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flwrstqr · 2 months

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★ 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU — NRK

preview. there are two sisters: yu karina, a popular girl who's eager to date, and yu y/n, an antisocial girl who is totally uninterested in dating. their overprotective father finally agrees to let karina date, but only if y/n does too. to solve this problem, new student eunwoo, who has a crush on karina, teams up with daeho, a wealthy but narcissistic student. daeho pays the school's bad boy, nishimura riki, to take you out on a date. at first, you are a bit resistant, but soon you find yourself gradually falling in love with riki, who starts to genuinely care for you.

meet the cast. bad boy!riki x antisocial!fem reader (feat yeh shuhua from gidle, yu karina from aespa, choi soobin from txt, new ocs)

genre. high school au, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, romance, crack, ten things i hate about you based, one sided enemies, medium fic

word count. 7k+

warnings. cursing, kissing, profanity (no nsfw or smut), riki just dating yn just for money at first, smoking, parties, drinking, yn being drunk, yn just being very very independent and stubborn, fighting, punching

danielle's note 𖥔 yes i'm cooking something good again... sorry for writing long/medium fics recently ... i've been obsessing over rom coms again and it gives me a new idea each time. LIKE i dont mean to but it just happens ☹️ but anyways this is for my no.1 fav riki stan (LOVE U)

﹙⠀ PLAYiNG . . . ⠀all-american bitch by olivia rodrigo, boyfriend by ariana grande, kill bill by sza, the perfect pair by beabadoobee, sunny day by beabadoobee, hot to go by chappell roan

YOU'RE WALKING THROUGH THE BUSTLING HALLS OF YOUR HIGH SCHOOL, the familiar scent of old textbooks and cleaning supplies filling your senses. Your best friend Shuhua is by your side, chatting away about the latest gossip.

Shuhua glances at you, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’re on a mission again, aren’t you?”

You rip a particularly flyer advertising the upcoming dance off the wall. “Someone has to clean up this mess,” you reply, crumpling it in your hand.

Shuhua laughs. “You’re such a rebel. Why do you hate these so much anyway?”

You shrug, “They’re just clutter. Besides, half of these events are pointless.”

Shuhua sighs dramatically. “You’re impossible. What about the spring festival? It might be fun.”

You give her a sideways glance. “You know I’m not into those kinds of things.”

She grins, linking her arm with yours. “That’s why I’m here, to drag you out of your comfort zone.”

You can’t help but smile at her persistence. “Good luck with that.”

EUNWOO WALKED THROUGH THE BUSTLING SCHOOL HALLWAYS, his eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of nervousness. His guide, Soobin, pointed out different rooms and introduced him to a few students along the way.

“Over there is the science lab,” Soobin said, gesturing to a door on their left. “And that’s the library. You’ll probably spend a lot of time there; it’s pretty nice.”

As they continued down the corridor, Eunwoo’s gaze wandered until it landed on a girl standing by her locker, surrounded by a group of friends. She had long, wavy hair that cascaded down her back and a smile that seemed to light up the whole hallway.

Eunwoo nudged Soobin and nodded toward the girl. “Who’s that?” he asked, his voice tinged with awe.

Soobin followed Eunwoo’s gaze and chuckled softly. “That’s Yu Karina,” he explained. “She’s pretty popular around here. Smart, talented, and everyone wants to be her friend.”

“She’s… wow,” Eunwoo said, unable to take his eyes off her. “She’s really something.”

“Yeah, she’s amazing,” Soobin agreed. “But there’s one thing you should know. Her dad is super strict. He doesn’t let her date anyone. So, if you’re thinking of asking her out, you might want to reconsider.”

Eunwoo’s heart sank a little, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to Karina’s presence. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said, tearing his eyes away from her and back to Soobin.

“No problem,” Soobin replied with a reassuring smile. “Oh, and by the way, I heard she’s looking for a French tutor. She mentioned it to a friend earlier.”

Eunwoo’s eyes lit up. “That’s great!” he exclaimed.

Soobin looked at him, puzzled. “You know how to speak French?”

“No,” Eunwoo admitted with a grin. “But I’m gonna after this.”

YOU'RE CURLED UP ON THE COUCH, ENGROSSED IN YOUR BOOK. Upstairs, you hear your sister, Karina, moving around. The front door opens, and your dad walks in.

Karina descends the stairs with a hopeful look on her face. "Dad, can I go out tonight with Daeho?" she asks, her tone carefully respectful.

Your dad doesn't miss a beat. "No, you can't go. There are two rules in this house. One, you can't date until you graduate. Two, you can't date until you graduate."

Karina groans, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Come on, Dad, that's not fair!"

He folds his arms and gives her a stern look. "Rules are rules, Karina. And you know why we have them."

Karina sighs heavily, clearly frustrated. "This is so unfair," she mutters.

Your dad pauses, considering something. Then, unexpectedly, he says, "Fine, Karina. You can date... but only if your sister finds a date."

Karina's jaw drops. "What? That stupid girl? She can never find one! She's always in her little corner reading books and obsessing over her little bands!"

You roll your eyes, barely glancing up from your book.Without a word, you close your book and stand, walking out of the room, leaving Karina to her whining and your dad to his lecturing.

As you start climbing the stairs, you hear Karina shout in frustration, "Can you just find a stupid retard who can take you on a date so I can date?"

KARINA AND EUWNOO SAT AT A TABLE IN THE QUIET CORNER OF THE LIBRARY, French textbooks and notes spread out before them. Eunwoo was doing his best to tutor Karina, but her attention was clearly elsewhere. She tapped her pen against the table, her eyes glazed over as she stared out the window.

“So, uh, for our next class,” Eunwoo began hesitantly, trying to regain her focus, “how about we get some, uh, French food? On Saturday, at 6 pm?”

Karina snapped back to attention, with a huge grin her face. “Are you asking me out?”

Eunwoo scratched the nape of his neck, clearly flustered. “Listen, I know your dad doesn't let you date, but if it’s for French class…”

Karina cut him off, her eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute, my dad just came up with a rule that I can date if my sister does.”

Eunwoo's face lit up with a hopeful smile. “Oh, then that’s great—”

“No, it’s not great,” Karina interrupted again, exasperation in her voice. “She’s a total loser. Well, she used to be popular, but things changed.” She shrugged dismissively.

Eunwoo frowned thoughtfully. “I mean, uh, I can go find someone that would be willing to date her—”

Karina's eyes widened, and she leaned forward excitedly. “Wait, really? That would be great!”

“Yeah—” Eunwoo started to reply, but Karina was already on her feet.

“Oh my god, thank you! Gotta go, bye!” she exclaimed, grabbing her bag and dashing out of the library, leaving Eunwoo sitting there.

EUNWOO AND SOOBIN WANDERED AROUND THE CAMPUS, their mission clear but their progress slow. Finding the perfect guy to date you was proving to be more challenging than Eunwoo had anticipated. He approached student after student, but each one turned him down, unwilling to go out with someone they considered too independent or too stubborn.

Finally, they found themselves in the science lab, Eunwoo ready to give up. His shoulders slumped as he glanced around the nearly empty hallways.

Then, Eunwoo's eyes landed on someone unexpected. Nishimura Riki, the school's notorious bad boy, was leaning against a lab table, his eyes half-lidded in boredom. A cigarette dangled from his fingers, the smoke curling lazily into the air.

Soobin noticed Eunwoo's gaze and quickly shook his head. "The thing is, he's the bad boy of the school," Soobin explained, lowering his voice. "He smokes, he commits crimes, and someone even told me he sold his own liver for a speaker in the dark markets."

Eunwoo stared at Riki,"That's our guy," he declared with a determined nod.

Soobin looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious? He’s the worst possible choice!"

Eunwoo set his jaw. "Sometimes, the worst choice is the only choice we have. Besides, we don’t have any other options left."

AS THEY WALKED AWAY FROM RIKI, Eunwoo turned to Soobin, a worried expression on his face. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

Soobin shrugged. “Honestly? Probably not. But I’ve got another idea.” A smirk spread across his face. “I have someone in mind who might be willing to ask Riki.”

During lunch, Soobin led Eunwoo over to a table where Daeho, the narcissistic, rich, and popular boy, was holding court with his friends. Daeho looked up as they approached, his expression a mixture of curiosity and mild annoyance.

“Hey, Daeho,” Soobin began smoothly, “you like Karina, right?”

Daeho raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly. “Yeah, and?”

“Well, I’ve got a plan,” Soobin continued. “Karina can’t date until her sister dates. So, you need to hire a guy who’ll go out with her.”

Daeho leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “And who would that be?”

Soobin pointed across the cafeteria to where Riki was sitting, eating with his friend. “That guy.”

Daeho followed Soobin’s gaze and let out a disbelieving laugh. “Him? I heard he ate a whole live duck.”

Soobin nodded, unfazed. “Except for the feet and beak. Look, he’s a full investment.”

Daeho glanced at Riki again, skepticism written all over his face. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”

Soobin clapped Daeho on the shoulder. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

As they walked away, Eunwoo whispered to Soobin, “Are you sure this is going to work?”

Soobin grinned. “We’ve got the rich guy on board now. What could go wrong?”

Eunwoo sighed, still feeling uneasy about the plan but hopeful that somehow, it would all work out.

RIKI WAS OUT ON THE FIELD, smoking and lazily watching the soccer game. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the grass. As he exhaled a plume of smoke, he noticed Daeho approaching him, looking uncharacteristically determined.

Riki raised an eyebrow as Daeho stood before him. "Do I know you?" he asked, clearly unimpressed.

Daeho sighed, trying to remain patient. "Listen, you see that girl?" He pointed across the field to you, where you were playing soccer with an intense focus, your hair tied up in a ponytail as you skillfully kicked the ball across the whole field.

"That's Yu Y/N," Daeho continued. "I want you to go out with her."

Riki let out a laugh, the idea seeming ridiculous. "Yeah, right."

Daeho clenched his jaw, trying to keep his frustration in check. "Look, I can't take out her sister until Y/N starts dating."

Riki smirked, shaking his head. "That's a really good story," he said sarcastically. "But not my problem." He stood up, ready to walk away.

"What if I add some money to this?" Daeho offered, desperation creeping into his voice.

Riki paused, turning back around with a raised eyebrow. "How much?"

"$30?"

Riki scoffed. "Movies, that's like $15. Popcorn, that's $45, and then the ride back home, that's like $25. So we're looking at about $75."

Daeho frowned, realizing he was being haggled. "Take it or leave it."

Riki gave him a challenging look. "Fine, $50?"

Daeho hesitated for a moment but then nodded. "Deal."

Riki smirked, pocketing the money. "Alright then, you've got yourself a deal." He turned his gaze back to the field, watching you for a moment. "This should be interesting." As Riki walked away, Daeho couldn't help but feel a mixture of relief.

AS THE FINAL WHISTLE BLEW, signaling the end of the game, you wiped the sweat off your forehead and grabbed your water bottle. Just as you were about to head off the field, Riki approached with a confident stride.

"Hey, princess," he greeted with a teasing smile.

You rolled your eyes, pausing just long enough to respond. "Need anything?"

Riki didn't miss a beat. "I'll pick you up on Friday."

"Oh right, Friday," you replied sarcastically, the skepticism clear in your tone.

"Well, I'll take you anywhere you like," he offered, trying to sound accommodating.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes again. "Yeah, super fun. Listen, you probably don't even know my name."

Riki's smirk didn't falter. "I know a lot more than you think."

"Oh, very doubtful," you retorted, walking away with a wave of your hand.

Riki stood there, scoffing in shock, watching you go. For the first time, he realized this might be more challenging than he imagined it to be.

A FEW DAYS LATER, you found yourself at a local record store, browsing through the vinyls and picking out your favorite albums. After paying, you stepped outside with a bag full of records, only to see Riki leaning casually against your car.

"Not a bad car," he remarked, smirking.

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, so now you're following me?"

He shook his head, pointing towards the nearby mart. "I was over there and saw your car, so I thought I'd stop by and say hi."

"Oh, well then, hi," you retorted, making your way to the driver's seat.

"Not a talker?" he asked, watching you with amusement.

You shrugged, your patience wearing thin. "Listen, I'm not interested."

"You're not afraid of me, are you?" Riki teased, trying to gauge your reaction.

"Why would I be?" you shot back, giving him a challenging look.

"Because you want me," he replied, leaning in closer with a mischievous grin.

You laughed, the sarcasm dripping from your voice. "Haha, I want you so bad, baby."

With that, you motioned for him to move. "Now, won't you move?"

Riki stepped aside, still taken aback by your bluntness. You got into the driver's seat and started the engine, leaving him standing there in stunned as you drove away. As he watched your car disappear down the road, he couldn't help but feel that it might a bit tough to get you.

THE NEXT DAY, Riki was leaning against a locker, a casual look on his face. Daeho approached him, glancing around to ensure they weren't being overheard.

"How's the plan?" Daeho asked, his voice low.

Riki smirked. "I just upped my price."

Daeho raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "By how much?"

"$100," Riki replied confidently.

Daeho hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Deal." He reached into his pocket and pulled out another $25, placing it into Riki's hand. "I expect some results."

Riki pocketed the money, "You'll get them."

With that, Daeho turned around and walked away, leaving Riki standing there, thinking of what to do next.

LATER THAT DAY, Riki was hanging out near the bleachers when Eunwoo and Soobin approached him. Riki glanced up, noting their determined expressions.

"Hey, Riki," Eunwoo started, "we heard about your little arrangement with Daeho."

Riki raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"Soobin and I want to help," Eunwoo continued. "I like Karina and you know her sister, yn, needs to get a date first."

Riki leaned back, "What's in it for me?"

Soobin stepped forward. "Well you know, we can do some research about her. No money involved, just a mutual benefit."

Riki smirked, nodding. "Alright, deal."

Eunwoo grinned, sharing a knowing look with Soobin, "and we have a perfect opportunity for you to ask her out."

"What would that be?" Riki raises his eyebrow.

"The upcoming party hosted by Bogey Lowenstein."

"i'll think about." Riki smirked as he walked off

LATER THAT WEEK, Daeho spotted Karina by her locker. With a confident look, he approached her, his usual smirk plastered on his face.

"Hey, Karina," Daeho called out, leaning casually against the lockers.

Karina looked up, slightly taken aback by his presence. "Oh, hey, Daeho. What's up?"

"I was thinking," Daeho began, "you should come with me to Bogey Lowenstein's party this weekend."

Karina raised an eyebrow, "Really? And why's that?"

Daeho shrugged, flashing a cocky grin. "Well, it’s the biggest party of the year. Wouldn't you want to go with the guy everyone’s talking about?"

Karina closed her locker, "A party?"

Daeho chuckled, unfazed. "Come on, Karina. It'll be fun. Besides, you deserve to be seen with someone who can actually keep up with you."

Karina hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Alright, Daeho. I'll go with you,"

KARINA WALKED ALONGSIDE EUNWOO VENTING HER FRUSTRATION. "Ugh, I can never go to that party... My dad is gonna kill me!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Eunwoo thought for a moment. "Okay, well, I got a plan. I set your sister up with a boy, but things aren't going that great."

Karina sighed deeply, feeling defeated. "I'm never gonna get to go..."

Eunwoo glanced at her, determination shining in his eyes. "Okay then, tell me what your sister likes."

Karina rolled her eyes. "She said before she would die before dating someone who smokes. And her types are 'pretty boys,' which I don't even know what that means."

Eunwoo nodded, taking mental notes. "Anything else?"

"How am I supposed to know my crazy sister's little mind?" Karina replied, exasperated.

Eunwoo sighed, realizing the complexity of the situation. "Well, nothing has worked so far. We have to go behind enemy lines here."

LATER THAT DAY, Karina and Eunwoo found themselves sneaking into your room, carefully rummaging through your drawer.

"Aha! A date book, concert tickets, and a reading list," Karina exclaimed, shoving the items into Eunwoo's hands. "That should give you enough information, right?"

Eunwoo looked at the pile, nodding slowly. "Uh, right. This should help. Um, how about your room?"

Karina quickly shook her head. "Oh uhm I think we've got what we need! Let's get out of here,"

EUNWOO AND SOOBIN approached Riki at school, determination in their eyes.

"Okay, so we figured out some information about her," Eunwoo began. "She hates smokers, so you might have to drop that cigarette."

Riki raised an eyebrow but complied, dropping his cigarette and stepping on it. "Okay, so I have to say I'm a non-smoker?"

Soobin nodded. "Exactly. And she likes feminist prose and angry girl music."

Eunwoo handed Riki a list. "Here's a list of the CDs she had in her room."

Riki scanned the list, his expression skeptical. "So you're saying all I need to do is go to some stupid concert with her?"

Eunwoo nodded. "Well, her favorite band is playing tomorrow, and she'll be there since she got the tickets."

Riki groaned, clearly not thrilled by the idea. "No way I'm going there."

"It's fine," Soobin reassured him. "It's just for one night."

Riki sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But you owe me for this."

Eunwoo and Soobin exchanged relieved glances, knowing they were one step closer to their goal.

RIKI TRUDGED TOWARDS THE CONCERT VENUE, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His footsteps were slow, almost reluctant, as he approached the main area where a sea of girls buzzed with excitement. From a distance, he scanned the room, his eyes finally landing on you and your best friend, Shuhua, dancing with abandon. A feeling churned in his stomach as he watched you, and he couldn’t quite place what it was. Sighing, he made his way to the bar.

As Riki sipped his drink, trying to make sense of the evening, you approached the bar for some water. Your eyes narrowed when you noticed him standing there.

"If you plan on asking me out again, you might as well just get it over with," you said, a hint of exasperation in your voice.

"Do you mind? You're kind of ruining the mood here," Riki retorted, his tone defensive.

"You're not with your usual smoke," you observed, glancing around.

"I know, I quit. Apparently, they're bad for you," he replied with a shrug.

"You think?" you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, you know, the Raincoats aren't that bad," he said, changing the subject.

You looked at him, a bit surprised. "You know the Raincoats?"

"Why don't you?" he countered, standing up as if to leave. You followed him, curious.

"I've just never seen you so pretty under this light," he said loudly, just as the room suddenly fell quiet. Laughter erupted from those around you, and you glanced at him, a genuine smile breaking across your face for the first time that evening. He smiled back.

"Come to Bogey's party with me?" he asked.

You laughed, shaking your head. "You really aren't giving up, are you?"

"Is that a yes?" he pressed.

"No," you said firmly, still smiling.

"Well, was that a no?" he called after you as you walked away, laughter in your wake.

"No!" you shouted back over your shoulder.

"I'll come at 9:30 then!" he declared, grinning as he watched you disappear into the crowd.

IT'S THE DAY OF THE PARTY, and Karina walks down the stairs, dressed and ready to leave. "Where do you think you're going?" your dad asks, his voice firm.

"To a party," Karina replies nonchalantly.

He sighs deeply, a hint of frustration in his tone. "We talked about this, Karina."

"Well, it's a small party! Everyone in the school is going," she insists.

"YN is not going, then you're not going," your dad states firmly.

Karina's eyes widen in disbelief before she turns to glare at you. "God, why can't you be normal for once, YN?"

You roll your eyes, unfazed by her outburst. Karina then softens, her desperation clear. "Please, YN, go to the dance. Please, please," she begs.

You hesitate, weighing your options. Finally, you relent. "Fine, I'll make an appearance," you agree with a sigh before you change into a more formal outfit.

As you open the front door, you see Riki standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe. "What are you doing here?" you ask, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"9:30, right?" he replies with a smirk.

"Whatever, I'm driving," you mutter, brushing past him as you head to the car. Riki follows you, a satisfied grin on his face as he trails behind.

AT THE PARTY, you stand off to the side, observing the chaotic scene unfold around you. People are kissing, drinking, and dancing. Your eyes narrow as you spot Daeho smirking and making his way toward Karina, who lights up as he approaches.

Daeho and Karina begin flirting openly, their conversation punctuated by giggles and playful touches. You feel a pang of annoyance as Karina eagerly pushes you aside to make room for Daeho. You roll your eyes in frustration and grab a random drink from the counter, chugging it down in one go, feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slides down your throat.

Riki approaches you, concern evident on his face. "I've been looking for you everywhere," he says, his voice barely audible over the music.

"I'm getting trashed at a party. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?" you snap, rolling your eyes again as you take another swig from your drink.

