”

“Wait. You knew?”

“Well, I-”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve done something!”

“Don’t act like you’ve been in love with her this whole time! If you were, she wouldn’t have gotten that stupid disease in the first place!”

“I could have tried! I could have- I could have-” Dick cuts himself off mid-sentence, falling to his knees on the floor, tears now streaming down his face.

Wally is quick to join him, tears quickly welling up in his eyes as well. “I wanted to tell you, man. You have to believe me, but she made me promise not to. And, god, just be glad you didn’t have to see how bad she got. It tore me apart to watch her cough up those petals. I’ve never seen her so worn down.”

“I did that to her…”

“No. C’mon, don’t think like that. Neither of you could help how you felt about one another. I know the situation sucks, but it’s all over now. You guys can start over, let her get to know you again.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I guess so.” As Dick sat there, mourning a friendship that never existed to you, he felt a twisting pain begin to grow in his chest, clawing at his insides, ready to take him down to his lowest level, and he couldn’t help but think about just how much it felt like heartbreak.

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#em's writing #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson angst #nightwing #nightwing x reader

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formulafanfics13 · 2 days ago

Text

The Ribbon and the Room - Toto Wolff

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The Wolff home was regal. Not ostentatious, never that. It was the kind of old European grandeur that came with heritage, not decoration. Clean marble. Carved wood. Velvet walls and gold accents polished by time, not trend.

A roaring fire crackled in the drawing room, casting amber light across crystal glasses, pressed lapels, and the carefully impassive faces of motorsport's elite.

All twenty Formula 1 drivers, all nine other team principals. No cameras. No PR teams. No significant others. Just the sport's inner circle, gathered in civility.

It was the kind of night when real deals were made. And Toto, ever the pillar, stood tall in the center of it, lowball glass in hand, suit sharp but relaxed, exuding control with the ease of someone born to command rooms like this.

And then, "Papa!" A bright, high voice rang from upstairs.

The room stirred slightly. Smirks, raised brows, polite chuckles. Max arched an eyebrow. Logan leaned toward Lando with a quiet "Did she say Papa?"

Toto didn't even glance up. Just tilted his head slightly, calling back, "Yes, maus?"

"I can't do my dress! It won't tie properly!"

He smiled softly. "Then come show me."

A pause. Then, half-laughing, half-grumbling, "Fine!"

The drivers shared glances. Charles blinked. Yuki looked mildly enchanted. Horner shook his head into his drink like he was expecting chaos.

And then she appeared. At the top of the staircase. Everything stilled.

She was radiant. A living portrait in blush silk and soft candlelight.

The gown was a corset-style pageant dream, fitted bodice with boning that hugged her waist, an off-shoulder neckline that fluttered over her arms like petals, and a full skirt that swept behind her like watercolour.

But the back? Unlaced.

Delicate satin ribbons hung loose, trailing along her exposed spine. Her skin glowed faintly from the lotion she'd clearly applied minutes earlier. Her heels clicked gently on the staircase as she descended with grace, holding the skirt to avoid the hem catching.

She reached the arched doorway to the drawing room, placed both hands on either side of the frame, and smiled.

Soft. Composed. A little breathless.

Toto had already placed his drink down. He approached without ceremony, rolling his sleeves once at the wrist. "You should have asked earlier," he murmured, stepping behind her.

"I didn't think it would come this loose," she replied with a sheepish shrug, still facing the room, voice sweet and unapologetic.

He began to thread the silk laces calmly, professionally. This wasn't the first time. His large hands worked through the loops, tightening gently, smoothing out the folds of fabric as he went.

The room watched. Every man, driver or principal, sat in polite, intrigued silence. Nobody said a word. But eyes were fixed. On her dress. On the dynamic. On the way she relaxed slightly with each pull, trusting him completely.

"Tighter, please," she said, voice still light.

He obliged. Pulled another inch.

She wobbled slightly, adjusting her grip on the doorframe.

"Again?"

"Little more," she nodded.

He tightened. Her breath hitched.

The corset hugged her waist now, fitted properly, structured and poised.

But she was leaning forward with the tension, heels wobbling, arms shaking faintly.

"You're going to tip," Toto said quietly.

"I'm trying not to."

He glanced behind her.

"Lewis," he called calmly. "Would you mind?"

Lewis looked up from his seat by the fire. "Hm?"

"Just hold her forward while I pull it tighter."

Lewis stood immediately. He didn't question it. Walked over, placed one hand gently on her upper back, steady, careful. "Got her," he said.

Toto nodded, pulled the ribbon hard and tied the final loop.