Meanwhile, across the room, Eunwoo walks over to Karina, who is still engrossed in her conversation with Daeho. "Oh, Eunwoo," she says, sounding surprised. Eunwoo glances at Daeho with a confused look and then back at Karina, clearly unsure of what to make of the situation.

"Come on, let's go," Daeho says, dragging Karina away. She gives Eunwoo a helpless little wave before turning her attention back to Daeho. Eunwoo pauses, watching her disappear into the crowd, a look of disappointment flashing across his face.

As Daeho and Karina walk around, he talks nonstop about himself, barely giving Karina a chance to speakFeeling annoyed, she turns around and leaves him, while Daeho quickly shifts his attention to flirting with other girls.

Later, Riki is still looking for you. When he finally finds you, you’re fully drunk, dancing on top of a table with the music blaring. Your movements are unsteady, and you accidentally hit your head on a light, nearly falling off the table. Riki catches you just in time, his grip firm yet gentle.

"Come on, you're gonna get a concussion," he says, helping you down from the table and guiding you to a clearer, quieter area away from the throngs of people.

Just then, Eunwoo pulls Riki aside, his frustration evident. "I might give up on her," Eunwoo admits, his voice heavy with resignation.

"No, you can't give up on her. It's either you go for her or go for her," Riki insists, his determination unwavering. He then returns to help you, leaving Eunwoo to ponder his words.

As Riki leads you to a more secluded spot, you try to catch your breath. "Why are you doing this?" you ask, your words slurring slightly.

"Because I told you that you might have a concussion," Riki replies, his tone patient.

"You don't care if I wake up," you retort, feeling a mix of anger and confusion.

"I do," he says, looking into your eyes with sincerity.

"Why?" you challenge him, your voice softer now.

"Because then I'd have to start taking out girls who actually like me," he responds with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

"Like you could find one," you say, a hint of teasing in your voice. "I just... need to sit down."

You sit down on a swing, trying to regain your balance. As you nearly fall off again, Riki catches you, his cologne mingling with the night air. The scent is comforting, and you lean into him slightly. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hits you, and you feel overwhelmingly faint. Riki panics, his grip tightening on you, but before he can react further, you open your eyes and throw up.

"Great, just great," Riki mutters, his voice a mix of frustration and concern He helps you sit back on the swing, his hands firm on your shoulders.

As you try to clear your head, Riki sits down beside you, keeping a close eye on you. "You need to take it easy," he says softly, his tone more gentle now. "This isn't the way to handle things."

"I know," you mumble, your head still spinning. "I just... I just needed to forget for a while."

AS THE NIGHT WINDS DOWN , Riki drives you home, the hum of the engine mingling with the music blasting through the speakers. You're still half drunk, feeling the aftereffects of the party, but a strange sense of clarity begins to settle over you.

"I should do this," you say, gesturing toward the car's interior as you lean back in your seat.

"Start a band?" Riki asks, glancing at you with a teasing smile.

You laugh, shaking your head. "No, install car stereos. My father would LOVE for me to start a band," you add with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Riki chuckles, pulling up in front of your house. "It must be ass having a dad like that," he comments, turning the engine off.

You shrug, the weight of your family's expectations pressing down on you. "I mean, it's not that bad. It's just..."

"Just what?" he prompts, his tone gentle, encouraging you to open up.

"He wants me to be like, you know, Karina," you admit, your voice tinged with frustration and a hint of sadness.

Riki pauses, considering his words carefully. "Well, no offense or anything... but I know everyone 'digs' your sister. But she's without."

"Without what?" you ask, genuinely curious.

"Without... substance, I guess. She's all surface," he explains, glancing at you with an earnest expression. "But you... you've got depth."

You look at him, surprised by his honesty. "You know, you're not as vile as I thought you were," you say softly, your eyes meeting his.

Riki's gaze lingers on your lips, and for a moment, the world seems to stand still. Feeling a rush of emotions, you lean in for a kiss, but at the last second, he turns away.

"Maybe next time," he says hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You raise your eyebrow, confused and a bit hurt, but you nod reluctantly. "Yeah, maybe next time," you murmur, opening the car door and stepping out.

RIKI MEETS UP WITH EUNWOO at their usual spot, a small café near the school. The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow over the sleepy town.

"So, are you giving up on her?" Riki asks, stirring his coffee absently.

"Nope," Eunwoo replies, a wide grin spreading across his face. "It wasn't until she kissed me last night."

Riki pauses, his own smile starting to grow. "Where?"

"In the car," Eunwoo says, still smiling. Riki's smile drops abruptly.

Eunwoo looks confused. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. She would've been too drunk to remember," Riki says simply, his voice flat.

A FEW DAYS LATER, you’re walking with your best friend Shuhua, enjoying the crisp morning air as you head to school. The sun is shining, and the school grounds are buzzing with the usual pre-class chatter.

"Are you going to prom?" Shuhua asks, nudging you playfully.

You shrug, a nonchalant expression on your face. "Only if someone asks me out. Got no dresses anyway."

"Don’t you got a man?" Shuhua teases, winking at you.

You punch her arm lightly, rolling your eyes. "Oh, shush. I don't even remember anything from that day," you say, feeling a mix of frustration and curiosity about the night of the party.

As you both walk inside the classroom, you find your seats just as the bell rings. The teacher, Mrs. Kim, stands at the front of the room, waiting for everyone to settle down.

"Good morning, class," she begins, her voice calm and authoritative. "Today, we’re starting a new poetry project. Each of you will be tasked with creating a poems over the next two weeks. This project is an opportunity to express yourselves and explore your creativity. Perhaps some of you will even discover a hidden talent."

AS RIKI IS HEADING TO HIS LOCKER, Daeho approaches him with a confident stride. He pulls out a wad of cash and holds it out to Riki.

"Here," Daeho says, his tone matter-of-fact. "I want you to go all out and ask YN to prom." He counts out $200, handing it to Riki.

Riki sighs, shaking his head. "Do you know what? I'm sick of this game."

Daeho sighs in exasperation, pulling out another $100 bill. "Fine, $300?" He waves the bill enticingly in front of Riki.

Riki stares at the money, feeling a mix of frustration and temptation. Hesitantly, he takes the cash, the weight of the bills heavy in his hand. "Deal," he mutters.

YOU FIND YOURSELF AT THE LOCAL GUITAR SHOP, testing out a sleek new guitar. The shop is quiet, with only the faint hum of an amp and the occasional strum of strings breaking the silence. You lose yourself in the music, fingers dancing over the frets.

As you play, Riki walks in. His eyes immediately fixate on you, captivated by the way you effortlessly make the guitar sing. He stands in the doorway for a moment, watching you.

Before you can turn around and realize he’s there, Riki quietly slips out of the store, leaving as silently as he came. The bell above the door rings softly, but you’re too immersed in your music to notice.

DURING DETENTION, the classroom is filled with a tense silence, broken only by the scratch of pencils on paper and the occasional rustling of pages. Riki sits at his desk, focused on his work, when he notices you walk in, looking particularly determined.

You spot him and make brief eye contact. Then, in a moment of clear but silent communication, you mouth the words "out the window" to him. Riki's eyes widen slightly, and he nods.

Without wasting a moment, you walk over to the principal’s desk, where Mr. Thompson is absorbed in grading papers. You start chatting, your voice intentionally loud.

"Mr. Thompson, did you know that the cafeteria is planning to add more vegetarian options next week?" you say, trying to sound enthusiastic. "And I heard they're thinking about changing the school colors to something more vibrant. Isn't that exciting?"

Mr. Thompson looks up from his papers, his attention momentarily diverted. "Really? I hadn't heard about that. Interesting..."

As you continue your rambling, your eyes dart over to Riki. He glances toward the window, then makes his move. He quickly and quietly slips out of his seat and makes his way to the window, sliding it open with practiced ease.

You keep up your distraction, now discussing something completely irrelevant about the new vending machine snacks. "And, oh! The snacks! They might be switching to gluten-free options. I mean, who cares about gluten, right? But it’s a big deal!"

Riki is now halfway out the window, his movements smooth and swift. You watch as he manages to sneak out of the building, disappearing from view.

Seeing him safely out, you wrap up your conversation "Yeah! So, um, thanks for listening, Mr. Thompson. Uhm, bye."

YOU AND RIKI ARE ON A BOAT DATE.

"Can't thank you enough for sneaking me out of detention," Riki says, glancing at you with a smirk.

You laugh, the sound mingling with the quiet of the lake. "I mean, detention is a pain in the ass anyways." Riki's gaze lingers on you as you look back at him, your smile widening.

"So, what's your excuse?" Riki asks after a pause, his eyes still fixed on yours.

"For?" you prompt, genuinely curious.

"For acting the way we do?" he clarifies, raising an eyebrow.

You think for a moment, then reply, "I don’t like to do what people expect. Why should I live up to other people's expectations instead of my own?"

Riki nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Wise words, hmm?"

You roll your eyes playfully. Your gaze lingers on his for a moment before you turn your attention back to the conversation. "Well, I suppose we all need a little rebellion now and then."

"Speaking of which," riki add, trying to shift the conversation to something lighter, "up for some paintball games?"

you glance at riki, slightly puzzled. "Huh?"

THE PAINTBALL FIELD IS A WHIRLWIND OF CHAOS. Paint splatters everywhere, turning the once-green grass into a vibrant canvas of colors.

You and Riki are in the thick of it, your faces smeared with colorful splotches of paint. You're both laughing and ducking behind barriers, your competitive spirits shining through. After a particularly intense round, you both find yourselves crashing onto a large pile of hay bales, the soft, cushioned landing a welcome relief.

As you lie there, catching your breath, Riki’s gaze drifts from your eyes to your lips. You notice the way his eyes linger on you, and without thinking, you lean in and close the distance between you.

Your lips meet his in a soft kiss. Riki’s hand instinctively cups your cheek. You wrap your arms around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens.

After a few seconds that feel like an eternity, you pull back, breathless and smiling. Before Riki can fully recover from the kiss, you reach for a nearby paintball, holding it up playfully.

With a mischievous grin, you drop the paintball on him, splattering his shirt with a burst of color.

"You’re going to pay for that!" he shouts, his voice filled with laughter as he leaps up and starts chasing you.

────────────────────────────────

AS YOU SETTLE IN, you’re laughing and talking when Riki suddenly leans in and kisses your neck.

“Come to prom with me, hm?” Riki asks, his voice gentle but hopeful.

You glance at him, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “Is that a request or a command?”

“Come on, go with me,” he replies, his tone earnest.

You shake your head, still smiling but firm. “No.”

Riki’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to,” you say, your voice steady. “Because it’s a stupid tradition.”

Riki’s expression shifts to one of confusion and frustration. “Come on, people won’t expect you to go.”

You narrow your eyes, feeling a sense of unease. “Why are you pushing this so much?”

Riki is momentarily caught off guard. “What?”

“What’s in it for you?” you demand, your tone sharper now. “Why do you want me to go so badly?”

Riki hesitates, clearly taken aback by your question. “So now I need a motive to be with you?” he responds, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

“You tell me,” you press, your curiosity piqued.

Riki’s expression shifts again, but there’s something off in his demeanor. “You need therapy. Has anyone told you that?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Answer me, Riki.”

He looks away, frustration evident in his posture. “Nothing. There’s nothing in it for me.”

Before you can respond, Riki pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter. The sight catches you off guard.

Your eyes widen as you watch him take a drag.

“I—” you start, but your words trail off.

“I need some space,” you say, your voice trembling slightly as you turn and head inside the house.

────────────────────────────────

YOU STAND IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR, admiring your reflection. You're wearing a stunning, floor-length, royal blue gown with delicate silver embroidery along the bodice. The dress has a sweetheart neckline and a slight shimmer that catches the light with every movement. Your hair is styled in loose waves, and you're wearing simple yet elegant jewelry to complement your outfit.

"I'm going to prom, Dad," you call out, grabbing your clutch.

Your dad looks up from his newspaper, smiling warmly. "Oh, okay. Have fun, sweetie."

As you head towards the door, your younger sister Karina follows closely behind. Your dad stands up, puzzled. "Where are you going?"

"To prom?" Karina replies nonchalantly.

Just then, the doorbell rings. You open it to find Eunwoo standing there, looking dapper in his tuxedo. His jaw drops when he sees Karina.

Your dad, sensing something is up, looks between Karina and Eunwoo. "Turn and explain," he demands.

Karina sighs dramatically. "Fine. You know how you said I could date someone only if Y/N does? Well, turns out she found someone perfect for her. And Eunwoo asked me to prom, and I really want to go."

Your dad scrutinizes Eunwoo for a moment before nodding. "Fine, but be back before 9 PM."

Karina's eyes widen in surprise and delight. "Okay, okay! Bye!" She grabs Eunwoo's arm and drags him out of the house towards his car.

────────────────────────────────

YOU ARRIVE AT THE PROM VENUE, the decorations twinkling under the dim lights. The room is filled with laughter and music, but your eyes scan the crowd for someone specific. You spot Riki near the punch table, looking a bit nervous. Taking a deep breath, you walk over to him.

"Hey," you greet, and he turns around, his eyes widening in shock at how pretty you look.

"Hi," he responds, his voice almost a whisper.

"Look, I'm sorry about how I questioned your motives," you say, feeling a bit awkward but sincere.

Riki sighs, a smile forming on his lips. "You're forgiven."

You smile back, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "Ready for prom, then?"

He nods enthusiastically. "Ready for sure."

────────────────────────────────

ON THE DANCE FLOOR, you and Riki are having a blast, laughing and twirling around. The music pulses through the room. Your eyes occasionally dart to Eunwoo and Karina, who are dancing together.

Suddenly, your favorite song starts playing. Your face lights up with excitement. As the chorus hits, you feel a surge of happiness. Impulsively, you lean in and kiss Riki on the lips. He seems surprised at first, but then he smiles into the kiss. His hands on your waist. When you pull back, both of you are laughing, foreheads against each other. What was the worse that could happen?

────────────────────────────────

KARINA IS IN THE BATHROOM, carefully applying her lipstick in the mirror. She takes a step back, admiring her reflection when the door opens, and her best friend walks in.

"What are you doing in here?" her friend asks with a smirk.

Karina glances over, "Oh, Daeho picked me up," she replies, a smug look on her face.

Karina's eyes narrow. "Oh, well, you can have him all."

Her friend shrugs, her smirk widening. "Oh, well, he only liked you for one reason anyway. Plus, he had a little bet going on with his friends."

Karina's smile falters. "What do you mean?" she asks, a sinking feeling in her chest.

"He's gonna nail you tonight," her best friend adds nonchalantly.

Realization dawns on Karina, and a wave of panic washes over her. She doesn't waste another second. Grabbing her clutch, she rushes out of the bathroom, her heart pounding. She needs to find you immediately.

────────────────────────────────

AS YOU'RE DNACING WITH RIKI, he spins you around, making you laugh with joy. Suddenly, the atmosphere changes as Daeho shows up and shoves Riki aside with force.

"Why is Karina with that stupid asshole?" Daeho sneers, his eyes blazing with anger.

Riki blinks in confusion, trying to steady himself. "What are you talking about?"

"I didn’t pay you to take out Y/N for some punk to take out Karina," Daeho snaps, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Nothing in it for you, huh?" you mumble. Without another word, you push past him.

As you weave through the crowd, you spot Eunwoo frantically looking around, searching for Karina. He spots Daeho and approaches him, but before he can say anything, Daeho punches him, sending him to the ground.

Karina, who had been rushing to find you, arrives just in time to witness the assault. Her eyes widen in horror and rage as she sees Eunwoo on the floor.

She swings her fist and lands a punch squarely on Daeho's face. "That's what you get for making me date you, bitch!"

Daeho reels from the impact, but Karina doesn't stop. She punches him again, harder this time, her knuckles connecting with a sickening thud. "And that's what you get for doing that to my sister!"

Daeho stumbles back, his face contorted in pain and shock. The crowd watches in stunned silence as Karina turns away from him, breathing heavily. She rushes to Eunwoo's side and helps him to his feet, her expression softening with concern.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly.

Eunwoo nods, wincing as he touches his jaw. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks, Karina."

────────────────────────────────

YOU FIND YOURSELF OUTSIDE THE PROM VENUE, your heart heavy with a mix of anger and hurt. The cool night air does little to calm your racing thoughts. Just then, Riki finds you, his face etched with desperation.

"Let me explain!" he pleads, his voice strained.

"You were paid to take me out by the one person I truly hate? I knew this was a setup!" you snap, glaring at him as you turn to walk away.

Riki quickly grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. "Y/N! It wasn't like that," he insists, his grip firm but gentle.

You whip around, your eyes blazing. "Oh, what was it then? A down payment now and a bonus for sleeping with me?" you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm and pain.

Riki's face crumples, his eyes searching yours. "No, I didn't care about the money. I cared…" His voice falters as he looks into your eyes. He takes a deep breath, his expression softening. "I care about you."

You narrow your eyes, the hurt and betrayal swirling inside you. "You are so not what I thought you were," you say, your voice trembling with emotion.

He tries to reach for you again, desperation clear in his eyes. "Please, Y/N, just listen—"

But you push him away, tears stinging your eyes. "No, Riki. I can't," you say, your voice breaking. Without looking back, you rush away from him, your heart aching with every step.

────────────────────────────────

IT'S POETRY READING DAY IN CLASS, and Mrs. Kim stands at the front, looking over her students. "Who wants to start their poem first?" she asks.

Reluctantly, you raise your hand, feeling the weight of your emotions. Across the room, Riki watches you intently.

You stand up and begin, your voice steady but filled with emotion. "I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme."

You sigh, the words heavy on your heart. "I hate it… I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry." You glance up, tears welling in your eyes as you look directly at Riki. "I hate it when you're not around and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly, I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close. Not even a little, not even at all."

As you finish, you walk back to your seat, tears streaming down your face. The room is silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Riki's eyes are glued to you, his expression a mix of regret and realization. He thinks for a moment, knowing he has something in mind.

────────────────────────────────

AFTER SCHOOL, you're walking to your car, and then you see it: a guitar, but not just any guitar—your favorite dream guitar. You freeze, admiring it in shock. You open the front door and grab the guitar in awe, your fingers tracing the strings.

"Nice, huh?" a voice says from behind. You turn to see Riki, smiling.

"A Fender Strat?" you whisper, your eyes widening as you glance at him. "Is it for me?"

He grins. "Yeah, I thought you could use it, you know, when you start your band. Besides, I had extra cash, you know."

You raise an eyebrow, curious. "Extra cash?"

Riki takes a breath, looking a bit sheepish. "Some asshole paid me to take out this really pretty girl."

You stare at him, a small smile forming on your face. "Is that right?"

He shrugs, stepping closer. "Yeah, but I screwed up. I fell for her."

"Really?" you ask, your heart pounding.

"I think so," he murmurs, as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. His lips meet yours gently at first, soft, as if testing the waters. His hand on your waist pulls you closer, the warmth of his touch spreading through you. The other hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

You pull away slightly, teasing, "You know you can't buy me a guitar every time you screw up, right?"

He chuckles. "Well, there's always drums, bass, and maybe even a tambourine," he says, leaning in for another kiss.

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killerlookz · 4 months

Note

heyyy💋 so could i request a fic where reader is an eurovision contestant and basically her & joost are attached to the hip. they are seen being all cuddly with each other, flirting, sitting as close to each other as possible, the cameras catching your non so secret glances.. generally acting like a couple. but when the press asks you about this whole situation, you both deny that you have something going on between you two, but deep down you know that those gestures are not so “innocent” at all🤭🤭

a/n: ooooh i love a cheeky little secret romance!! thank you for the request anon <3

Just Friends | Joost Klein

content: gn! reader, very brief allusion to sex, joost and reader are so down bad for each other its a little pathetic, mostly fluff, some angst if you look at it under a microscope. this fic contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable, and please block the rpf tag

word count: 2128

You sit on the edge of your hotel bed, you smile, your cheeks grow hot, letting out a small breath from your nose, replacing a genuine laugh.

Your phone sits in your lap, opened to a message

Joost Klein: When were you planning to tell me that I'm your secret lover 😓

What followed was a screenshot from some European tabloid sight, headed by: Eurovision Contestants Spotted Getting Cozy: Secret Lovers Revealed?!

Below were two grainy photos of you and Joost, taken just moments apart from each other. Taken from behind, they showed the two of you walking side by side, just outside the hotel you were staying in. It would have looked more like a friendly exchange if your hands hadn't been locked together.

You knew you'd have to explain everything eventually, that was the third headline this week that had come out about you and Joost. Another showed the two of you sharing a hug that looked a little too close for it to be friendly, in another you had a hand planted on his chest, and your head tilted back mid-laugh.

It all seemed a little ridiculous. You knew Eurovision was one of the largest events in all of Europe- but still, you couldn't have imagined how interested people would be in your personal life off the stage.

It was nothing too scandalous anyway, you and Joost had known each other prior to Eurovision. And sure, you were more casual friends, despite being from different countries, the two of you had run in similar circles with music and all. You had spent the last few years admiring each other's music, usually from afar, the times the two of you had genuinely hung out before all this were few and far between. Your conversations were usually reserved for more chaotic moments, either backstage at the end of a show or in the crowd for a musician friend the two of you had in common.

You couldn't exactly explain away all of the touchy-touchy stuff, but you never expected that you would have to, it had just always been like that, ever since you first met. Truthfully, the two of you were closer than the tabloid photos led on. But they didn't have to know that.

Hasty fingers tap at your phone screen

apparently it's so secret that i didn't know it either!

You send your response to Joost before closing your phone and tossing it somewhere on the bed. You lay back, landing on the firm mattress with a small bounce.

Your eyelids are lowered, trying your best to keep focus on the woman in front of you through heavy lids- though it seems impossible with the crisp white LEDs shining in your face.

"So, have you made any connections with any other contestants since you've been here in Malmö?" The woman asks, a curious eyebrow-raising as she guides the microphone in her hands in front of your face.

You know exactly what she wants to hear from you, the hunger is evident in her eyes, she licks her lips in desperation for a scoop, before her mouth pulls into a sly smile, it all feels so predatory. You swallow thickly, shifting a quick gaze toward the cameraman before flicking your eyes back to the reporter, who has an equally as hungry look on his face, and you realize, you are their prey.

"Yeah, absolutely," You nod, your face lights up, "I've honestly really connected with Bambi Thug, they're really bringing such a new and innovative sound to Eurovision, I really admire them for that, and don't let the makeup and costumes fool you they are an absolute sweetheart!" It wasn't a lie, Joost was not the only person you had talked to since the competition started. You did make friends while you'd been here.

The journalist loses her grin, her face now twisted with dissatisfaction.

"Anyone else?" She asks, nearly cutting you off, her microphone still stuck in your face.

"Marina has been an absolute joy too," Your smile lingers on your lips, "And Nemo- they're great too!"

"Well," The journalist starts, facing the microphone back to her, "I think we've all been hearing the rumors about some sparks flying between you and the Dutch representative, Joost Klein, is there any truth to them?"

You're a little taken back by her forwardness to just outright ask the question,

"I wasn't aware of any rumors," You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head in vehement denial, "But Joost is great too, we've known each other for a few years now, and I've been a big fan of his music, and he's a great friend." You breathe out, silently hoping the answer is satisfactory for the journalist to cease probing any further.

"No potential for anything more than a friendship?"

"Oh no," You shake your head, nearly scoffing as the words choke out of your mouth, and you hope you're as good of an actress as you are a singer, "Again, Joost is great, but he's just my friend."

"Alright," She nods her head slowly, unsatisfied. The way the journalist's eyes linger on you makes it clear she doesn't quite believe you- but it would be inappropriate of her to ask you any more questions on the matter.

"Would you like to talk about my music now?"

"I just don't know why they're acting like we had a sex tape leak- do these people not hug their friends?" You throw your hands up, frustrated. The last two days had been nothing but interviews, but it seemed none of the interviewers were as interested in your actual Eurovision performance as they were in potentially getting the first scoop on what was "going on" between you and Joost.

"I mean that would give them something to talk about," Joost chuckles, standing at the foot of your hotel bed, he's clad in nothing but a white tank top and his underwear. The tight fabric of what little he's wearing clings to his body, leaving just about nothing to the imagination. He ruffles a hand through his already messy hair. You'd wondered what the tabloids would say if they got a whiff of this, "All press is good press"

"Are you suggesting something, Mr. Klein?" You flash a look at him, your eyes piercing his. Your words come out much harsher than you had intended them to, you couldn't help it, your frustration was evident.

Joost placed a hand behind his neck, rubbing anxiously, throwing a sheepish look in your direction as to insinuate he had been suggesting something. You knew he was only joking, but the thought of actually doing such a thing made your face hot. A light pink blush burned on your face as you stared up at him.

"You're filthy," You giggle, and your hands latch on to a pillow that sits next to you, and you fling it in Joost's direction.

He takes a step back as the pillow hits him square in the stomach, a loud thump can be heard in the room as contact between his body and the stuffed object is made. He choked out a breath of surprise, and his face winced as he grabbed his stomach in feigned agony,

"How could you," He shakes his head, "I think you broke every single one of my ribs."

"Shush," You scoff, "C'mon, get over here." You pat the bed next to you, shifting yourself over to one side.

In typical Joost fashion, he practically jumps onto the bed. He adjusts himself in such a way that his shoulder is brushing up against yours. He's warm, and you want nothing more than to crawl into his arms. It was almost pitiful the way you wanted him, completely desperate. And yet, you don't dare to act- not right now.

The room falls silent as the both of you hesitate to say anything. The room is thick with a humid tension, and words left unsaid. Your reccolection of the last few days seemed non-existent yet ever-present at the same time. Everything had left you wondering the same exact questions as every journalist who had talked to you today, what was going on between you and Joost?

"I can feel the stress radiating off of you," Joost finally speaks, "Are you okay?"

You furrow your eyebrows, looking down into your lap where your fingers are not fidgeting and intertwined. Your face twitches.

"Are you really so upset about those interviews? Do you want to stop this, I can lea-"

"No," you cut him off all too quickly, "No stay. Please." Your voice had shriveled down to nothing but a pathetic whisper. As confusing as your feelings had been, the confusion seemed to be better than not having them at all. It was hard being away from home and feeling like you were bracing the weight of the world or at least of Europe against your shoulders. Joost, at least, was a source of comfort, something to come back to.

"Okay," He nods, his head moving up and down slowly.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't felt some sort of way about Joost before all of this. His affectionate nature with you seemed to cross all of the wires in your brain. He had always been affectionate with his close friends, not afraid to spare a hug or an arm around the shoulder when he felt like it, but with you it seemed different, especially taking into account neither of you would exactly consider the other as a "best friend."

Besides, even if you were, best friends don't usually stay up all night, lying on top of each other in some state of undress, lips hungrily pressed against one another. This whole situation had left you feeling like you were a teen again, the prickling feeling in your chest of excitement and anxiety of sneaking around to see a boy you liked. It was addicting, the adrenaline that flooded each and every inch of your body, as the two of you snuck off from the afterparties where your appearances were all but mandatory. You'd be lying if you said it didn't at least help a little to take the edge off of all the stress of the competition.

An arm snakes around your shoulder, and immediately Joost is clicking his tongue disapprovingly

"So tense," He mumbles, "Lay down, will you?" His voice is quiet, nearly pleading, and much more timid than you're used to. You feel compelled to oblige, spellbound, his soft words are like hypnosis.

Joost's arm slips from where it sits around your shoulder as you sink into the pillows below. You allow your body to relax into the support of the mattress.

A hand grazes your thigh, trailing down to your knee, Joost gives you a couple gentle taps, "Put your legs up, I'll pull down the blanket for you."

You oblige, bending your knees to pull them inward, and Joost hops off the bed for a moment, grabbing the thick white comforter in his hands from its neatly made position. You shift as he pulls it from under your body, allowing the blanket to slip down to your feet.

The bed dips as Joost crawls back to his position next to you. He reaches out to the foot of the bed, pulling the comforter up to cover the two of you.

"So," You start, rolling on your side, facing away from Joost, "Did they ask you about me?"

The blanket above you shifts as Joost adjusts himself to lie down next to you. He places a gentle hand against your hip, rubbing careful circles against the fabric that separates your skin from his. His chin rests upon your shoulder, and almost instinctively you nuzzle your cheek against his.

"Mhmm," His gentle hum vibrates against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"What did you say?" You ask and your teeth clench, your eyes shut tight, waiting with anticipation for his response, hoping for it to line up with yours. You could only imagine the suspicion that would arise if the two of you were to have given entirely different answers to the same question.

"I told them we're friends, just friends."

Your jaw slacks at the relief, and you let out a sigh, eyes fluttering open. But something about those words coming from his mouth, just friends, as his words graze your ears your relief is coupled with a stinging feeling in your chest, a sharp reminder of the peculiar position you had found yourself in.

"And are we," You pause, "Just friends?"

Joost picks his head up from where it rests on your shoulder, ghosting the exposed flesh of your arm with a kiss.

"Not if you don't want us to be."

a/n: i added a pt. II to this, read it here!

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost klein x you #joost klein fic #rpf

963 notes · View notes

mercy-burning · 20 days

Text

A Kindness You Can't Afford

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: Something that started out as 'stress relief between co-workers' is now a little concerning to you, but for some reason you can't help but keep letting Spencer walk through your door... Rating: Mature (18+) Content: Strong language, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, blink-and-you'll-miss-it choking, squirting (As always, let me know if I missed anything!) Word Count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: @imagining-in-the-margins sent me lyrics to Hozier's It Will Come Back to entice me to write something for her monthly challenge (which is themed Friends With Benefits), and then this happened. You can thank her for this. And also Emily Henry, because I read Happy Place and Beach Read back to back recently, and DAMN IT if I wasn't itching to do some romance-writing of my own. Sure, this one is less romance and more porn without plot, but I digress. The inspiration is there and that's all that matters. Plus I've started working on something else that probably won't see the light of day for a long while, but it's nice to feel the motivation. I'm starting to feel like myself again :) I don't know how long this creative sparkling cloud of dust is going to last, but I'm grateful to be living in it, if at least for a little while. It feels good to be there again <3

Enjoy!!

*******

There's a small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. A chill permeates your nervous system and sends you off on shaky limbs until you reach it, and as your palm comes in contact with the cool metal of the doorknob, you're disappointed to discover that the contrast does nothing to comfort the hot and clammy skin. Unless the person behind the door turns out not to be who you think, you will not know that comfort.

You open the door anyway, already used to this feeling of unease. It's a feeling you've come to tolerate, and sometimes even crave in desperate moments. Tonight has not seen one of those moments, but you suppose that doesn't really matter because you've already agreed to his terms, and unless you call it off, you're stuck. You've seriously considered doing it a few times, but something deep inside tells you he might not like it very much, and you're unsure of how he'll react.

It isn't a risk you're willing to take.

And so, you meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm. He looks a little sleep deprived, but it's nothing new. Your work is exhausting. It was a major deciding factor and is the driving force behind your agreement in the first place. A way to relieve stress. Somewhere along the way, it seemed to have turned into something darker, though in retrospect that darkness has always been there. You often think back to the first time you initiated intimacy— how excited you were that he seemed willing to take you up on the offer... How your head swam through glittering mist and your heart beat quickly at his words.

"God, Y/N, I need you to be sure... Because once we go there, once you let me in... Even after I leave, I'm always going to be there... You're going to feel me everywhere you go, and that's a promise..."

In the moment it even sounded romantic, and in some twisted way, it might still be. But you don't want to let your brain misconstrue this whole situation. You've promptly decided to take it for what it is and accept the fact that he has some deep desires he needs to expel, and you're just a convenient companion for the journey.

"Spencer, you're here late..."

He exhales through his nose. "No later than usual."

"Right... Come on in." You widen the door and confidently step aside like you wouldn't know any different.

Rather than let you close the door, he'd taken your words as an invitation to make himself at home, pushing it shut with his foot and jolting you forward with it, subsequently pulling you towards him. His hands are quick to guide your face to his own, and without a second more in passing, the night has officially begun.

Electricity is immediate, sizzling through your core at Spencer's drive. It's true that when you're alone, it's difficult not to overthink the situation and rope the emotional and logical side of it to the forefront of your mind. But being with him like this dissipates the thinking entirely. All you know is that it feels so good, and it's absolutely worth all the turmoil you put your brain through.

It's worth it when his tongue possesses your own and coaxes the most sinful, desperate noises from the depths of your chest, and when your delicate fingers find purchase in his hair. It's worth it when your back is up against the door with his knee wedged between your thighs. It's worth it when his hand glides down your jaw until each finger curls around your neck, not choking you but simply resting there like a necklace would. He squeezes gently for a second each time you twitch your hips, desperate to feel friction, and you whimper.

You've come to learn that the more noises you make, the more he rewards you with... well, more. So it doesn't take very long for him to decide that enough is enough, and he pulls away from you to turn you around. You brace your arms on the door and lean your head to the left so he can work.

Warm lips attach to your neck as nimble fingers snake around your front and dip below the band of your lounge shorts and underwear. Your insides hum to life, and your legs naturally spread apart a little further, making Spencer laugh against your skin. You half expect him to tease you, but the surprise leaves your body in the form of a rather whorish Oh! when he spreads you apart and glides his fingers through your warm cunt. He explores you thoroughly, circling and spreading and plunging his fingers inside you, until eventually he continues a slow and steady pace running up and down your clit. You can feel it in his breath, in the way it stutters over your neck— He's about to give you your first orgasm of the night. If his skilled hands wouldn't do it (which you know they will), his words definitely would.

"Mmmm, I love how warm you are, Y/N," he slurs into your neck. Then he lightly nips at your shoulder and quickens the pace and pressure on your clit. "And how fucking messy you get for me..."

You know what he wants, but even if you hadn't, it still would have happened. The first time he made you squirt, he'd been determined to do it again. And again. In every different way possible. Over the course of your stress-relief-escapades you've come to learn that this particular way (with his hand down your loose-fitting shorts) is his favorite. He never strives to do it anymore unless you're wearing a pair. Perhaps it's the sounds, or the feeling of your damp clothes and the desperate need to peel them away in favor of something more solid, but it's become your favorite way, too.

Your nails scratch at the door as you pant and sigh your way through an intense building orgasm, and Spencer leans forward with you, using his free hand to assist in holding you up as he furiously works at your clit with the other. His chin rests on your shoulder as he huffs out, "Go on, baby, let it out..."

He knows you're close, and those final encouraging words seem to snap the coil tightening inside you. Your thighs tense for just a second before you feel every wave of pleasure crashing into every limb. And then, you're able to relax and ride it out, letting him hold you up and pull the orgasm out of you like magic. It's wet, it's warm, and it's fucking sensational...

You can practically see the wild look in Spencer's eyes even if you couldn't actually see him at all. His presence is always, as promised, so inherently there, that even now it's a vivid image. His pupils are an empty abyss, and if you look too closely you're sure to fall in. Hell, you're not even positive that you haven't already fallen in, because the thought of calling it all off when it feels this good seems, simply put, wrong. Why would you ever want to deprive yourself of this feeling? His possessive, damn-near monstrous way of loving you as concerning as it is, had taken you to the highest places you'd ever known. Even if it isn't 'love' on paper, you certainly love it anyway. And he must love it, too, otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back.

He only comes back because you let him in in the first place, the rational part of your brain tries to reason, though it can't quite break through the fog of lust. At this point, it's so thick that you aren't sure it's ever going to clear.

Not that, right now, you'd mind...

Once your breathing slows and your legs gather the strength to pivot, Spencer removes his hand from your shorts and gently guides you to turn around. His lips are on yours immediately, and he's tugging at your shorts and underwear to pull them down. They drop to the ground and without a second to spare, he tugs you along through your living room and over to the couch. It's practically a straight shot to the bedroom from here, but apparently time is not a luxury he can afford this evening, because you barely have time to anticipate what his next move might be before he makes it.

Mouths still attached, the two of you nearly fall on the couch, and Spencer's weight covers you like a blanket. His hips pin yours down and his arms have taken to pinning your own above your head. He nips at your bottom lip and pulls away for a moment, but you chase him, trying to lean up and keep kissing him and whimpering when you can't.

A low laugh exhales from his chest. "And I thought I was the needy one in this relationship..."

He shifts then, getting up and kneeling between your bare legs to start undoing his pants. Meanwhile you lift your shirt over your head, grateful you'd already ditched the bra earlier in the afternoon. Less time to waste.

Seeing you completely bare from head to toe and ready for him seems to amplify that animalistic quality in Spencer that's so unlike the aura of the boy you met years and years ago. Whether he had that quality before he'd met you is unknown, but it's hard to imagine. You like to think that you and you alone have single-handedly created this primal sexual being simply by expressing interest in what youcould offer him amongst the joint understanding of the daily hardships that leech onto a BAU agent. Regardless of the truth, the sheer sense of power it fills you with... In every deep stroke of his cock, in every mark left behind, and in every praise sung, there is this irreplaceable strength that you cling to long after he's gone.

No hard truth would ever take that feeling away, and so you can't help the grin that manifests at his urgency. You can tell he wants nothing more than to sink into you immediately; he visibly struggles for a moment before opting to fully slide his pants and underwear off together until they're tossed over somewhere into the abyss. You half-expect him to whip his shirt off to join them, but instead he lunges forward and covers you again, muffling your whimpers with his mouth as one hand guides himself into your slick cunt.

You can feel the rumble in his chest the moment he's all the way in and you clench around him. He rests his forehead to yours and kisses you deeply before asking, "You ready for me, Y/N?"

The low echoing tone in his voice seems to answer in the momentary silence that follows.

You better be...

It sends a chill down to the marrow of your bones.

You barely whisper out, "Yes," and before the last letter leaves your mouth, Spencer has pulled back and snapped his hips forward, starting a slow and brutal pace inside you. Your legs spread wide naturally, giving him all the room in the world to position himself to handle you however he wants. He opts for holding your breasts in his palms, holding himself steady and pinning you down firmly to the couch cushions.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to start their descent to the back of your head, until they flutter shut and you're seeing stars behind closed lids. His pace quickens, still hard and determined, and yet you know he has more in him. Part of you itches to whine and beg for him to go farther, to push him to his limits and make him fuck you until you're nearly unconscious and delirious. And truthfully, that's still a high possibility, but you also wouldn't mind staying like this forever.

Then, one of his hands shifts and glides up to your neck again. You open your eyes and find Spencer staring down at your body with hair falling down in front of his face and sweat forming on his brow. His mouth hangs open and then grins when he catches you staring, the sight making you sigh out and grip the bottom hem of his shirt with your fingers for any kind of stability.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm, and by the way his face is slightly scrunching you can tell that he's not far behind you.

Just the flash-forward thought of him filling you up sends a jolt through your body, and before you know it, your legs are tensing again, and you're yelling out his name in broken syllables as a flood of warmth spreads through your body. For a split second you wonder if you've both come undone at the same time, but this feeling is different and more intense. Familiar.

The sounds filling the room only confirms your conclusion, and then Spencer's words as he pauses and feels you twitching around him.

"Twice in one night, huh?"

You force yourself to look at him, to see the unhinged pride pooling in his eyes as you finish and wait for him to follow suit. It both empowers and frightens you at the same time, an odd combination of feelings that you're sure to have a crisis about in the morning. But for now, you can't help but lean back and watch the ceiling as Spencer grips your hips and starts fucking you relentlessly into the couch.

Finally, he pauses at the hilt inside you and holds himself there, stuttering out expletives and coming. He pulls back and then forwards a couple times, gently rocking himself through it, and then his grip on your body loosens and you're able to pull him down to you.

You wrap your legs around him to keep him still, unwilling to let go of this feeling quite yet. It's there— that strength that he gives you, whether he knows it's there or not.

And in about an hour after you wash up and go to bed, he will be gone, and that strength will slowly fizzle out overnight, and like clockwork, you'll long to feel it again some time after the concern runs its course— After you replay the night in your head, over and over, analyzing every look and every touch and every reaction. After you frighten yourself into believing that he must be in tune with some level of evil to use you for rough sex and then leave you alone during the day and act like it never happened, even though it's literally what you agreed to.

The back and forth will only make living harder, and so you'll push it all away and focus on work. Until Spencer eventually brushes your arm with the back of his hand as he passes you, or hands you a cup of coffee with a kind smile, and then you'll come right back to wondering how such a gentle soul could hold such intensity. It will unnerve you until you tell yourself that it's just the complexities of the human condition and that every soul contains multitudes. You see it every day. It's not uncommon. It's completely normal.