"There," he said, straightening. "Beautiful."

She let out a soft breath of relief. Looked back and smiled at both of them.

"Thank you," she said.

Lewis smiled back. "You look incredible."

"I know," she teased gently.

The tension broke. Several drivers laughed. The sound rippled through the room like champagne bubbles.

Pierre raised his glass. "Now that was a show."

Toto just smiled and guided her into the room.

She floated, poised and glowing, hair pinned delicately, eyes bright with effortless charm. And as she took her seat beside him, still adjusting slightly to the newly-tied bodice, there wasn't a man in that room who wasn't watching.

Not in lust. Not in fear. But in awe. Because in the space of three minutes, they had all learned the same quiet truth: Toto Wolff ruled the grid. But his daughter? She owned the room.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 grid x reader #f1 fluff #f1 fic #toto wolff #torger christian wolff

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anon-188 · 2 days ago

Note

on anon because I'm feeling shy, but — aj teaching her something she needs to know for a job, but with cockwarming involved. bonus points if she ends up teaching him something in return. 😌

pairing: AJ x f!reader | genre: smut | wc: 1.6k

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), cockwarming (obvi), unprotected sex, dom!AJ, power dynamics, brat!reader, strong language.

a/n: i hope this is close to what you meant!! thank you for requesting! <3 hope you like it :)

It was yet another late night. AJ had come over to your place this time, settling in as you both got back to work. Blueprints were spread across the dining room table, creased at the corners from how often you’d been poring over them the past few nights.

You were getting better at it—better than when you first started—but not quite where you needed to be for the next job.

Normally, AJ was the one calling the shots when it came to planning, but this time Gordon had insisted on having two people manage the layout. He wanted to double down on logistics, make sure nothing was missed.

And surprisingly, Gordon had vouched for you. Said you had a good head for angles. That your insight had saved their asses more than once, even if he didn’t always say it out loud.

But then came the issue of you not being able to fully read the blueprints. The layers, the symbols—it all blurred together if you looked too long.

Gordon had asked if you thought you could get it sorted in two weeks, close the gap, and you said yes, fully thinking you’d just play catch-up on your own.

The second AJ found out you needed help—like the gentleman he swore he was—he offered.

Only problem?

AJ’s version of help usually ended with you bent over some surface, breathless, moaning his name while the plans sat forgotten in a pile beside you.

You’d been hooking up with him on the low for a few months now. Everyone thought you just worked well together—which was true. They just didn’t know how well.

Tonight, it was supposed to be business.

AJ sat to your right, forearms braced on the table, sleeves rolled up just past his elbows. His watch glinted as he pointed to a section of the blueprint—something about structural tension—and you tried to focus, you really did.

But now you were over it.

Not because it was too hard—you were getting there—but because AJ had been teasing you nonstop.

His hand stayed on your thigh, inching higher every so often, close to slipping under your skirt. He kept leaning in when he didn’t need to, talking in that low voice of his that always sounded like a setup. And every time you looked up, that stupid smirk was waiting—cocky, amused, and dangerously inviting.

You let out a breath, folding your arms.

“What’s wrong?” AJ asked, all confidence and charm.

You didn’t answer. Kept your eyes on the table, pretending to study the blueprint like you were still trying to make sense of it. But you weren’t. You were already thinking. Plotting.

And then you got an idea.

Without a word, you moved onto AJ’s lap, settling yourself with just enough ease to make it seem casual. He raised a brow, slightly surprised, but the smile tugging at his mouth said he wasn’t complaining.

When he asked what you were doing, you played it off with a shrug, eyes on the table. “Trying to get a better view of the blueprints.”

He didn’t push it. Just leaned back, still watching you like he already knew what you were up to.

Not even a minute later, you shifted your hips.

AJ let out a low hum, followed by a soft chuckle. “So that’s what this is about.”

You didn’t answer. You just rolled your hips again, slower this time. His hands slid over the tops of your thighs, then up your sides as he exhaled, the sound rougher now, deeper.

“We still need to get through these,” he said, though he made no effort to move you. Instead, his hands found your hips again, thumbs pressing into your skin like he was considering something.

Then he shifted beneath you—slow, intentional—just enough for you to feel the full length of him under you, hard and heavy through his pants. He let you feel it. Let you sit with it.

“You want it that bad?” he asked, his hands firm against your inner thigh, holding you in place.

“Then you’re gonna sit right here. No grinding. No whining. You take all of me—and if you can keep still…” His voice dropped again, slower now. “I’ll make it worth it.”

You knew exactly what he meant.