The thought will calm you enough to get you through the rest of the afternoon, and when you get home, you'll settle in for the night without a second thought. You'll make dinner, watch a show, read a book, endlessly scroll online, or talk to Penelope about whatever show she's watching... You'll keep yourself busy.

And then the sun will set. Your house will grow quiet. You'll start to feel it: the small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. You'll meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm.

So, yes. For now, you will hold onto him a little longer and bask in the afterglow of this exercise in 'stress relief'. Because even if it doesn't mean anything greater, and whether there's even anything within Spencer's motivations to decode in the first place... This moment in time, each time, is the most relieved you ever feel.

Your fingers flex gently over his shoulders, and through the soft, even exhaling of his breath across your cheek, you know for certain he feels the same.

*******

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out):

@starrylang @xoxospencerreid @lovejules888 @awesomebooklover17 @yourmisosoup @gubswh0re @venomsvl @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @umbreonwolfy @hotchandspencearedilfs @spencerreidsmommy @abby2661 @youabitchhhh @reidsbabe @shemarmooresfedora @donald4spiderman @moonlight-2-6 @chaoticcatie @flipperpenguins @muffin-cup @centiaaa @foreveryoungxx3 @happymangospot @matthew-gray-gubler-lover

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #Spencer Reid x fem!Reader smut #criminal minds fanfic

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amorchai · 10 days

Text

𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄.

written for my old blog but never posted!

pairing(s): eddie munson x reader

words: 1180

warnings/tags: first date awkwardness, eddie dressing smart for a casual date because he has no idea what he’s doing, star wars references.

you didn’t expect eddie munson to be such a damn gentlemen on your first date. but then again, you never expected to be on a date with eddie munson.

seven o’clock on the dot, your front door knocked, just the time eddie had promised. and once you opened the door, previously wiping your hands from sweat and fixing your outfit to look perfect, you were met with the curly haired boy.

only, he was dressed up. you didn’t know what you presumed he would wear, knowing for a first date his ‘hellfire club’ top will be a bit too casual. but a brown dress shirt and nice trousers, you could hardly tear your eyes from him.

“left my leather jacket in the car, i didn’t know whether to wear it or not,” he splutters firstly, not even a ‘hello’ as his eyes are wide and wild in front of you, and you try to look around where his hands are suspiciously hidden behind his back.

“you look nice,” you state, smiling up at him, both nervously staring at one another before he replies, “me? i look nice? you! look at you, the prettiest person to walk hawkin’s town.”

“is that what i think it is? hidden behind your back?” you tease lightly, trying to get another glimpse. eddie nods sheepishly, “these are for you,” bringing out the overly stuffed bouquet of flowers, emitting a gasp of appreciation from your throat as you gaze over the disorderly state.

emitting in pure eddie fashion, the one you grew to really like.

“i—uh, harrington told me that roses are the flowers representing ‘romance’, and buckley told me pale red carnations were a better representation of ‘love and affection’ so i got both and put them together."

before you can respond, eddie continues, watching as you gently pry them out of his hands and into yours to look over fondly, “which i don’t really understand, she said pale red, but isn’t pale red just pink? she said it’s not.”

you open your mouth to reply, any effort to try and calm down his rambling voice, but again, he starts talking, “anyways, they’re a mess, i can just take them back, i’ll bring you better ones next time.”

next time, you think. how cute is he?

“no! i love them, thank you!” you lean up to kiss his cheek before leaving a blushing eddie to place the flowers into a watered vase. his fingers graze the spot you just kissed, leaning forward to look into his reflection against the pan of glass of your door, fixing his hair over his forehead.

he jumps back when you step across the hall, as if waiting patiently for your return and guides you towards his truck, holding the door open for you, and shutting it after.

you didn’t know what a date with eddie would be like, he was much different than anyone else, and while you hadn’t been on a date before, you knew what the cliché romance novels would predict.

eddie took you to a drive-thru movie, paying for your ticket and popcorn, ever the gentlemen that he’s quickly living up to. and finds the best spot he could, off to the side but in good view of the screen.

he turns to you periodically, arriving to the lot early and therefore having to wait some time for it to start. it’s a little awkward to begin with, unsure with what to talk about at the start. you had been friends, not as close as others, more-so through robin. but you knew a lot about each other.

eddie asks a few shameful questions when the tape starts, lousy trailers playing before the actual movie, questions about your day or plans from the past week but after exchanging the answers between one another, nerves further arise.

however, you turn to eddie when you reach for a handful of popcorn, his hand bumping yours clumsily as he looks to you with a quick apology. you stare at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter, the tension suddenly breaking as you both realise how stupid it is.

“i’m sorry, i’ve never done this before,” eddie admits, “me neither.” his eyes trail off, down your body quickly before towards the front of the car in thought, clearly confused, “you’re telling me you’ve never been on a date?”.

“correct, munson. why? is that hard to believe?” you joke, reaching for your next handful of popcorn, ignoring the fact that star wars: a new hope finally begins to play upon the big screen. “very, i mean— have you seen or spoke to you?”.

“couple of times, never really strikes up a good conversation, unfortunately.”

eddie laughs, beaming towards you at the change of tone, the conversation already flowing more easily and the edge gone into a more comfortable nature, the way he already knew with you, and why he had asked you on a date in the first place.

“but what about you, nobody else in hawkin’s able to catch wind of the munson charm?” you ask, and eddie shrugs, glancing to the movie as he chews on the buttery snack. “nah, funnily enough, being the weirdo of hawkin’s high doesn’t score you any dates. never asked and never been asked.”

he sounds like he doesn’t mind, which makes your heart flutter in thought. maybe he didn’t really think about dating until you came along.

you fall into another silence, this time comfortable, as you watch the beginning of the fantasy movie. your hand hovers the popcorn box resting on the console, deliberately enticing eddie to hold your hand which he falls for instantly.

his hands are warm and big, engulfing yours with his rings pressing against your skin when he rests them in front of the popcorn.

“you know, i’ve never seen this movie,” you say, tilting your head to the side, unaware of the way eddie looks over, shocked. “you’ve never seen star wars? your house didn’t look like a rock from the outside, how can you have not seen them?”.

“charming, thank you,” you giggle in response.

his hand tugs yours slightly, moving them closer to his lap when he speaks again, leaning forward towards your face, “well, i’ll be sure to hold you when the big battle scene comes on, even after luke destroys the death star.”

“eddie…” you trail off, using your intertwined hands to nudge the side of his thigh, “spoiler alert.”

he cringes, “shit, sorry! i’m so sorry,” eddie begins, eyes anxious as he tries to redeem himself, not noticing your amused expression, “at least it’s not the next one where you find out darth vader is—” before he can finish, you lean over to press your fingers over his lips, laughter falling from yours.

“eddie, eddie. let’s say you don’t tell me the entire plotline of the star war trilogy and we can watch the next movie on our next date?” you offer through giggles, pulling away to allow him to reply.

next date, eddie thinks. i’m losing my mind.

amorchai masterlist . taglist form

#stranger things┊ ➶ eddie munson #— ꒰꒰ ➵ amorchai works ౨ৎ ꒱꒱#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things au #eddie munson fics

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rangerbarbz · 9 days

Text

Serving Up Romance pt. 3

Author's Note: guys this semester has been raw dogging me tbh. curse my damn zoology classes. anyways love being a woman in stem and I love Stan Pines. I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO COME OUT IVE BEEN SO BUSY. ALSO I AM SO HONORED AND THANKFUL FOR ALL THE KIND RESPONSES YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THEY MEAN TO ME <3 (If there's typos my bad im running on like 2% capacity and horny)

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this eager to get home. The car ride back to your house was mainly spent in comfortable silence between you and Stan. That was alright, though. His hand was on your knee drawing lazy circles with his thumb while you played with the hair at the nape of his neck. It was pure bliss.

The radio then started to play a love song that you couldn’t remember the name of anymore. You smiled and began to sing along quietly, tapping to the beat of the song on Stan’s skin. You heard him chuckle.

“Sorry, I’m doing a drum solo on your neck,” you joked, increasing the speed of your tapping. He grinned, still looking at the road.

“S’alright.” He then looked over at you fondly. “I like your singing, by the way. Ya got a voice that matches your face” You rolled your eyes playfully.

“I don’t know about that, but thank you,” you replied.

You soon saw the familiar opening of your driveway. Stan parked his Diablo behind your car. He then unbuckled his seatbelt at the speed of light and flung open his door. He jogged to the passenger side to open the door for you. He stood with his back straight like he was your bodyguard.

You giggled, stepping out of the car. “You’re real chivalrous, Pines,” you cooed, patting his cheek.

He winked at you. “I did my homework.”

“Well,” you stood on your tip-toes to whisper in his ear, “let’s see how you do on the final exam.” You swore you could feel the heat from his blush radiating off him.

“Yes, well, I hope, I mean- I will pass,” he stammered as you took hold of his hand. You guided him up your front porch stairs to unlock the door. Once you were inside, you both began to kick your shoes off. “Nice digs you got here, doll. I especially like this thing.” He had walked over to your dining table while you were still unstrapping your sandals to pick up a clay structure you had found at an antique store. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was colorful and was a perfect centerpiece.

You figured he was being sarcastic so you responded, “Aw, leave it alone!”

He looked back at you with a raised eyebrow. “What? I’m being serious. I like art. There’s a reason I’m banned at museums.” You laughed and threw your shoe on the floor. You crossed over to him as he continued to examine it to wrap yourself around his midsection. He hummed and set the piece down to caress your forearms.

You kissed his back through the fabric of his button-up. “You wanna go to my room?” you asked softly. He turned around and swiftly picked you up, your legs hooking around his waist. Your eyes were as wide as saucers, face beginning to flush. His hands were digging into your thighs to support you; they felt rough against your soft flesh.

“Where to, sweetheart?” he mumbled, planting kisses on your jawline.

“L-last door on the right,” you squeaked. He started to walk carefully with you in his arms to your room before laying you down on your bed. His cheeks were tinged a light pink as his lips met yours once again. He kissed you firmly, his forearms bracing himself on either side of your head. You snaked your arms around his torso to pull him closer to you while your tongue slipped past his lips. He tasted like the cheap cigars he got from the Dusk-2-Dawn in town, but you needed to taste more of him.

Your hands moved to his dark hair, entangling it in your fingers. You groaned as the kiss became more sloppy. His right hand dragged down the side of you, outlining your waist and hip and eventually stopping to grip the outside of your thigh. Stan then broke the kiss to take a look at you. Your makeup had been smudged and your hair was spilling out behind your head. You were a vision.

“Fuck,” Stan groaned, resting his head in the crook of your neck. His finger slipped underneath the strap of your dress. “Can I take this off? Please?” His voice was dripping with lust as he kissed you gently on your cheek. Oh, shit was this really happening? You talked big game outside, but now that it got down to it, you were getting a little nervous.

“Uh, yes. Let me get up real quick.” He rolled off of you to let you stand up, your back facing towards him. You began to unzip your dress, but it got stuck at the top of the zipper.

“Oh, hold on, sweetheart. I got you.” Stan stood up to maneuver the slider so that it went down easier. You bit your lip to suppress the grin forming over something so domestic. “There we go,” he said, unzipping your dress the rest of the way. This was still Stan. You had nothing to be worried about.

“Thank you,” you murmured, turning to face him. His eyebrows lifted as you let the dress fall from your shoulders and crumple on the shoulder. Both of you were blushing from the vulnerability of the situation. You stood before him in a lacy bra push-up bra and matching light pink panties.

He swallowed hard. “I, wow,” he ran his hands through his hair and exhaled, “you’re…beautiful.” You gave him a wide smile.

“Your turn now, handsome.” You kissed him and began to unbutton his shirt one by one while his hands slid down your back. His hands began to wander over your hips, waist, and down to your butt where he squeezed roughly. He swallowed the squeak you made by colliding his lips with yours. His shirt fell to the floor showing off a broad, hairy chest. You ran your fingers through the coarse hair before grasping onto his burly shoulders for balance. His teeth and tongue fought with yours while he sat on the edge of the bed, bringing you into his lap.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” Stan whispered, fumbling with the hook of your bra. You felt some light pressure as it came undone. He tossed it to the floor with the growing pile of clothes. His eyes then became transfixed on your breasts. You saw him swallow and his face turned an even deeper shade of red.

“Are they okay?” you asked self-consciously.

His eyes met yours immediately. “Okay?” He glanced back down at your breasts and the back at you. “Babe, they’re…” he shook his head, “they’re fucking smokin’.” Your laughter from his blunt compliment was cut off by a sharp inhale. His lips had latched on to your right nipple while he fondled the other breast vigorously. Your fingers weaved into his hair, nails scraping at his scalp, and his tongue swirling over your areola.

“Stan…” you breathed, grinding down on the bulge in his blue jeans. He had started to repeat his same ministrations on your other nipple, giving it a gentle bite. You yelped; he looked up at you with that shit-eating grin that said Ha, I made you make that sound. He then pulled you to him as he laid his back against the comforter of your bed.

“You mind if I take these off, doll?” Stan asked, tugging at the waistband of your panties. You grinned.

“I don’t mind,” you replied. “What are you gonna do when they’re off?”

Stan rolled his eyes playfully. “Not tellin’.” He carefully slid his panties over the globes of your ass. “That’ll ruin the surprise.” He suddenly flipped you over so that your positions were switched. He smirked at the surprised expression on your face. “Learned that from boxing,” he joked, now watching as he removed your panties the rest of the way. He licked his lips; the lacy material grazing your calf. He eventually set them at the end of the bed, eyes never leaving your molten core.

“Stan?” you asked. His eyes darted to meet yours. His pupils were insanely dilated…Hungry even.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just… Fuck, you’re so sexy.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Would you mind if I…” his voice trailed off. He leaned down to peck at your kneecap. Oh.

“Oh, you mean, like oral?” you stammered.

“I mean like eating you out,” Stan clarified. So you were right.

“Y-you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t mind, but don’t you want me to take care of you?” To be honest, you weren’t used to guys putting you first.

Stan frowned. “Toots, I have been thinking about your legs around my head all night. This is for me as much as it is for you.” You felt every part of your body heat up.

“Oh, okay then. Yes, I think that would be very enjoyable,” you replied nervously, unsure of how to respond. Stan laughed before placing his hands at your thighs to gently part your legs further.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he murmured, head moving down to leave open-mouthed kisses up your leg. His hands were splayed on the outside of your thighs; his mouth was slowly inching to where you needed him most. Your breath shuddered, clutching the sheets to brace yourself for his touch.

“So pretty,” Stan groaned, pressing his lips against your labia. You gasped at the contact, making him chuckle. “So wet for me, too.” His big hands moved to your hips while the tip of his tongue teased your slit. He then pulled you closer to his mouth to give your swollen clit the attention it needed so badly. He swirled his tongue around the bud carefully, the pads of his fingers sinking into your hips.

“Oh, God,” you cried out. You quickly covered your mouth with the palms of both your hands out of embarrassment.

“Uh, uh,” Stan chastised. He lifted his head to gently take your wrists and uncover your face. “I want to hear everything.” He then positioned your hands to the back of his head. “And don’t be afraid to take what you want, sweetheart.” Stan delved back into your cunt, not being as tender as he was before. He was fucking you with his tongue, tasting every bit of you that he could.

You gripped his hair and squeezed your thighs around his head. “Stan! Please,” you exclaimed, “don’t stop.” You were now grinding your clit against his strong nose, hips swiveling to their own accord. Stan sighed dreamily, using the flat of his tongue to lick a stripe up your pussy. You accidentally tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck causing him to let out what can only be described as a guttural whimper. That was the cause of your undoing. The build-up developing in your abdomen reached its peak by gushing onto Stan’s mouth and sending shockwaves through your body.

When you came down from your high, Stan was laying there wide-eyed in awe of what he had just witnessed. “That…” he breathed, “was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He laid his head on your stomach and gave it a quick peck. “Ya know, if you’re up to it, I got a rubber in my-”

“Yes,” you interjected. “I need to feel you in me right now.”

“Oh, alright. Hold on let me just,” he fumbled over his words, reaching into his pocket to reveal a worn leather wallet. He pulled out a square golden wrapper and ripped it open with his teeth. You crawled over to him to unbuckle his belt, kneeling at the end of the bed.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about doing this,” you confessed, unzipping his pants and pulling them down.

“Oh, fuck,” Stan groaned as you exposed his throbbing cock form his boxers. It was painfully hard, precum leaking from the tip. You wrapped your lips around it, sucking it slightly before dragging your tongue down his shaft. He threw his head back as you used your fingers to fondle his balls gently and take him further into your mouth. His fingers wove into the hair above your ear, cradling your head. You gazed up at him to see his face flushed and eyelids hooded.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m not gonna last much longer like this, and I really want to feel ya,” Stan apologized. You nodded and removed your mouth from his cock so he could slide the condom on. You laid down on the bed and let him hover over you, lining himself up with your entrance. This was really happening.

“Okay, I’m about to put it in. Just, let me know if I hurt ya, okay? Let me know what feels good too,” Stan instructed lovingly. He caged your head in with his forearms and gave you a sweet kiss. You then felt pressure in your lower half of Stan entering you. You and Stan gasped in unison at the feeling.

“Stan,” you breathed. “You feel…so good.” He started to move his hips back and forth, eyes studying your face and how it scrunched up in pleasure.

“You do too, Y/N. Oh, God.” His pace began to pick up. He looked from side to side at your arms in search of something to anchor him. He interlocked your hands in his and put his head in the crook of your neck, grunting into your skin. It was so much. It was so sensual. He made you feel so beautiful. That familiar feeling was approaching as his hips slammed into yours. Your legs were wrapped around his waist and starting to shake.

“I’m almost there, Stan.”

Stan’s eyes met yours, his hair a mess and sweat starting to bead at his temples. “Come on, baby, let me feel it. Give it to me,” he begged. Once again, his gruff voice was the cause of your intense orgasm. You screamed his name while he chased his own. His thrusts were no longer uniform but sloppy.

You felt his body tense up and relax as he came. He pressed his forehead into the valley of your breasts and just breathed. You played with his hair absentmindedly, still feeling the effects of your own orgasms.

He eventually pulled himself from you, making you feel empty. He went to the bathroom to toss the used condom and came back to hold you flush to his chest. He kissed along the shell of your ear and held you by your waist.

“Breakfast is on me in the morning,” Stan whispered. “I’ll make you my special: Stancakes.”

You burst into a fit of giggles as you shifted your body to face him. He was giving you a dopey smile. You planted a kiss on his nose. “Can’t wait.”

People who wanted to be tagged (i love y’all): @lucas1253 @vitality-falls @daniel-meyer-03 @marvelous-maniac @daisysinadarkmedow @lordbelkamort @mayhaps-nerd @ziragus

#gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #grunkle ford #grunkle stan #stanley pines #ford pines x reader #imagine #pines family #smut #stan pines x you #stan pines x reader #stan pines #book of bill #fluff #gravity falls fandom #gravity falls fanfiction

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rizsu · 9 months

Text

professional guide on how to boyfriend jujutsu kaisen ( men ).

⤹ list ﹢ gojō satoru, sukuna ryōmen, chōsō.

﹙ syn ﹚ having near-to-zero experience with serious romantic relationships, it's time to teach them how to romance. the journey won't be easy, but the results will hopefully be fruitful.

extra. songs: betcha (bbh), seven (jk), very nice (svt).

week one : how to flirt as if you were shakespeare. note. refrain from using big words because they sound ‘cool’.

GOJO SATORU — "you're hating on my vocabulary?"

slowly, but very surely, you can feel your stress-meter rise to its peak. if someone were to animate your current expression, there will be three veins protruding out on your forehead to show your stress. it's almost as if it's second-nature for satoru to be annoying. he isn't doing it on purpose, unfortunately, it's just the way he is.

i should've ignored his call, a voice in your head speaks, i really should've. you were enjoying your own presence, simply lazing around during your off-day when three rings disrupted the peace. groaning, you reluctantly picked it up.

"hello—"

"come to enha's bakery, PLEASE," satoru's rushed voice spoke, immediately ending the call after his request-demand.

annoyance dawned and slowly transitioned into confusion. first, he needs to fix his habit of cutting you off. second, with the tone of his voice, maybe you should go.

big mistake.

not only was he chewing your ears off with talking, he also ate half of your pastry. you weren't able to get a full sentence in, he just kept going. dressed in suit and tie, hair styled and gelled up, satoru looked handsomely professional. according to what you've gathered from his rambling, he's been set up with one of the higher ups' daughter for business purposes. he needs to woo her or he's gonna lose a significant amount of pay. the problem? well, his flirting skills aren't all that. his confidence can help him, but it'll only help for a fraction of the date.

"what's the issue? you're handsome," you started, sliding your pastry back to you. "you should be able to woo her with your face alone."

"you are not wrong—"

"i'm never wrong," you cut him off.

"let me speak. anyway, i was informed that she isn't one for looks alone. i don't care about her, but she's the daughter of some high fucker," his voice reeked of defeat.

you weren't well-knowledged in satoru's field of work, but you knew he had it against the "higher ups." well, you had no choice but to know. satoru often thought of you as someone he can be free with — so, in conclusion, you were the victim of his word-vomit moments.

the two of you fell silent, thinking about solutions to save satoru. eyeing the pastry, you pondered your brain. there has to be a way to help satoru. perhaps some walkie-talkies? no, those are too loud. follow him into the restaurant and monitor his behaviour? no, that's too much work. crash his date and ask him why he's cheating on you? no, that'll probably end in your death.

satoru himself is deep in thought, already annoyed at the date that's going to become the bane of his existence in eight hours from now. should he bring you with him? maybe, but you'll deny his offer. should he ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend? no, he'd rather ask without the "pretend."

oh he's fucked.

i'm so fucked.

"wait," you leaned into the table, sporting an expression that says 'i have an idea'.

"yes?" satoru mirrors you, eyes speaking 'tell me'.

"what if i teach you how to flirt? we should have enough time to teach you how to boyfriend, right?" your idea was good. it turned the gears in both minds.

satoru opens his mouth but presses it into a thin line. there's an obstacle in the way of making this idea perfect.

"sounds good but.. the date's... tonight."

"you are fucked."

he nods at your response, feeling the salt rubbing in his wound. i guess i should just—

"but, if we go now we'll have enough time. it's 11AM, we can do it," you tapped your index finger twice on your phone's screen, showing satoru the time. if you move now, success is evident.

"let's go then," agreeing, he stands up, stuffing his car keys into his pocket and opening his wallet.

—

you've run out of pillows and whiteboard markers. the last two hours were spent either scribbling nonsense on a mini-whiteboard or throwing objects at satoru. the teaching isn't working. every lesson you've gone through ended in satoru's failure. is it on purpose? you hope it isn't.

"satoru, for the last time, that does not sound like a real word!" your hand slapped the table, physically showing your frustration.

groaning, satoru throws his head back, "you said use poetic words!"

"what part of scrumdiddlyumptious sounds poetic to you?!" you deadpanned at him.

he slouches further down the couch, grabbing his phone to search the word on google. it took him only one minute to find the word and its definition. raising up from slouching, he leans over the coffee table, stretching an arm out to show you the word.

"scrumdiddlyumptious — adjective · informal 1. (of food) extremely tasty; delicious. 2. (of a person) very attractive."

reluctant to admit defeat, you weaponized the word being informal against him, "it's not formal! you will not use it."

satoru's high of being right dies down immediately. his mouth twitches, eyes looking at you with disbelief.

"babe, you cannot be serious right now."

"babe, i am so serious right now," you mocked him, not thinking too deep into his nickname. there's no meaning behind it anyway. you, too, use babe as platonic name.

eventually, satoru tuned out your voice. he returned back to his previous slouching position, staring at you blankly as your words go in one ear and out the other.

it didn't take long for you to notice his dejected aura. does he hate it that much? you wondered, feeling a slight pity for him.

"don't worry, satoru. it's just one date."

"i will be worrying," satoru counters you, already sour at the date-to-come.

if he were to be honest, the date isn't the problem, nor is the flirting. he believes his flirting skills to be at a decent level. he also doesn't mind spending money on others. it's just that he doesn't want to entertain her. maybe, just maybe, if it were you, he'd be more excited.

you didn't say anything after him, only shooting him an annoying smile. seriously, you don't know what's worrying him. he's basically every girl's eye candy — not to mention, he looks so much like a boyfriend right now. that doesn't make a lot of sense, but if others can see what you're seeing, they'll understand. his white fitted tee accentuates his upper body's muscles, the black sweatpants do its job, his hair that's still styled, and the silver wristwatch on his hand. simple, yet sexy.

SUKUNA RYOMEN — "i'm too old for this shit."

sukuna, your sweet sukuna. your sukuna who's most likely weighing out which option is the better one to shut you up. he doesn't know why he agreed to listen to your rambles at midnight, but he's too far in to call it quitsies.

according to what you told him, you gained the idea of teaching him how to update his romance. it all came crashing to you when you were in the third-quarter of an episode of some random dating show. you blanked out most of the episode, not paying attention as the main objective of watching it was to not stare into nothing while eating.

the show itself didn't interest you, but the concept did. the participants were blindfolded, being told to use their judgement of character to choose their date. they'd have to rely on their personalities and voices to attract someone — a pretty neat idea. looks aren't everything. unfortunately, they might just be for sukuna if he doesn't work on his attitude.

often does sukuna act like he's a fifty-five-years-old office worker named penelope in the management department: old, easily annoyed, and always has something to complain about. you're probably the only human on earth who can handle sukuna for more than a day. of course, this is due to you being similar to him — if not then exactly like him. your attitudes fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.

sukuna's hands are clasped together behind his head, one leg raised on the bed, and torso out in the open for everyone to view. he's actively listening to you, giving his judgement here and there.

you're sitting with your legs criss-crossed, a pillow in the middle of your thighs, and hands speaking their own language. the habit of using your hands expressively when talking will never leave you.

"...so, if you were to find a girl, you neeed to be kind! no one likes a man with a stick up his ass," you warned sukuna, moving your index finger side-to-side.

"you do," sukuna says, raising an eyebrow at you.

unfortunately, he left you speechless — but not for long! you soon regained your speaking skills after realizing you don't have a good comeback.

coughing two times, you started your lesson again, "anyyyway, always tell her she's beautiful, gorgeous, breathless, or whatever. everyone loves a little compliment about their appearance!"

almost as if it's an automatic setting, sukuna replies, "what if she's facially challenged?"

"OH—" your jaw dropped. "sukuna, you can't just say that!"

he re-positions himself, this time laying on his side with his arm supporting his head.

"if someone's visually impaired i'm telling them."

you sighed, feeling disappointed at his brutual honesty, "what do you even mean by visually impaired?"

"they're ugly," he shrugs.

his tone isn't serious, implying that he's joking but you know he isn't. sukuna's a man of his word; the truth is what leaves his mouth every time. you shouldn't worry — you really, really shouldn't, but what if that's what he thinks about you? are you facially challenged in his eyes? you've gone silent, allowing yourself to drown in the thoughts.

sukuna notices your silence, sighs, and jabs your side with his foot.

"if you're thinking that i believe you're ugly, then stop," he begins, continuing the foot-jabbing-at-your-side-movement when you don't respond. "you're beautiful, believe me. you know i don't lie."

that catches your attention. you feel a sudden heat creeping up the back of your neck. keeping your voice low, you questioned him, still unsure of whether he's being truthful or not, "are you lying?"

"i swear," his voice is firm, reaching his free hand out to your thigh. physical contact to him is very important!

you return to the silence, only this time you lock your eyes in sukuna's. it's up to you to believe whether he's lying or not, and honestly, you don't care. you know he never lies, and you rather enjoy your fantasy instead of the harsh reality ( if he's truly lying ).

CHOSO — "man, fuck all that."

throughout your entire life you never expected to meet someone like choso. he is, in your words, a bitch boy. acts like a bitch, very expressive with his facial expressions, sarcastic, a male, and the worst of all, a little thief.

you humbly thought baking with choso would've been a good idea for celebrating the end of your finals. oh you were so wrong. he's messy, ate half the chocolate chips, and has been stealing spoons of cookie batter. when you confronted him, he simply said, "we can always make more," and shrugged. the audacity!

there's only so much choso someone can handle before they explode.

"you dumb fuck, how can you get a wife with this behaviour?!" you scolded, slapping his hand away from the freshly baked batch of cookies with a whisk.

he immediately retreats his hand, looking at you with an expression that says 'have you gone insane?'

"don't look at me like that," you warned, raising an eyebrow at his very well-hidden annoyance at you.

choso rolls his eyes, this time reaching the uninjured hand for the sprinkles. he sneakily slides the packet to him, intensely watching you to make sure you don't happen to see him committing such a crime. mouthing a little "yes!" at his victory, he empties half the sprinkles in his hand and throws it into his mouth.

"an’ wha’ if i ‘on't care about a wife," his words are muffled due to his mouth being filled with the sprinkles. he tries his best to hide the crunch sound, lowering his head each time he needs to crunch on some.

your back's still turned to him, simply too busy with monitoring sugar-soon-to-be-caramel on the stove.

"you're gonna have to care soon. you don't wanna die alone!" you nagged, making a point to him.

his right eyebrow raises at your words, lips ready to move at your hypocrisy, "you yourself said you don't want a partner!"

"at this point," you stopped, turning around to face choso. "i'm gonna have to teach you how to be a romantic young man."

"what are you implying...?"

"it's time for dating lessons."

"no, thank you."

unfortunately, choso has no say in this household. he had to listen. you sat him down on the chair, making sure he focuses with all his attention and doesn't steal any of the desserts. believe choso when he said he tried to take you seriously. he really did, but your messy apron along with vigorously hand-mixing batter with a serious expression as you talked his ear off caught him off-guard.

"sometimes you even have to get on your knees, choso! i'm telling you."

"i'm not doing all of that," he disagrees.

"oh, trust me. when you're in love you will," you spoke, resting the hand-mixer down to draw an invisible heart in the air.

he doesn't give you a verbal response. instead, he squints his eyes at you. when one's gone, another is born. when one stress is gone, another is born ( your nagging ). he doesn't like it one bit, but at least it's coming from you. he'd rather have you down his ears — whether it's by using your vocals or channeling your inner mother and scolding him.

#. ae-generated: jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna fluff #choso x reader #choso fluff #choso x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you #sukuna x you #jjk x fem!reader

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forfucksakesniall · 1 year

Text

"Whispered Hearts"

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton has a secret girlfriend. During the Monaco Grand Prix, their relationship is revealed to the public, but they remain strong and support each other.

Word count: 1553

Trigger warning/Content advisory: Media scrutiny, privacy invasion, public attention, and intense emotions including anxiety and stress. Reader discretion is advised.

Masterlist

As Lewis arrives with effortless charm, the cameras flash constantly, capturing his every move. Fans eagerly call out his name, seeking his autograph on their merch. With a grateful smile, he acknowledges their unwavering support, waving to the crowd.

Lewis Hamilton, the perpetual bachelor, guards a closely kept secret from prying media eyes. Behind closed doors, passionate and secret romance blossoms between Lewis and (Y/N), spanning over three beautiful years.

On the yacht en route to the grand prix, Lewis takes a phone call, his face lit up with anticipation. Curiosity ripples through observers, wondering about the person on the other end. If only they knew who filled those precious moments with him, their curiosity would soar.

✧ ･ﾟ : * ✧ ･ﾟ * ✧ ✦ ✧ * ✧ ･ﾟ : * ✧ ･ﾟ :

Hours earlier…

Awakened by shuffling and muffled voices, you groggily open your eyes. Lewis moves about the room, preparing for today's practice. Admiring him from behind, you appreciate his early rising and his need to fix everything early in the morning. This is what you get for dating a control freak.

The sound of the duvet shifting catches his attention, and he turns toward you, wide-eyed, realizing he has disturbed you. With a gentle expression, he approaches, settling beside you on the bed.

"Good morning, baby," he whispers, planting a tender kiss on your forehead, his hand cradling your cheek. "Did I wake you?"

"Its fine babe" you softly respond. His brows furrow, searching for a way to make it up to you, reading his thoughts like an open book. He knows how much you love your sleep and feels guilty for waking you.

"It was time to wake up anyway," you assure him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. A smile graces his face, easing the tension.

"Since I've disturbed your beauty sleep, princess," he playfully teases, "I'll make you some breakfast."

"Good to know," you playfully tease back, anticipation twinkling in your eyes.

It's still early, and you cherish the time together before he leaves for the race. After breakfast, you find yourselves snuggled up on the couch, bodies entwined, surrounded by fluffy pillows. Wearing cozy pajamas, you wish this moment could last forever.

You discuss your plans for the day, and you reassure him of your unwavering support, letting him know you'll be watching him every step of the way.

"You can go outside and enjoy your day instead of being cooped up here," he suggests, a hint of worry on his face.

Cradling his face in your hands, you alleviate his concerns. "I want to be here with you, and besides, the streets will be busy anyway."

He pauses, contemplating his next words. "What if… What if you came to the race?"

You look at him, surprise and intrigue shining in your eyes.

✧ ･ﾟ : * ✧ ･ﾟ * ✧ ✦ ✧ * ✧ ･ﾟ : * ✧ ･ﾟ :

Lewis on the phone

"Hey baby, I'm here now."

"Hey, I just arrived too. The staff guided me into the paddock without attracting any attention."

"That's good. Um, are you feeling alright? I hope the cameras doesn't make you too uncomfortable. They are everywhere and—"

"I'll be fine, Lewis. Stop worrying, okay? Focus on the race, alright?"

"Yeah… okay. I love you. I'll see you later."

"Love you too, babe. See you."

Entering the Mercedes paddock, many unfamiliar faces greet you, surprised by their recognition to you. They address you by name, offering your favorite drink, even asking ypu things only you and Lewis knows. As if they already knew who you were.

Guiding you to Lewis's driver's room, you settle onto the couch, waiting for his arrival. It feels as if you been there so many time despite it being your first. But the truth, this is where Lewis FaceTimes you whenever he has a spare moment, talking to you before each race.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, revealing someone you've only seen on TV and heard about in Lewis's stories.

"Hey Lewis, I wanted to ask you about our ping pong rematch—" George's eyes widen in surprise, realizing he isn't speaking to Lewis but to Lewis's best-kept secret.

"Oh, um… you must be (Y/N)?"

Before you can respond, Lewis intervenes, placing a reassuring hand on George's shoulder.

"Let's discuss that later, George," he says, attempting to close the door.

George still manages to squeeze his way in.

"Wait a minute, you're always talking about her, and now she's here, and you're suddenly all shy," George cheekily remarks.

"Oh, so you talk about me at work, Lewis?" you playfully tease, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Now is not the time for that," Lewis deflects, trying to change the subject, but you and George exchange giggles.

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you," George says, pats back at Lewis's shoulder before leaving.

As Lewis closes and locks the door, safeguarding his secret, he apologizes for George's silliness.

"I'm sorry about him. He tends to talk nonsense when he's excited," he defends himself.

You can't help but giggle, knowing that George's words hold some truth, but you don't press the matter further.

Lewis takes a seat beside you, his hand reaching for yours, gently rubbing the back of it. Tension fills the air.

Drawing closer to him, you speak softly, "Hey, stop worrying about us. We'll be just fine." You lean in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss, deepening your connection.

He draws back slightly, cradling your face in his hands. "If at any point you feel uncomfortable, just let me know, and I'll arrange for someone to bring you back home," he assures, his words sincere.

The mention of "home" sends a warm wave of comfort and belonging through you, reminding you of the depth of your connection and the time you've spent together.

"I promise, and I know I'll be alright," you whisper, offering your reassurance in return.

✧ ･ﾟ : * ✧ ･ﾟ * ✧ ✦ ✧ * ✧ ･ﾟ : * ✧ ･ﾟ :

As Lewis heads out of the paddock, drawing attention to himself and creating a diversion, you seize the opportunity to slip away unnoticed toward the garage, seeking a better vantage point to watch him race.

Lost in your thoughts, you're approached by a girl, approximately your age, her Mercedes merch indicating she's a fan.

"Hi! Hello?" She greets you enthusiastically.

"I saw you coming out of the paddock. I'm curious, what kind of pass do you have?" Her questioning catches you off guard, and you find yourself unable to make up a lie in response.

Before you can answer, her friends join her, and Lewis's gaze shifts toward the commotion, realizing that you're being surrounded by a growing crowd of fans. Although you remain calm, Lewis's protective instincts kicks in.

As Lewis walks back towards you, attracting the attention of cameras and journalists, confusion spreads among them. They wonder why he's suddenly heading in the opposite direction, away from the garage, and they start following him.

Approaching the group, Lewis cheerfully greets them as he always does, diverting their attention from you. He positions himself slowly in front of you, blocking the view of the girls who are now asking for his autograph on their merch.

With a gentle push of his elbow, he signals you to step back and head to the garage. However, as you try to leave the crowd, the cameras and journalists have already made their way to you, envading on your personal space.

Lewis quickly realizes his mistake and looks to the security personnel for assistance. They swiftly intervene, pushing back the crowd to create a pathway for both of you. Guiding you with a reassuring hand on your back, Lewis leads you forward, your gaze fixed on the ground to avoid any unwanted attention.

"Shit," you overhear him mutter, his anxiety mounting once again. This was certainly not the outcome you had hoped for.

✧ ･ﾟ : * ✧ ･ﾟ * ✧ ✦ ✧ * ✧ ･ﾟ : * ✧ ･ﾟ :

The news spreads rapidly, like wildfire.

"Lewis Hamilton Spotted with Mystery Woman in Monaco Grand Prix."

"Lewis Hamilton's Secret Love: Who is his Monaco Grand Prix Girlfriend?"

"Lewis Hamilton's Monaco Grand Prix Surprise: Introducing his Secret Girlfriend."

Gossip sites churn out articles, each one vying for attention. Pictures capture the moment as both of you escape the crowd and head toward the garage.

Lewis is preparing for practice when he notices you are dazed and confused, absorbed in what you've read online. The information about you—your occupation, hometown, and mutual connections—seems to have spread with lightning speed. Lost in your thoughts, you don't realize that Lewis is kneeling in front of you until he takes your hand.

"I know this isn't how we wanted it, and... I.. I shouldn't have asked you to come," he rambles.

"At least we don't have to hide anymore," you reassure him, sensing his anxiety. "We'll figure it out after the race, okay?"

He continues to gaze at you, seeking reassurance that you're truly okay. Standing up, he leans down to plant a tender kiss on the top of your head.

"Be safe. I love you," you tell him, your voice filled with affection.

"I love you too, baby," he responds, his words carrying a heartfelt warmth.

He walks towards the car and drives away. After a few seconds, you finally gather the strength to rise from your seat and contemplate the situation.

You come to a realization that it shouldn't sadden you that they discovered your secret. It was inevitable, something you and Lewis would eventually have to face.

With newfound determination, you stand tall and position yourself near the monitors, eagerly watching Lewis's performance. A member of the garage team hands you a pair of headphones, allowing you to hear Lewis's communications.

"Go get them babe," you whisper to yourself, offering words of encouragement to your beloved.

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m1ckeyb3rry · 4 months

Note

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

i love uu take care x

── SEABIRD

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

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 11.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah,” the boy said. “Your sandwich.”

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

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

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

“No,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

me: lol wtf is re al.

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

uglier sibling: actually wait why are u even asking lol

uglier sibling: did u meet him or something

me: funny story actually!

uglier sibling: WHAT

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

uglier sibling: y/n answer pls

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

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

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

“It seems like I am,” he said.

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

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

You cringed. “I’m sorry again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he said.

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

He gave you an odd look. “Alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Women play soccer, too,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How early?” you said.

“I have a snack at 7:00 a.m., before I go for my morning run, and then I eat a proper meal afterwards,” he said.

“Oh!” you said. “Any chance you could not do that?”

“It’s part of my training regimen,” he said. “How about you pay for my food and come on my run with me?”

“I hate running,” you said.

“You’re apologizing. It’s supposed to be an agonizing process,” he said. “You’ve called me short and ugly at least three separate times already, not to mention the entire slamming into me ordeal. It’s really the least you can do.”

“7:00 it is,” you said, though you were fighting back tears at the mere thought of getting up so early while on vacation. “Give me your phone.”

“No way,” he said, holding the phone away from you while you tried to swipe at it. “What are you going to do, post something embarrassing on my social media accounts?”

“Why would I do that?” you said. “I was going to text myself so I had your number and could send you my location for tomorrow.”

“Or you could tell me which hotel you’re staying at now, and then my phone is entirely removed from the equation,” he suggested.

“Do you think I remember the name?” you said. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I don’t.”