He’d done this before—kept you full, still, aching while he made you wait. He was always so damn nonchalant about it. But you? You never lasted long.

AJ leaned you forward slightly, one hand at the small of your back. The other went to his belt, the sound of the buckle sharp in the quiet room. You heard the drag of the zipper next, then the faint shift of fabric.

As soon as he freed himself, he gripped his cock and started working it in slow strokes. His breath turned heavier, dirtier, like he was already imagining how good you’d feel around him.

He pushed your skirt higher, fingers grazing your skin as he bared just enough.

Then—

“Come here,” he murmured, the gravel in his voice saying more than the words did.

You repositioned, pushing your underwear aside as his hands slid back to your hips and guided you into place.

The moment you sank down on him, your head tipped back followed by a sharp moan before you could stop it. Your body clenched at the stretch, just as AJ’s hands gripped harder, holding you flush against him.

He didn’t move—not yet. Just let you feel him.

And fuck, you felt everything.

Even after groaning from the contact himself, AJ still had that cocky grin in his voice.

“You probably won’t last ten minutes like this,” he muttered against your skin. “You’re never patient.”

Was he right? Sure.

Every other time, yeah, you cracked. But not tonight. Not after the teasing, not after the bullshit earlier that had you pressing your thighs together just to keep from reacting.

So you didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him. Just exhaled slow, steeling yourself, and reached for the blueprint again.

You’d prove him wrong, even if it killed you.

He was thick and hot inside you, pulsing gently with every small clench of your body. The stretch was maddening—not from movement, but from the absence of it.

The stillness made it worse. Made it better. Your body ached for friction, for rhythm, but you forced your eyes to stay on the paper in front of you.

You were full, so full it was impossible not to feel every inch of him. Every subtle twitch. Every small shift of his thigh beneath yours that pushed him in just a little deeper—just enough to remind you who was in control.

Well. Who he thought was in control.

For the next thirty minutes, AJ listened to you ask questions. Over and over.

Now you were leaning in again, dragging your finger across the same damn corner of the blueprint you’d already asked about—twice.

“So this—this feeds into the silent alarm loop, right?”

AJ’s hand flexed beside yours, knuckles going white for half a second before he answered. “Yeah.”

Flat. Dry. Barely controlled.

He kept his eyes on the paper, jaw tight, forcing himself to keep breathing evenly.

This was not how he thought this would go.

He thought you’d fold by now. That you’d get needy. Desperate.

But it was him—he was the one struggling to stay composed.

And then came another fucking question.

“If the silent alarm trips and power reroutes, it defaults to this backup here, doesn’t it? The one tucked behind the vault elevator shaft?”

Your finger landed precisely where it needed to. The way your voice sounded—soft, thoughtful, just a little unsure—could’ve passed for innocent. But AJ knew better.

You had understood the basics last week. You didn’t need to ask.

And now he understood something else. You were playing dumb. Drawing it out on purpose. Testing him.

He didn’t even bother to answer.

You moved in his lap, the motion controlled and unhurried. Then you looked back at him with that sweet little over-the-shoulder glance, hips rolling again—just enough to make sure he really felt it.

And he did.

His hands landed on your hips, rougher than he meant, fingers tightening like he might lose the last of his patience right there.

Your eyes met his.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, soft and syrup-sweet.

AJ’s jaw tensed. His gaze dropped to where your bodies met—where you were still wrapped around him—then dragged back up to your face, darker now. Focused.

So you made it worse.

“Thought you were the patient one?” you said, then rocked your hips forward as much as you could.

His grip tightened, stilling your movement immediately. Harder this time. Possessive. Final.

Suddenly, he stood—fast and forceful—taking you with him, never slipping free.

You barely had time to react before he bent you over the table, pressing you down until your palms flattened over the blueprints.

His mouth was at your ear, voice low and sharp.

“Patience doesn’t mean I’ll let you off,” he bit out, pinning you to the table.

A pause followed, thick and weighted. Enough to make your body brace.

Then he drove into you.

Brutal. No warning. You cried out his name, loud and raw, the sound chased by a curse you that broke from your chest.

He didn’t slow. Just found a rhythm and stayed in it, each thrust hard and unforgiving, dragging another sound from your throat every time his hips met yours.

“You wanted to win?” he said, voice hoarse. One hand slid up to your shoulder, holding you steady, while the other locked back around your hip.

You tried to say his name again, tried to shape it into a plea, but it came out thin.

He let out a harsh breath through his nose, fingers digging in deeper.

“Don’t tap out now.”

Then came the words, quiet and dangerous.

“Take it like a good girl.”

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