He handed you his phone with an aggravated huff. “Fine. Don’t abuse the privilege. I only give important people my contact information.”

“Woah, you really are stingy,” you said, scrolling through his contacts list. All of them either had the designation of work attached to their profiles, or they were clearly members of Sae’s family.

Clicking on the plus sign in the corner, you created a new contact for yourself, typing in your number and giving yourself the name Y/N L/N — sandwich. It fit the naming conventions he had going on, and if it weren’t for the reminder that you were the so-called ‘sandwich girl’, you doubted he would remember who you were in the first place.

“Of course I am. Imagine I gave every crazy fan I met my number. I’d have a million stalkers before you could say Re Al,”he said.

“I’m not a crazy fan. To clarify, I’m not a fan in the first place,” you said, texting yourself from his number before taking out your own phone and responding to the message with a thumbs up.

“Correct, which is why you get my number,” he said.

“I feel so honored,” you said dryly. “Actually, you know what? I would feel honored, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re only giving it to me because you want to wake me up at an unholy hour and make me run with you before paying for your breakfast.”

“Would you rather pay for this meal?” he said, showing you the receipt he had been emailed. Your eyes widened, and then you shook your head rapidly.

“Nope! See you tomorrow!”

The next morning, you tiptoed around the hotel room as you got ready, trying your best not to wake your mother up. She, and the rest of your family, had been up late last night, going out for dinner and dessert well past your bedtime. Far too embarrassed to tell them the realreason you were going to sleep early, you had said you were sick and went to bed as soon as the sun set.

Angrily gnawing on a granola bar from your mother’s emergency stash, you stomped down the spiraling hotel staircase, your eyes still bleary as you texted your family group chat that you were going out for a morning walk but would be back for breakfast.

Sae Itoshi was waiting for you in the lobby, doing some weird stretching routine that involved pressing his foot against the wall and leaning over it. You watched him, bemused, wondering which muscles he was trying to stretch before giving up and deciding it was probably one of those pro moves that you were too uninterested and unathletic for.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you said, giving him another one of the granola bars you had taken from your mother’s backpack. “Sorry, it’s sort of smushed. It’s been in a backpack for the last few days.”

He pinched the wrapper between his forefinger and thumb, looking at the granola bar with a disgusted expression. You didn’t think it was thategregious, but according to Sae, it must have been all but an offense against humanity, as he tossed it into the trash can within seconds of having it within his grasp.

“I already ate my snack,” he said.

“Why did you throw that away? I could’ve eaten it!” you said.

“That thing had probably melted and reformed at least twice. It was most definitely radioactive. I did you a favor, so you should say thank you,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Itoshi, for protecting me from the horrors of a slightly misshapen granola bar. I’m sure that, by throwing away that still edible brick of deliciousness, you have done me a great service. Possibly, you have even saved my life. I am eternally grateful,” you said.

He snorted. “You’re terrible at groveling. No wonder you have to do all of this ridiculous stuff to apologize to me instead of just saying sorry and moving on like a normal person.”

“Look, it’s a product of my upbringing,” you said. He finished stretching and headed out of the door; you followed after him with a smile at the hotel concierge, who seemed surprised to watch you go — whether it was the hour or your company, you weren’t sure. “Whenever my parents did something to upset me, they never apologized. They just came to my room with a bowl of fruit they had cut for me.”

“At least you got fruit,” he said. “My parents just told me to go practice soccer until I had cooled off.”

“Wow, really? That’s hardcore,” you said. Sae began to jog, and you did the same, though it was closer to a run for you than anything. “Did you just kick around the ball until you were less mad?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

“How horrible,” you said.

“Eh, it’s fine. It was a good way to get my anger out, and it had the added benefit of making me better at the sport, so it was pretty constructive overall,” he said.

“I still can’t imagine it,” you said, shaking your head. “What’s it like, being a professional athlete? Your entire life revolves around a game. What about when you can’t play anymore? When you’re too old, or if you get injured?”

His upper lip curled. “Do you want that to happen or something? Why are you speaking it into existence?”

“Not the injury part, but everyone grows old. You can’t stop that,” you said.

“I’ll play for as long as I can, and then I’ll coach for longer,” he said. “After that, I’ll retire and make sure my kids follow in my footsteps. Athletes make a lot of money, so I luckily won’t ever have to worry much about my finances.”

“What if your kids don’t want to play soccer?” you said. He actually sneered this time, the expression at home on his cold face.

“What else would they do with themselves? If they don’t want to play soccer, or if they have no talent at it, then they’re definitely not my children in the first place,” he said.

“Hm, maybe cooking? What if they want to be a chef?” you said.

“Then I’d wonder how your kids snuck into my house,” he said. You gasped, though it was as much for breath as it was out of offense.

“Stop it! You just happened to catch me at a hungry time!” you said.

“Sure,” he said.

“Just entertain the hypothetical that you really did somehow father children that were into cooking instead of soccer. How would you react?” you said.

“I would put them up for adoption,” he said.

“Seriously?” you said.

“No, obviously not,” he said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Why did you actually find that to be within the realm of possibility?”

“I think you’re some kind of soccer fiend. Who knows how dedicated you are to the cause?” you said.

“Not that dedicated,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if my kids can’t play soccer, and our relationship would probably be a bit distant, as I don’t know much about anything else, but I wouldn’t disown them.”

“You don’t know much about anything besides soccer? That’s a little sad,” you said.

“Kind of,” he said.

“Do you wish you knew about other things?” you said.

“Everyone has something they specialize in. It’s not uncommon for someone to know a lot about one thing and only a little about others,” he said. “My ‘thing’ is soccer. If it wasn’t that, then it’d be something else, so if I was in the business of wishing, I’d always be unsatisfied.”

You were already panting for breath when Sae picked up the pace, though he had not so much as broken a sweat yet. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in your obvious struggles, and then he made the decision to not slow down at all.

“I get it,” you said. “You’ll face no judgment from me.”

“Like I would care if you did judge me,” he said. “You’re already dying, and we haven’t even started running yet.”

“This isn’t running?” you said. “What the hell? How much faster can you even go?”

“If you think that this is anywhere near the pace of an average soccer match, then I don’t even know where to begin with you,” he said.

“You look slower on TV!”

“What, so you think I’m slow, too?”

You and Sae returned to the hotel in markedly different conditions. He wasn’t even warm, still appearing to be perfectly put together and entirely perspiration-free, smelling faintly like body soap and cologne. On the other hand, you were still trying to regain your wits about you, leaning on his shoulder so that you did not fall over from exhaustion.

“This is embarrassing for you,” he informed you as you walked towards the breakfast area.

“You’re a professional athlete and I’m a normal girl! It would be embarrassing for you if I could keep up!” you argued weakly.

“That would be true, if I wasn’t going easy on you,” he said, pulling out a chair for you and helping you into it, brushing his arm off when he was sure you were seated. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Have fun,” you said, resting your head in your hands, already knowing what you wanted to get. “We can walk through the buffet together. I’ll take the time to recover.”

“You do that,” he said.

While he was gone, you opened your phone, catching up on all of the texts in the family group chat that you hadn’t been able to read while you were attempting to run with Sae.

me: going for a morning walk but i’ll be back for breakfast

me: just wanted to let you all know so you weren’t worried!

uglier sibling: yeah nobody was worried LMFAO

mom: Hope you’re feeling better, honey!

dad: Make sure you’re back before 10. That’s when the complimentary breakfast ends, and we’re not paying for overpriced toast with jam.

uglier sibling: i still can’t believe u went for a morning walk

uglier sibling: like

uglier sibling: since when do u voluntarily wake up in the mornings at all let alone leave ur bed LET ALONE TAKE A WALK

uglier sibling: bitches will meet sae itoshi one time and suddenly they’re fitness influencers or wtvr

uglier sibling: btw i’m still mad that u didn’t get his autograph or a photo with him or anything

uglier sibling: i bet u made it up

uglier sibling: LIAR. FRAUD. HACK.

mom: Honey, leave your sister alone. Why would she make something like that up?

dad: Your mother is right. Y/N doesn’t even know who Sae Itoshi is.

So it was a typical conversation, then. You hadn’t missed much; just your brother being salty and your parents showing some care for your well-being, as well as your father worrying for his wallet like he was prone to do. You didn’t even bother responding, just liking your father’s two messages and then putting your phone away.

“Y/N, you’re back already? What good timing!” your father called out to you from the entrance to the hotel restaurant. The world slowed as you turned to see the rest of your family walking into the restaurant, dressed in their typical touristy outfits. Your mother waved at you, and your brother faked gagging.

“Wow, you look like shit,” he said. “The fuck kinda morning walk were you on?”

“Gross, it’s you,” you said. “Go away! I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have any food with you,” he pointed out. “Can I sit with you? The parents are way too chipper in the mornings.”

“No!” you said.

“But there’s an empty seat at your table. Are you saving it for someone?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, wishing that for once they would’ve all slept in instead of getting here at the exact time that you and Sae had.

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“Come on, you two, let’s sit together and have a family breakfast!” your father said, motioning you and your brother over from where he and your mother had settled at a four-person table. Your brother gave you a pleading look.

“I’ll owe you forever,” he said. “I’ll grind on all of your video games for you the entire plane ride home!”

“I’m not lying, dude, I actually am sitting with someone. Now fuck off and leave me alone!” you hissed.

“Who?” he said, crossing his arms. “Your imaginary friend? Or your imaginary boyfriend!”

“Excuse me? Sorry, I was sitting there. Do you mind—?”

The most comical expression you had ever seen flashed over your brother’s face just then. It was horror mixed with incredulity mixed with extreme confusion. He turned slowly, his jaw dropping as he made eye contact with Sae Itoshi, whose dry countenance and perfect posture were as off-putting as ever.

“What?” your brother said. “What is going on?”

Sae sat opposite you. “This hotel has the most confusing first floor layout I’ve ever encountered. It took me ages just to find the bathroom.”

“There’s signs. Can you not read?” you said. He stared at you dully.

“I can read. I just happened not to look up at them,” he said.

“If I didn’t want to pay for even more food, I’d make another short joke, but I shall refrain,” you said.

“That was cutting it close,” he said.

“Y/N. My beautiful, amazing, wonderful older sister,” your brother said.

“Yes?” you said, preparing yourself for the incoming explosion. “Also, that’s not what you were calling me in the group chat earlier, was it?”

“Is that Sae Itoshi?” he said.

“Liar, fraud, hack, was that what it was?” you said. “Run along, loser. Maybe if you were nicer to me, I’d let you sit with us.”

Your brother opened his mouth to argue, but then, like he had remembered he was standing in front of his idol, he hung his head and trudged off, scuffing his toes against the floor as he did and giving you a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“That’s your little brother?” Sae said.

“Yup,” you said. “Your self-proclaimed biggest fan.”

“And you made him go sit with your parents instead of talking to me? You’re super mean, big sister,” Sae said.

“He wouldn’t shut up if I let him stay here, and considering the goal of this is for you to eat and then leave me alone for the rest of my vacation, that would not be conducive,” you said.

“I see,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was the goal.”

“Isn’t it yours, as well? I’m sure you’d like to enjoy yourself on your time off from soccer,” you said.

“Who says I’m not enjoying myself?” he said. You furrowed your brow at him.

“You’ve had the same expression on your face every time we’ve spoken,” you pointed out, lowering your eyelids and pursing your lips in an imitation of his resting mien. “Like this. It’s totally amphibious.”

“Amphibious?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know what amphibious means? Man, when you said you only focused on soccer, I didn’t think it was this bad!” you said.

“I know what amphibious means! I just don’t see how the word applies,” he said.

“Oh, right. Well, you kind of look like the frog emoji,” you said. “Sorry, I could’ve been clearer. That’s my bad.”

“Were you dropped on the head as a baby? I’m asking this from a place of concern, not anger,” Sae said. “It’s because you say so many nonsensical things. After all, I look nothing like the frog emoji.”

“Sure, and people tell me I look like a famous actress,” you said.

“Really?” he said.

“No, I thought we were both saying things that aren’t true,” you said.

“I think you look like a famous actress,” he said. “There. Now we’re both saying things that are true.”

“Well done, Mr. Itoshi! That was clever,” you said, knowing when to concede.

“Thank you,” he said. “Let’s go get our food now. If you die of starvation on my watch, it’ll be a major scandal for Re Al.”

“Your manager must love you,” you said. “So conscientious of your public image.”

“Nope, he’s usually pretty pissed at me,” he said as the two of you got in the buffet line.

“What for?” you said.

“Contrary to what you think, I’m pretty unconcerned with my public image. I’m a soccer player, not some kind of philanthropist or actor or whatever,” he said. “What does it matter if I offend people? My value is in playing well, not being friendly or kind.”

“No one ever accused you of being either of those two,” you said, spreading butter and jam over your toast. “You’re not that bad, though.”

“You’re not that bad, either,” he said. “At least, you’re better company than my manager.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you said. He scoffed.

“You have low standards,” he said.

“Yours are lower,” you said.

“Very mature response.”

“Thanks!”

Sae was a pretty agreeable breakfast partner. He wasn’t as impossibly cheerful as your parents, who generally drove you crazy with their talkativeness so early in the day, but he also wasn’t as silent and closed off as your brother, who was prone to snapping at others until he had finished at least half of his meal. As with lunch yesterday, it was almost an enjoyable experience, right up until you remembered whose card he was eating on.

“Where are you going?” he said when your plates had been cleared and you had pushed yourself to your feet. He followed after you as you made your way to the hostess’s station, ignoring the whispers that echoed behind the two of you.

“To pay for you to be here, duh,” you said, fishing around in your purse for your wallet. “I know you’re famous and all, but that doesn’t mean you get to eat for free. In fact, that was kind of the point of the meal.”

“I already paid for myself, so you can go and sit back down with your family if you’d like,” he said.

“What? When?” you said.

“I wouldn’t spend that long in a bathroom,” he said. “Not a public one.”

“You little—! Now what?” you said.

“Now you have to see me tomorrow,” he said. “Bye. I’ll pick you up for dinner, so make sure to wear something nice, and bring your credit card. It’s your treat.”

He walked off with a jaunty wave, leaving you standing there, confounded by the development. He had paid for himself again? What was the point of making you take him places if he was just going to cough up the cash himself anyways?

“Psst. Y/N,” your brother said. You weren’t sure when or where he had appeared, but it remained that he was suddenly tapping you on the shoulder and whispering in your ear. “Does Sae Itoshi have a crush on you? If so, please ask if he can get tickets for dad and I to attend his next game.”

“What?” you said, a shockwave running through your entire body at the mere thought of Sae having a crush on you. It was so juvenile and cliched as to be out of Sae’s character entirely. “No! I just owe him.”

“For what?” your brother said.

“I ran into him, called him ugly, and said that he was short,” you said. “Indirectly, of course, but it still happened. I was supposed to buy him lunch yesterday as an apology, but then he ended up paying for us both, and then today, I went on a run with him, and I was going to pay for him to have breakfast here, but guess what?”

“He paid for himself?” your brother said.

“He paid for — yeah, how did you know?” you said.

“There weren’t that many ways the story could’ve gone. Also, I overheard you guys talking,” he said.

“Creep,” you said.

“Weirdo,” he said.

“Freak,” you said.

“Stupid,” he said. “I bet he has a crush on you.”

“Why would he? We have zero common interests, and I’ve mostly only insulted him in our very short time knowing one another,” you said.

“Maybe he’s into that. Some guys are. My one friend is — actually, I’m not exposing him like that,” he said.

“Thank you, because I really didn’t want to know,” you said.

“Anyways, where I was going with that is some guys like girls who humble them a bit. Especially someone like Sae Itoshi; he’s probably so used to people falling all over themselves to get his attention that it’s nice for him to hang out with someone who’s too oblivious to care about that kind of stuff,” he said.

“People like you?” you said. “I told him you were his biggest fan, just so you know.”

“Why would you do that?” your brother said, his eyes bugging out and his mouth forming a pained grimace. “He probably thinks I’m a nerd now!”

“You do it to yourself, buddy,” you said. “Let’s go. It looks like the parents want us to go sit with them. Think you can handle it?”

“After learning that my hero has a crush on my sister and, furthermore, probably thinks of me as some kind of dweeb, I can handle anything,” he said.

The entire day, you pondered your brother’s words. Did Sae have a crush on you? Running through his actions and every conversation you both had ever had led you to think that he did not. It didn’t seem like he liked you very much in even a platonic sense, so how could anyone begin to think he liked you romantically? It was just tolerance for the sake of his pride, that was all.

And you definitely didn’t like him. He was emotionless and conceited and teased you far too often. What did it matter that he was somewhat attractive? He had a terrible personality, and you bet that if more of his fans knew what he was like, he wouldn’t have any to begin with.

No wonder Sae’s manager hated him. He was probably a jerk to his poor employees, too.

“We’re thinking of going here for dinner tonight,” your father said the next day. “Look, their reviews are pretty high, and their prices aren’t crazy. What does everyone think?”

“I’m fine with anything,” your mother said.

“Same here,” your brother said.

“Y/N?” your father said. You were about to respond when your own phone buzzed. You knew exactly who it was texting you, and you sighed as you opened it.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I will be there in one hour.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): You better not have forgotten about our plans for tonight.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I made a reservation, so I’ll really be mad if you stand me up.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Especially because you’re paying.

me: I WILL BE THERE OMFG STOP TEXTING ME

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Okay.

“I can’t,” you said.

“Why not? Are you on some new diet or something? They should have vegetarian options, so that won’t be a problem,” your father said. “We can look at their menu beforehand if you prefer, and if you really don’t like anything, then we can find somewhere else.”

“I already have plans,” you said, your lower lip jutting out childishly. “Not that I want to! But I made a promise.”

“You already have plans? What’s that supposed to mean?” your mother said.

“I’m having dinner with someone,” you said.

“Ooh, how exciting! With who?” she said.

“I bet I can guess!” your brother sang.

“Enough out of you!” you said, kicking him in the back of the leg. He doubled over, though that did not stop him from smirking at you.

“Y/N and Sae, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” he said.

“You’re going out with Sae Itoshi?” your father said. “You should’ve just said so! That’s perfectly alright, honey. Actually, he’s the one man I’m not upset about you dating!”

“We are not dating!” you said. “It’s a more transactional relationship than that. No feelings involved. It’s just me apologizing to him.”

“Are you close enough to him to get an autograph for your brother and I?” your dad said.

“Um.” You thought about it. Would Sae give you an autograph for them? You weren’t sure. There was a chance he would, but there was also a high chance he would not. “I dunno. I can ask.”

“You’ll ask for dad, but not for me? Wow, I see how it is,” your brother said.

“Yeah, because you’re annoying!” you said. “Ugh. I have to get ready now. He’ll be here to get me in an hour. Have fun at dinner, all of you. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.”

“You have fun as well,” your mother said. “Make sure not to bring any money with you. Gentlemen should always pay on the first date.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” you said, giving up on explaining things to your family for the sake of your sanity.

Sae was aggressively punctual. Exactly an hour after he had texted you, a shiny black car was pulling up in the valet lane, and a tall, bald man in a suit was opening the door for you. You climbed in awkwardly, finding Sae to be sitting on the other side, gazing out of the window pensively.

“Hello,” you said, smoothing your dress and buckling your seatbelt. “You have a driver?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “I usually walk places when I’m on vacation, but this restaurant is kind of far, so I thought it’d be more prudent to have the driver take us.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you, driver, sir.”

The driver hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything else. You supposed he probably wasn’t used to talking with his passengers; you doubted Sae ever spoke to him much.

“It’s been so hot out recently,” Sae said stiffly.

“That’s what happens during the summer, yes,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said.

“You’re right, though,” you said. “It has been hot.”

“Super hot,” he said.

“Yes,” you said. “Super hot.”

That must’ve been why there was a slight redness to his cheeks. There was definitely no other reason. And there wasn’t any other reason for why you felt uncomfortably warm, shifting in your seat to dissipate the feeling in your stomach. It was the temperature. That was all.

Given the trend, you really should have anticipated it when Sae paid for your dinner while you were freshening up in the bathroom, but you really had not seen it coming in the slightest. He scrunched up his face when you argued, simply telling you that he would see you tomorrow before dropping you back off at your hotel, the receipt in your hand, his flourishing signature scrawled across the back.

“For your brother,” he had said, handing it to you before you could even ask him for his autograph. “You said he was a fan, right? I’ll get him a better one later, but for now, this should do.”

You spent every day of the rest of that vacation with Sae Itoshi. Some days, you would accompany him on a morning walk — he had softened to slowing his pace, so that he was only barely jogging instead of the full on run that he had forced you into that first time — and on others, the two of you would have some meal or another together. The common theme was that, if there was money involved, he would take care of it. Without question, without hesitation, he always slapped your hand back and pulled out his own credit card, telling you that now you both had to meet again, and the next time you really would be the one paying, or else he’d never be able to forgive you for your terrible behavior.

Your parents and brother complained about it at first, as your new friendship with Sae — could it be considered a friendship, or was it something else? — meant you did not see them much on what was supposed to be a family vacation.

You brought it up with Sae, and he responded with something about how it wouldn’t have been a problem at all if you weren’t such a freeloader and actually paid for him, like you were supposed to. This resulted in a lighthearted squabble between you both, which in turn made you forget your family’s whining, and as well you should have. You could take a million more vacations with them, but you’d likely never get a chance to hang out with Sae Itoshi again, so why wouldn’t you take advantage of it when you could?

Sae didn’t forget, though. He sent you back from dinner the next evening with a soccer ball he had won in one of his games, his signature and a note of gratitude scribbled on it in black marker.

Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter and sister from you while you’re on your trip. I really appreciate it, even if she doesn’t know anything about soccer. — Sae Itoshi

They stopped complaining after that. The ball became your brother’s most prized possession, and every day, your father would tell you how happy he was that you had made such a considerate friend.

“And you know, if you ever want to date him,” he’d say, elbowing you in the side with an obnoxious wink. “We wouldn’t be opposed!”

Your mother was in the same boat. “He really cares about you, I think. Enough that he gave your family something so precious just because he thought we didn’t like him. You could do a lot worse than that.”

“Plus, he’s rich and famous!” your brother would chime in without fail. “Double win!”

“You guys are all nuts,” you’d tell them, shaking your head to disguise how pleased the thought of dating Sae made you.

It could never happen. Like your brother was so happy to remind you, he was rich and famous, an athlete that was adored worldwide and played for the best soccer club in history. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he ever choose you? You and he were from two different planes of existence. Maybe you could pretend for a little bit that you weren’t, but the date for your eventual departure from Spain was drawing closer and closer, and that day meant the certain end of the fever dream that was your closeness with Sae.

You had been prepared from the start for it to finish in this way. You would go home and tell all of your friends about your trip, how you had spent almost every day with the famous soccer player Sae Itoshi, how he had given you his phone number and made you go on runs with him, how together, you and him had eaten lunch and dinner and breakfast and several meals that you were convinced he had just made up to have an excuse to buy food for the two of you — brunch, linner, midnight snacks and third desserts.

There were other things that you wouldn’t tell them, too, things that Sae had not necessarily said to you in confidence but which you sensed were held close to his heart and which you would therefore hold close to yours. His little brother was named Rin, and they had the same eyes, though Rin’s were quicker to water and perpetually had hair falling into them. He still watched the same shows he used to when he was very small, because they reminded him of his parents’ home. He thought that a person’s athletic potential could be determined by the shape of their butt, but he tended to avoid looking as a form of respect for others.

“That’s a pretty cool skill, Sae! What do you think my athletic potential is?” you had asked when he had revealed that last fact.

“If it’s possible for a person to have negative potential, then that’s about what yours is. If it’s not, then you’re definitely at a zero,” he had responded.

“You didn’t even look,” you had said, shoving a French fry into his mouth as punishment. He hated French fries for how unhealthy they were, and you had half-expected him to lecture you about fats and oils and salts, but instead, he had dutifully chewed and swallowed without any theatrics.

“Don’t need to, and don’t plan to,” he had said, and that was that. “I’ve already seen you run, and that told me all I needed to know about your athletic skills. Or, in this case, your lack thereof.”

If you took his words at face value, then you would’ve thought he truly hated you. He never missed a chance to make fun of you, and you were the same way — certainly, anyone who overheard your conversations would’ve been convinced that you and he were bitter enemies. But that was because they didn’t see the way he always positioned himself on the sidewalk so that he was between you and the oncoming traffic. They didn’t see the way he’d pull out your chair and only pretend to frown when you’d thank him for it. They didn’t see the way his ears would turn pink if you dared to smile in his direction or, heaven forbid, agreed with what he was saying instead of arguing, as was your go-to.

No, you were pretty confident that Sae Itoshi did not hate you. It was just that soccer was his thing and all other areas were beyond him, areas which included such fields as emotional awareness and sensitivity.

Maybe you might tell the friends you were particularly close to about that. Sae Itoshi treated me pretty well, you’d say, with grand, sweeping hand motions to emphasize the point. As well as he knew how to, which was well enough for me. If I ever get a boyfriend, they’ll have a lot to live up to. Seems kind of unfair to whatever poor schmuck gets stuck with the task, don’t you think? Considering the two of us never even dated…

“I'm going home tomorrow morning,” you said. The sun was setting, and the two of you were walking along the same stretch of beach that you had first met at. “I finished packing all of my things before dinner. It’s surreal, almost. I feel like an entirely different person now, compared to when I came here.”

“Is that so?” he said, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “I wonder why.”

“Did you just smile?” you said. Immediately, he scowled.

“No way,” he said. “I’d never smile because of something you said.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, you definitely smiled. I made you smile! I made you smile! I made you smile!” you said, poking him in the cheek repeatedly. Sae’s expressions were so subtle that it was easy to overlook them before they had vanished, but there was no overlooking what you had just seen. He had definitely smiled at you, or at least he had been about to.

“Stop poking me,” he grumbled.

“No,” you said, poking him again. “Only if you smile again.”

“Hell no,” he said. You poked his cheek again. “Y/N. Stop it.”

“Will you miss me?” you said.

“Not if you don’t quit that!” he said, grabbing your wrist when you prepared to poke him again. Heat rose to your cheeks at the way his thumb rested against your pulse, and when he realized he was holding your hand so familiarly, his own cheeks flushed. “No. I won’t.”

“I’ll miss you,” you said, digging your feet into the sand, turning out to the sea because you couldn’t stand to look at him when you were being so vulnerable. “I’ll tell everyone I know about you, of course, but it won’t be the same. Something funny will happen, and I’ll think to myself, oh, Sae would’ve snorted at that — but not laughed, because you don’t laugh. Or I’ll order shitty French fries, and it’ll remind me of how much you’d scold me for eating them. You’d say something like, those are basically heart attacks in a box, and then you’d pour a bottle of salted kombucha down my throat to cleanse my system.”

Somewhere in the distance, a seagull squawked, reminding you of the fateful encounter from so long ago. You wished you could go back and get to know Sae all over again. You wished you could ask him the same questions and not know the answers, so that you were surprised when he told them to you. You wished you could argue with him for a little bit longer. You wished that, one more time, you could imply he was short and ugly and slow and a thousand other rude adjectives, even if he was really none of those things, none of them at all.

“I’m going to ask you one last question, okay?” you said. “Please think over your answer carefully. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he said, uncharacteristically gently. “I’ll really consider it well.”

“What’s your favorite animal?” you said.

“Seagulls,” he said immediately, directly contradicting his solemn oath. You laughed at this, burying your face in your hands to hide the hitch in your throat.

“You traitor,” you said. “You know all about the feud between seagulls and I, and yet you’re still claiming they’re your favorites?”

“They always have been,” he said. “I like migratory birds, how they don’t stay in one place but are always moving around. It must be such a blissful life.”

“But it’s probably pretty lonely, too,” you said. “They don’t have anywhere to call home.”

“I like lonely things,” he said. “That’s why the end of the summer is my favorite season.”

“Hm,” you said. “Then, if I tell you that I’ll be lonely once I leave here, will you like me, too?”

He looked at you, but you stared resolutely ahead, your gaze trained on the horizon, the way his had been on the day you had run into him. It was such a kiddish question, and internally, you were beating yourself up for asking it, but deep down, you wanted to know, so you did not move to retract it.

“Well, I like seagulls for a different reason now,” he said.

So that was your answer, then. The waves crashed against the shore, and a balmy wind blew through your hair and clothes, carrying the light scent of Sae’s cologne to your nose, the same one he had worn for as long as you could remember.

“I understand,” you said.

“These days, it’s a specific seagull I’m fond of, actually,” he said.

“Huh? Like a breed or something?” you said.

“No, just one bird in particular,” he said. “It did me a really huge favor recently.”

“What are you talking about? You always say that you suspect I was dropped on the head as a baby, but between the two of us, I think the one that was dropped was you,” you said, the fraying ends of your rejected feelings driving you to irascibility.

“A while ago, I was standing on the beach, feeling pretty annoyed with the world — as usual,” he said. “I had had to run from the paparazzi in order to go on this vacation without being bothered, you know, and I honestly was starting to question if I’d ever be seen as a normal person. I get that the only thing I’m good at is soccer, but it’s pretty tiring to be thought of as a guy who kicks balls around and nothing more.”

Unbidden, you inhaled sharply, because the story was starting to sound familiar. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of Sae smiling shyly, peering down at you through his unfairly long eyelashes.

“That seagull must’ve known how I was feeling. There’s no other explanation for it all. It must’ve known how I was feeling, and somehow, it managed to find the one person in the entire world that saw me as something other than that. Do you know what it did next? It stole that person’s sandwich, and it led her right to me,” he said.

“Are you talking about me?” you said.

“How many people do you think have called me a short, ugly, D-list celebrity instead of asking for my autograph upon meeting me?” he said.

“Probably not very many,” you said. He chuckled.

“Probably not any,” he said. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“Probably not,” you said. He stroked your hair, though his motions were like a marionette’s — he was not very used to this type of relationship, after all. But he was trying his best, and you found that to be far more endearing than any suave gestures might’ve been.

“I know you have to go soon, so I was planning on not saying anything,” he said. “What would be the point? I figured this was just a summer fling for you. But then you had to go and be all sentimental, and I had to say something.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said. “It would’ve been worse if I had returned home without knowing at all. Where do we go from here, though?”

“Where do we go from here? Let me think. Well, I’ll ask you to be my girlfriend,” he said. “And you’ll say yes, because who would ever reject me? Then we’ll talk on the phone every day, and you can send me photos of things you find funny, and I’ll have a sixth sense for when you’re eating French fries and I’ll send you strongly worded texts in reprimand. You’ll fly over to watch my matches whenever possible, and when I’m on my next break, I’ll come visit you and meet your family and friends properly.”

“Getting a little presumptuous, aren’t we? What if I say no?” you said.

“Will you?” he said.

“Not sure. How about you ask and find out?” you said.

“If you’re going to say no, then I don’t want to,” he said. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I can’t be with a man who’s afraid of rejection. It was nice knowing you, Sae,” you said. “See you around. Hope you lose the Champions League.”

“Wait! I’m not afraid of rejection,” he said. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? Officially, I mean.”

“Yes, of course,” you said. “But you’re going to have to buy my plane tickets if you want me to watch you. Even with frequent flier miles, I doubt I can afford coming to see you that often.”

“Consider it done,” he said. You grinned at him.

“You know, if you’re my boyfriend, then you’re going to have to keep paying for our dates, as well. My mother said that’s the gentlemanly thing for you to do,” you said.

“Right, I was expecting that,” he said. “Don’t you think there’s a reason why I haven’t let you buy anything yet?”

“Then how am I ever supposed to apologize to you for the circumstances of our first meeting? I mean, I was pretty harsh,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said. “Let me think.”

“Mhm,” you said. “I know that that’s out of your comfort zone, so I’ll give you a minute.”

“I have an idea,” he said, though it was accompanied by a slight glare at your jab.

“What is it?” you said.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You obliged, squeezing them shut, though not without widening your feet into the defensive stance he had demonstrated to you on the day he had attempted to teach you basic soccer skills.

“What are you going to do, tackle me or something? I’m using the position you taught me, but please be gentle, you’re way more muscular than—!”

You were cut off by him pressing his lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, gentle and light, like feathers in the air or water against the sand, and he pulled away before you could really react or reciprocate. He had left you wanting, and you knew he knew that, because there was a smugness to his voice when he spoke next.

“Apology accepted,” he said as you blinked at him in shock, your mind still lagging well behind your body. “Now we’re even.”

“Hold on,” you said. “I’m suddenly feeling very repentant and remorseful. Are you quite sure you forgive me with just that?”

He laughed. It was such a lovely sound, his laugh, and you would’ve told him so if you weren’t afraid that he’d stop when you pointed it out.

“Maybe not,” he said. “You might have to apologize a bit more.”

“That sounds doable,” you said. “Yeah, I might be able to work that in. It’ll be agonizing, but a wise man once told me that that’s just the nature of apologizing, so it’s the least I can do, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, holding your face in his hands and leaning in. You did the same, your eyes closing all on their own as you sought out the connection he had deprived you of earlier.

As the sun set over the horizon and the seagulls settled in for the night, he kissed you again.

#sae x reader #sae x you #sae x y/n #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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roronoacherries · 1 year

Note

Imagine one piece characters going through your room and finding one of those nsfw figures 🗣️🗣️

thank you for this request 🙏🏽

𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 | zoro, nami, & sanji

you keep it tucked away in a little box under your bed, taking it out to admire it from time to time — the craftsmanship is amazing! you reason. it’s not like you’re wondering whether they really look like this… wondering what it’d feel like to run your hands along their skin.

you keep it wrapped in a cloth for extra measure. that box is the same place you keep your toys, those magazines, and the filthy romance novels you don’t want anyone to see…

it’s a safe little storage place, that’s all. no one has stumbled upon it; not until you’re knuckles deep in your cunt and hear a knock on your door. you think you’re ok when you manage to get to the door and act like you weren’t just on the edge of a beautiful orgasm. you’d stuffed the magazine you’d had beside you in the box, too.

they wouldn’t notice, would they? but when you turned to find what they’d come to ask you for, the hastily closed box caught their attention. and you could only hold your breath and think at least that was still under wraps.

𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐚 𝐳𝐨𝐫𝐨

“what’s this?”

you stood frozen. “it’s nothing.”

you hadn’t closed the magazine properly and zoro’s gaze was studying the image of the man, muscular with golden skin, shimmering with sweat, a katana in one hand and his length in the other.

the only thing keeping you from dying of embarrassment is the relief that he hasn’t found that figure. you have every right to pleasure yourself, after all.

but it’s not enough for the swordsman, apparently, to find that you’ve been fucking yourself to the picture of a man who appears eerily similar to him, he has to rummage through the box, hands grazing the toys you’ve buried in your cunt before, painting a picture in his mind of you whimpering helplessly (and he thinks to himself that he could make you feel so much more pleasure with his hands alone).

no, he has to take that figure, wrapped carefully in a black cloth he could swear is the bandana he lost months ago, and uncover its contents.

you take it from his hands before he can get a good look at it, holding it behind your back. “you shouldn’t go through people’s things.”

but the damage has been done and the smirk on his lips is enough indication of that. “i’m bigger than that.”

and your face turns red, out of shame, anger, or lust you’re not sure.

“wanna see?”

𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

“my boobs look better than this,” is all she says before a smirk turns her lips. “don’t you think?”

you look down at her chest, covered only by a lacy top you could swear is a size too small, before averting your eyes. “of course,” you say, your voice almost a whisper.

nami laughs and your cheeks burn red. the navigator has a way of making you feel small that makes your pussy throb. “you can look. it’s okay,” she coos. “free of charge.”

“i only got it because i didn’t think you’d want some pervert to…” but your eyes steal another look at her pretty, perfect breasts anyway.

“you can touch them, too.” nami says, her voice beckoning you closer, ignoring your excuses. when you don’t move, she takes it upon herself to step closer to you, reaching for your hand and guiding it to her chest.

and you can’t help but stare now, feeling her soft hand over yours, wondering what it’d be like to press your lips there.

you don’t notice her hand sneaking under your oversized shirt — you hadn’t bothered to put your panties back on, thinking you’d be back in your bed soon enough — until her finger touches the slick, rubbing lightly back and forth until your eyes flutter and a moan escapes your lips, your hand giving her chest an involuntary squeeze.

“sorry if i interrupted you…” she pulls her finger away, giving it a slow lick. “don’t worry. i’ll pay you back.”

her hand disappears behind her back, smoothly untying the straps of her top, letting it fall to the ground, gently pushing you back with her other hand until you’re lying back on the bed. “i have to thank you for keeping me out of those dirty perverts’ minds, after all.”

𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐞𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢

he doesn’t mean to look, but the box was open and he thought he’d recognized some of the covers of those filthy magazines. he thought his eyes had played tricks on him; a sweet angel like you couldn’t be looking at something like that. and it had to be a coincidence that those specific issues were the ones that had gone missing from his own collection.

he couldn’t blame you; there were some beautiful images in those pages… of men and women alike. and he wondered which ones you’d bunny-eared.

he thought about reaching for it to check — your back was still turned to him, you wouldn’t know — but something else had caught his eye.

“is this… me?”

when you’d noticed it’d been too late. you’d been a fool and hadn’t wrapped it well enough, of course he’d see it.

“sanji, i swear it’s not what it looks like-”

you panic trying to think of a lie. trying to convince him that you don’t drool at the thought of sucking him off, helping him destress on those days when he can’t seem to get out of the kitchen.

“fuck, angel,” he tuts, his voice deep and breathy. “haven’t i told you that if you want anything from me, all you have to do is ask?”

you nod, your thighs squeezing together at the change in his demeanor. you notice his hand already gently kneading himself through his pants.

“so tell me what you need, princess.”

─────────────────────────────

tags: @idiotlittleme @zoros-4th-sword @i8hyuka @gaby-chwan @dimimyth @zoronnoa @tinkywinky27 @lyriczhou @maaarshieee @zorobraun @trafalgardvivi

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#zoro x reader #sanji x reader #nami x reader #one piece x reader #one piece smut #zoro smut #sanji smut #nami smut #୨⎯ sol escribe ☼#୨⎯ sol’s requests ☼

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mumms-the-word · 5 months

Text

Ascension, Return

Pairing: Gale x You (Reader POV) Summary: You watch as Gale restores the Crown of Karsus and temporarily becomes a god before disappearing to return the crown to Mystra. And you can only hope, now that he is a god, that he will return. ao3 link A/N: I was thinking the other day about how in the ending for an Origin run for Gale, regardless of how he plans to deal with the crown business, he always shows up as God!Gale in front of Mystra before agreeing to hand over the crown or deciding to stay a god. And it got me thinking...wouldn't a romanced Tav who is expecting him to give up the crown see him ascend? So anyway I wrote this to get those thoughts out there. As usual pic of my Tav Dani because I keep forgetting to ask to borrow people’s better pictures

It doesn’t take long for you and Gale to make plans to retrieve the crown from the depths of the Chionthar River. The sooner you get this over with, the better, you think, and yet something about this endeavor has you on edge. You secretly wish you can just leave the crown down below the waters…but then, anyone could get it down there, with the right spells or the right technology. You can’t risk that.

You don’t want it in Mystra’s hands either, but what choice do you have? She, at least, is a goddess interested in balance, neither evil like the Dead Three, nor entirely good and thus subject to extreme corruption. There’s no telling what she’ll do with the crown, but she has offered one thing in exchange—a cure for your lover’s affliction.

He’ll be free of the dark hungering orb at last.

It’s enough to convince you. You retrieve your worn bedrolls from the Elfsong and shoulder your pack, ready for your next little adventure—a small boat ride to the other side of the river, and a few days spent with Gale as he searches the murky waters.

You join him on the banks of the Chionthar, well away from the bustle of the city as it is trying to rebuild, watching over him as he sits, eyes glazed with concentration, guiding simulacrums to walk the riverbeds and floors of the river, combing through the mud for the crown. He could have let his simulacrums search without him guiding them, but he wants to be sure, to search closely. He doesn’t want to waste his time turning away simulacrums who bring back scraps of metal, shrapnel from the Iron Throne, or bits from the carnage of the fight against the Netherbrain. So he looks through their eyes, seeing nothing for hours but hazy water, mud, and river plants.

Though you long to lie back and watch the sails of fishing vessels drift by like clouds on the breeze, reveling in a hard-won moment of peace, you don’t want to miss a moment where he might need you. You do not want him to be caught unawares by some curious animal, or worse, a lingering enemy. So you sit and watch, your stomach twisting into knots as you face what you know will be inevitable—the moment when he finally finds the crown.

It takes all of two days of searching. After hours upon hours of looking, he stiffens, his physical body reacting to something beyond your sight, and you know at last that he has found it. You both stand as his simulacrum emerges, dripping water, with the cold bronze of the crown in its hands.

The Crown of Karsus.

It’s so much smaller than you remember. When you faced it on the top of the Netherbrain it had easily been the size of a large carriage. Here, on the banks of the Chionthar, it’s no bigger than a normal crown. It looks innocent. Harmless.

But you know better.

The power it releases…you are no stranger to it. You readily recall the metallic taste on your tongue as you drew near it atop the Netherbrain and the way its very aura tried to drive you to your knees. Its power is weaker now, pulsating from the bronze metal like a faint heartbeat, but you know that it won’t stay that way.

You glance at Gale, wondering what you’ll see in his face. Dark hunger, perhaps, or something bittersweet. Reluctance, dread, or tired resignation. But his expression is surprisingly neutral. He doesn’t step forward to take the crown just yet. Instead, he studies it with his eyes before taking a deep breath through his nose and turning to look at you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You blink, a little taken aback. “Of course,” you say. “Always.”

“That’s gratifying to hear. It will take me some time to restore the crown and the Netherstones to their original state, fit enough to give to Mystra. The process will be necessarily delicate, given the orb I carry. I should ask you to keep a safe distance. A city’s worth of space, perhaps, just in case, but—”

You cross your arms. “I’m not leaving your side, Gale. I’m here with you, for good or ill.”

He smiles then, as much relieved as he is amused and resigned. “I know. I expected as much. But I thought it best to offer or warn you regardless.” He takes a deep breath. “Very well, then. We stay together. I just hope you’ll be patient with me.”

You reach out and take his hand, threading your fingers between his. “I will be. I’m here for you. Take all the time you need, my love.”

He gives you a grateful look, squeezing your hand affectionately before leaning in to brush a sweet, gentle kiss against your lips. You let him pull away, slipping out of reach, and watch with bated breath as he steps forward to accept the crown, the mark on his chest glowing brighter and brighter as he nears and finally takes the crown in his hands.

You don’t know what you expect. A light show, perhaps. A wave of dark, Netherese magic, or a black hole effect. You steel yourself to the fear that he will simply evaporate or fall to his knees in pain.

But nothing spectacular happens, aside from his mark glowing brightly. To your eyes, the crown acts as little more than a normal crown. To him…

You see his chest expand with a deep breath, the orb flaring brighter, watch him blow the air slowly through his lips, his face tense. But without the tadpole in your heads, you can’t guess at what he’s thinking or feeling. He closes his eyes, simply breathing, concentrating. Fighting, perhaps. Wrestling with some unseen force. The glow on his chest dims slowly until it is only a faint purple tint on his skin. Only then does he finally tighten his hold on the crown and turn back to you.

You get the sense that he has just won a silent, unseen battle within himself. It occurs to you too late that putting the crown and the orb in close proximity might actually hurt him. But it seems that the danger has passed...for now. If he’s in pain, he isn’t showing it.

“Come,” he says. “Let us make sure we’re a safe distance from the city. Just in case.”

His words don't inspire confidence, but you say nothing. You merely follow him back to your camp further up hillside. You know he has work to do.

———

You give him time. That’s all he asked for. Time to concentrate on the magic. Time to manipulate threads of the Weave. The Mystran Weave and the Karsite Weave. Sometimes you think you understand what he’s doing, but more often than not, you don’t. The magic he is performing is beyond your comprehension, guided by notes in the Annals of Karsus which lays open in front of him. You suspect some of it comes innately to him, an understanding born from carrying Netherese magic for so long. The rest must come from Karsus himself, written down as instructions or incantations. You give up trying to understand and simply make yourself useful. Or you try to, anyway.

All you can really do is linger nearby, keeping an eye out for anything that might interrupt his work. You barely interrupt him yourself, save to place some food and water near him with a soft reminder that he needs to eat to keep his energy up. He’s not a god yet, you tease, but the words taste sour on your tongue.

Yet. But soon.

You don’t feel ready for it. You know it’ll only be temporary. You hope so, anyway. But you’re still not ready.

The day passes by without you noticing. Gale sits with the crown, working, weaving, an illuminated aura around him filled with heavy magic. You leave him to his work as the sun moves slowly overhead toward the horizon, painting the sky in tones of orange, red, and purple. You lay down to watch the swirls of violet and indigo magic that gather around him as night falls, until in your exhaustion, you close your eyes for a moment to rest.

You don’t know when you drifted off to sleep, but you’re awoken in the early hours of the morning by his hand on your shoulder. You stir, blinking groggily up at him.

“It’s time,” he says softly. He helps you sit up, hands lingering on your arms, your hands. The crown isn’t with him, but sits on top of his pack several feet away. “I’ve done all I can. The stones and the crown are together again. Functionally the crown is complete, but…there is one last step I need to take.”

He kneels in front of you, dark eyes searching your face in the dim firelight. No, you realize. Memorizing. You feel a sudden knot in your throat and though you are seated safely on the ground, it feels as though a yawning void is opening up around you, threatening to swallow you whole should you tip too far to one side.

This feels like a goodbye.

“Once I put on the crown, the magic of the orb will finally combine with that of the crown. And I will…change,” he explains quietly, while you try to calm the surge of fear that grips your heart. “The magic of the crown and orb will become one and give me the power at last to meet with Mystra as an equal.”

An equal. He doesn’t say as a god. But you both know the truth.

You can scarcely breathe. You want to trust him. You want so desperately to believe in him. And he is looking at you so lovingly, but the very air seems tinged with sorrow. Nothing is certain. Nothing save his love for you, and even then, the tiniest doubt worms its way into your head and your heart.

Once he is a god…will he even remember to come back to you?

“And then?” you ask, your voice no more than a whisper.

“And then…I will hand the crown over to Mystra. And hope she keeps her word.”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I trust you, my love.” You use the words, saying them out loud, to dispel your doubts and fears. You do trust him. With your life, with your heart, with your all.

If only you could trust Mystra. Can she be trusted to cure him? Can she be trusted to let him return? And if he does return, can she be trusted to let him return unchanged? Chosen or not, will he still be Gale Dekarios, the man you love? You don’t know. But you hope so.

He smiles at you and brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek, his fingertips trailing along the line of your jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He leans in for a kiss and you, selfishly, wrap your arms around him and hold him tightly to you as your lips move against his, wanting to never let go. You rise to your knees, following him as he tries to pull away, kissing him deeply, tangling your fingers in his hair, until at last you are both breathless and you have to hide your face in his shoulder. You cling to him, reluctant to let him go just yet.

“Just come back to me,” you whisper. “Whatever happens.”

His arms tighten around you and you feel the bob of his throat as he swallows with difficulty. He strokes your hair and your back, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your head. You can feel it in every touch and breath he takes. He doesn’t want to let go yet either.

“I will, my love,” he whispers back. “I swear it.”

It’s enough for now. It has to be. You could delay this day for a thousand days and still never be ready to let him go. But you have to. If he wants to be whole again, free of the orb, perhaps even free of Mystra…he has to do this.

You reluctantly loosen your hold on him and sit back on your heels, meeting his dark-eyed gaze in the early hours of the morning. He takes your hands and lifts them to his lips, brushing kisses against your knuckles, turning your hands over to kiss the center of your palms. Each touch of his lips to your skin is a reverent confession of love and longing and it only makes your heart ache more.

Please don’t let this be goodbye.

“Wait for me,” he says.

You cradle his cheek in your hand, gazing earnestly at him, soaking in every detail of his handsome face, committing it all to memory. “I will, my love. I swear it.”

He smiles at you then, full of love and happiness. He steals one last kiss from your lips before finally pulling away and standing, taking several steps back.

You stand too, preparing yourself for what is about to happen, even though you scarcely have any idea. You expect some of what you expected before, with light shows and waves of magic at best, disintegration and death at the worst, but now it feels even more real. Even more likely. You don’t know what will happen, so you brace yourself for the worst, heart pounding in your throat, gut churning with dread, and hope, desperately hope, for the best, even though you don’t know what that will look like.

You hold your breath as he moves several paces away from you and bends to pick up the crown. This image, too, you commit to memory. The way he looks illuminated by the firelight, the lights of the city glimmering behind and below him, the stars glittering above him. The sight of him with the crown in his hands, contemplating it with an expression of deep gravity. The crown looks small and harmless, despite the sharp curls and the soft glow of the purple, orange, and pink Netherstones that are now set once more in the bronze. But he looks serious, regal even, with it cradled in his hands. Like a king mulling over the weight of his position and the choices that lay ahead. He is beautiful. Heart-achingly beautiful. You wish this moment could stretch on forever, if only because it means not losing him to the crown. To godhood.

He turns to give you one last lingering look, your eyes meeting over the distance between you, before he slowly raises the crown to his head and settles it over his brown and gray locks.

The effect is instantaneous. A blast of magic blows outward from him, kicking up wind and dust and flashing bright enough to rival the sun. You cover your eyes, shielding your face, the light blinding you. Suddenly the air feels electric, tasting of metal and ozone, as though you’re about to be struck by lightning at any second. Wind swirls around you, picking up speed, a cyclone of power and magic with you caught in the edges. You struggle to stay on your feet, your body resisting the pull into the vortex. What little you can see is naught but a haze of magic, purple, blue, and inky black, rushing around you and mixing with the wind. Threads of blue and silver lightning dance around you, passing close enough to make your hair stand on end, shocking you when you take an unsteady step backward. The vortex of wind, lightning, and magic threatens to suck the very air from your lungs until, with crack like thunder, everything around you stops.

The air grows still. It is as though you suspended in time. Held fast by magic. Your ears are ringing with the sudden silence.

You cautiously lower your hand. You have to blink a few times for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, the sight of Gale causes a flurry of emotions within you.

He stands before you as something…more. A god in all but name. He’s taller, you swear he must be, or else his very presence makes him seem bigger. His skin has turned a shade of hard silver, his hair ashen gray. The mark of the orb stands out in stark black on his chest and when he turns his head to examine his hands, his body, you see splintered blue lightning crackling at his temples and down the sides of his face. His brown eyes now glow blue-white with magic, any trace of his former warmth consumed by the light of the power within him. He’s striking, awe-inspiring…

And you can’t help but fear him, just a little.

On instinct you have the compulsion to kneel, but you don’t. You force yourself to stay on your feet and look at him, really look at him, and try to find the man you love behind this new godly veneer. He has to be in there somewhere. He has to be.

“Amazing,” he murmurs, and his voice is layered two or three times over with a strange echo, one that gives you unpleasant shivers. Even his voice carries tiny waves of power. You already miss the warm tones of his mortal voice with its Waterdhavian accent.

He flexes his hands, raising them before his face, his expression one of wonder and awe. With but a gesture, he summons threads of the Weave together in glyphs and effects you can barely make sense of, though you feel the thrum of magic deep in your chest and know, instinctively, that he is capable of snapping your mind with a thought or destroying you with a word. He smiles, and the effect is strange. He looks like himself but he doesn’t. Something about it seems wrong to you. Uncanny. Familiar and unfamiliar.

The pit of dread in your stomach grows.

But then he catches sight of you, waiting, watching breathlessly, nervously, hoping that he’ll remember his promise to you. His smile fades and for the briefest moment you catch a glimpse of the man you love. Even his blue-white eyes, shining eerily from his familiar face, can’t hide the love he has for you.

He lowers his hands to his sides. “It is done. The crown is fully restored once more.”

You nod. You haven’t the faintest clue what to say next. You’re still trying to make sense of the man-god before you.

He smiles again, and something about it is both patronizing, as though he pities you for not understanding, and sincere, an echo of his mortal kindness and patience. He presses a hand to his chest. “Well, I’d best be off then.”

“Wait—” You reach out as if to stop him and he pauses. Your hand hovers uncertainly in the air before you lower it to your side. "One last kiss, before you go. Please."

His smile softens. "I can deny you nothing, my love," he murmurs. He crosses the distance between you with a strange grace he didn't have before. Before he was elegant, but at times a little awkward. None of the awkwardness remains in him now.

You look up as he stops in front of you, his fingers curling beneath your chin the way he does when he wants to lift your face or guide your lips to his. You stare into his glowing eyes a moment before letting your eyes flutter closed. His lips touch yours...and it's different.

There's a magnetism there now that wasn't there before. You seem drawn in as if by gravity. He tastes of metal and magic, his skin cold but not unyielding. Your lips tingle with each kiss and the moment you seek to deepen the kiss—you gasp as a blue electric shock drives your mouths apart, your teeth practically rattling, your lips suddenly hot, almost burned. You press a hand to your mouth, looking up at him in shock, but he's just as surprised as you are. He seems unharmed, despite the tiny sparks of white-blue lightning still skittering over his lips.

"Ah...what an interesting side effect," he says, touching his hand to his mouth. The lightning calms. "Are you all right?"

You nod, rubbing your lips lightly as the numbness from the shock begins to subside and the tingling begins to fade. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't unpleasant either. Still, you're wary of trying it again.

He watches you, looking torn, before a new resolve settles his features. "Then I suppose that is my signal to go. The sooner I depart, the sooner I can return." He takes your hand carefully, moving it away from your face, and presses a cautious kiss to the back of your hand. His lips impart another, smaller shock to your skin, but this time you're ready for it. Your fingertips go a little numb, but you manage not to wince.

"Wait for me, my love," he says, finally letting go of your hand. "I won’t be long."

You step back, giving him room to do whatever he needs to do, and watch as he begins to glow, brighter than your eyes can stand. You keep your gaze on his until the very last second, when the light grows too bright to stare at. You blink—and then he’s gone, disappearing in a shower of starlight that fades too quickly.

You are left alone in the cool night, with naught but a dying fire for company.

———

You don’t sleep. You barely bring yourself to tend to the dying embers of your campfire and stoke it back into warm flames. After that, all you can do is sit.

And wait.

And wonder.

And pray.

“Come back to me, my love,” you whisper into the cool night air. "Please."

You half-wonder if he can hear you. If, on some level, you’re praying to him, the newest of the gods. You don’t know if that thought comforts you or worsens your dread. How does he think of you now, now that his mind is that of a god, capable of seeing beyond the constraints of a mortal’s limited view? If he hears your prayers, does he think less of you, or love you more? Will he remember his promise, or will the power he now holds tempt him to break it? You want to have faith in him—you do have faith in him—but doubt creeps in despite your best efforts.

Come back to me.

You recall what it was like to wait for him at Mystra’s shrine at the Stormshore Tabernacle. How he had explained that time runs differently in the Outer Planes. How he would only be gone for a moment. Each second that had ticked by during that time felt like a year.

Now, sitting on the hillside, every second that passes feels like an eternity.

The fire crackles. The lights of the city begin to dim. One by one the stars fade out, hiding from view as the black of night begins to lighten into the blue hues of pre-dawn. And still, he isn’t back.

Wait for me, he said. And you will. You’ll wait as long as you have to.

But what if…?

No. You can’t bring yourself to put your fears into words anymore. Doing so will only make them seem more real. More feasible. There could be a thousand explanations for why he isn’t back quickly. You just have to have faith in him.

You get up and begin to pace. You start breaking little sticks and twigs into tiny pieces to feed to the fire, piece by tiny piece, just for something to do with your hands. You pluck blades of grass one by one or count the stars you can see. And you wait.

And wait.

Your thoughts are your own worst enemy and you wish you had called an ally to come and sit with you. Even Scratch with his favorite ball would have been enough to quiet your heart and mind. But instead, you sit alone, the crackle of a fire the only sound to break the silence.

Your eyelids are heavy now and your body longs to drag you down into slumber, but you resist. You want to be there when he comes back. If he comes back. When he comes back.

You get up to pace again, rubbing warmth into your stiff fingers, amusing yourself with memories of him. His smile. His sly jests and silly puns. His hands on your body and his body against yours, yours against his. The smell of him, as much as you can remember. The way he looked during battles, magic crackling and swirling around him. The way he looked in your bed, fast asleep. Gale Dekarios in all his mortal glory, the man you fell in love with. The man you wish was at your side once more.

Gods, but you miss him. You press your hands to your chest, feeling your heart beat beneath your palms. What is taking so long?

The first hints of pink and orange appear on the horizon as you turn to pace away from the fire again, your steps wearing a noticeable path through the grass. At this rate, you fear the sun will arrive before your love does.

You contemplate how you’re supposed to face the whole of a new day alone when a flash of light illuminates the darkness behind you. You whirl, heart racing, to see a shower of starlight once more—and out of it steps Gale.

Mortal. Human. Alive.

“Gale!”

You fly into his arms, which he is already holding out wide for you, nearly toppling you both into the ground with the force of your embrace. You both stagger, but you don’t let go, and his arms around you are as fierce in their hold on you as yours are around him. He practically lifts you off your feet. You can’t put into words how much it means to you that he’s solid your arms—warm, breathing, alive in your arms.

“You’re back,” you gasp, the tears in your eyes and clogging your throat making it difficult to speak. You don’t want to sob and make it seem like you doubted him, but the emotions welling up inside you are hard to suppress. “You came back.”

“Of course, my love,” he says soothingly, not yet relinquishing his hold of you. “You are everything to me. I could do nothing else.”

You untangle yourself from him to wipe the tears from your face and look at him, looking for any changes wrought by his visit to the Outer Planes or from his brief time at godhood. He looks like himself again, his lightly tanned skin flush with warmth and love, his dark brown eyes as rich and deep as ever. You comb your fingers through his soft hair, once more brown and shot through with hints of gray, rather than all over ashen as it was a while ago. Your fingers linger on his cheek, noticing for the first time that the dark vein-like threads that trailed from his eye to his chest are no longer visible.

The mark of the orb is gone.

In its place are a series of faint scars in the same threads and shapes as the old mark, appearing just below his jaw and flowing down to form a circle over his chest. The tattoo-like color has faded away entirely and there is no dark bruise at the center of the circular marking. Any trace of Netherese magic is gone, leaving behind little more than scars faint enough to be missed by any who are not actively searching for them.

You trace the circular scar lightly with the tips of your fingers. “Does this mean…?”

“It does,” he says, pressing his hand over yours so that both of your hands are pressed flat to his chest. You feel his heart beating, his pulse perhaps a little elevated, but every beat strong and vibrant. “Mystra has cured me of the orb. Completely.”

You want to hate her, and perhaps you still do, and always will on some level. But in that moment you’re grateful and relieved too. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze him tight, overwhelmed with happiness and relief and joy. Your love is cured at last. The threat of losing him to Netherese magic is at last put to rest. He is whole again. Restored.

And he is yours. Not hers.

As dawn colors the sky overhead and spills pink-golden light over the both of you, you kiss him, reveling in the taste of him, in the warmth and weight of him, in his hands on you. Not a single spark of lightning threatens to drive you apart, so you deepen your kisses as much as you please. You simultaneously want to push him down into the grass and make love to him there and kiss him for an eternity you know you both don’t have and simply gaze at him in awe and wonder that even while he had godhood in grasp and a crown on his head, he gave it all up for you.

He gave up godhood for you.

You never realized you could love him more than you already did. But you do. Your every heartbeat sings love for him.

You lose track of time kissing him. It could be moments or hours. You don’t know nor do you care. But at last, when you finally pull away from him, it takes you a second to remember where you are, standing out on the hillside across the river from the city. The sun is rising over the horizon now, painting the world in gold and shifting the hue of the sky to a beautiful, cloudless blue. A new day is beginning.

A whole future awaits. And it is yours to shape with your love at your side.

“What’s next, my love?” you ask. “Now that we have everything we both want.”

“Next? For us?” He chuckles and takes your hand, bringing it up to press a tiny kiss on your empty ring finger. “If you still want me, I believe we have a wedding to plan.”

“I will always want you, Gale Dekarios. Now and forever.”

“Is that a yes to planning the wedding? Because I’ll have you know that Waterdhavian weddings are quite the large-scale affair.”

You laugh, his humor clearing the air like the sunlight warming away the fog of a morning and the dew on the grass. “Yes. Come on, let’s find some food to eat and get started. I can’t wait to begin a new life together with you.”

“My love, that new life starts now,” he says, bringing you in for another kiss. You smile against his lips and allow yourself to be corrected. He is right, of course.

Your new life with him begins now.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale #baldur's gate 3 #my fic #gale x reader #gale x you #I’m not super happy with this one but if I keep staring at it I’ll hate it #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction

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