touya's lips purse thoughtfully, his eyes scanning over the list he'd written out on the back of a tattered receipt in his chicken scratch scrawl. natsuo, shouto, and touya's five-year-old son hotaru all stare up at the eldest todoroki expectantly, gathered on the floor of hotaru's bedroom with his little suitcase (crammed full to the brim) between them.
the oldest man in the room swallows down a smile, stifling the laugh that threatens to slip out at the three identically expectant faces peering up at him. "alright," he says, chuckling a bit. "that's everything then."
hotaru cheers, hopping up onto his feet and launching himself at his uncles. "we're going camping!"
a laugh from the doorway interrupts the celebration inside, and all four boys turn to look at you expectantly. you've got your daughter, still sleepy from her nap, resting on your hip—holding her close as you survey the scene before you.
"you guys heading out, then?" you ask, bouncing your two year old gently in your arms.
"yeah," touya says, reaching out and ruffling aoi's hair. she leans into her father's touch, but continues clinging to you. "we're all ready to go now."
you hum, leaning over to survey the list you see held in touya's hand. your eyes flicker over to your son.
"socks and undies?"
hotaru's eyes widen. so do his father's.
"thanks, mama!" hotaru says, hopping up and running over to the basket in his closet where his underpants are kept. you watch as natsuo, shouto, and your son then begin the challenge of cramming more stuff into an already too-full duffle bag.
you glance over at touya, a little pink in his cheeks, his hand still resting on aoi's head.
"thanks," he mumbles to you, leaning over and kissing your cheek briefly. he steps towards the doorway, calling back over his shoulder to the boys, "you guys finish packing, i'll be right back."
hotaru glances up as his father slips away. "papa, did you forget your undies too?"
it takes a second but then you hear touya's disgruntled voice distantly reply.
itoshi sae x reader comfort, established relationship. cw: mentions of reader's past trauma and past physical abuse. reader has grown up with 19 years of abusive trauma (this is the only specific bit and is only said once, the rest is general). sae is aware of this trauma, so he does not have his usual possible 'cruelty' (shall we say) that you might associate with him depending on how you characterize him. he is trying on purpose for you. selfship coded but written generally
a plate falls. a pang that for once, sounds soft, in a way it never has before. not like it did the first nineteen years in your life, making your heart jackrabbit, a deafening noise that followed a deafening silence that would follow with deafening screaming.
a plate falls from the side of the counter to the floor, you move but you don't catch it in time. you watch it tip and spin and fall and you know your heart is meant to fall with it but this time, the absence of it feels off. there's that silence you know all too well, a silence that would usually fill your stomach with dread, that you know follows with having you at your knees, bent over with pain shooting through your body over and over again, your crying body still staring at the broken fragments.
there's none of that. there is a hand, but it is nothing like the hands before. it is gentle at the crux between your neck and your shoulder. the squeeze it gives is comforting.
how strange, to be granted with something like that, something like comfort and warmth, for a mistake you made. how strange, that comfort can feel like a cut, something you know is inherently wrong — your brain mismatching the feelings given with the ones you hold.
you know, that being given comfort is not meant to make you feel this strange, curling feeling, like the fear of falling. it doesn't change how you feel. you know and you have learned and that in of itself doesn't heal anything. how messed up is that?
there's a shuffling, and then a paper bag is being given to you. you move, then, crouching to grab at the pieces. sae's hand waves in front of you for a moment. you don't know what he sees, you don't dare to look at him. you don't want to know if it's filled with pity, or disappointment. it's probably neither, given his usual nonchalant demeanor, but you can't risk it. you can't risk looking.
whatever he sees, he doesn't move to stop you this time (he has before. before, he has held your hands in his and asked you to sit down. before, you were a shaking rabbit in his arms with tears biting your lower lashline and a trembling lip. today is not that day. it's finally, not that day anymore). he helps you instead. there's a broom in your hands, and then a wet towel, and then…
and then the floor is clean.
"food's on the table." his voice is calm, despite everything. despite everything? what's that supposed to mean? why does a thought like that still cross your mind?
"that's what you were going for, right?" he continues. you're staring at the floor, where the plate had been. if you hadn't been, you'd notice the way he was trying to meet your gaze. "to put some food on a plate and on the table?"
"yeah. thank you."
"did you want a drink too?" he hums noncommittally. "i can make something."
"no, it's fine. i can do it myself."
i can do it myself. this time, you mean it. this time, it's really true. said with a kind of conviction.
he looks at you for a second, and then there's a gentle "okay."
"are you mad at me?"
you ask him this at the table, a whole ten minutes of silence after the whole ordeal.
"why would i be?" he tilts his head. that's the thing about sae, his words tend to be genuine. blunt, sometimes, but he doesn't tend to lie. when you look at him, you can find no hidden motives, no matter how hard you search.
"it's normal," he continues. he sounds like he's been thinking of how to say it, rotating the words in his mind like a hamster wheel. his mouth moves with unsurety, eyebrows furrowed, so foreign in comparison to his usual grace. "to drop things sometimes."
normal. you remember the bowl that sae himself had broken just a couple months ago, how it split into two pieces in the sink. how he had even given his version of a joke about how there's only one of these bowls left, because rin had broken the same one half a year ago when he came to visit, and you had broken that bowl over a year ago, the time he had held your shaking hands.
the meal finishes. he clears the plates and does the dishes. he sits with you on the sofa and you watch a show together.
there's no punishment. there's no yelling. there's a blanket draped over you both and his arm around yours and the afternoon sun.
normal, he calls it. but even after all these years, the warmth feels new to you all the same. there's an upside, of course. you find it like sunlight passing through the trees. that being: you're able to be grateful for it, to hold him close and bask in it.
author's note: i thought about not adding the 19 years bit but... i couldn't phrase this in a way that made me happy without it.
wow, exposing my traumatic and abusive childhood to the internet. i was indeed in a cycle of abuse for the first nineteen years of my life, physical and mental and emotional and financial all at once from families to friends to significant others, and i'm in my mid 20s now. which means i've spent about 5+ years healing from that. i'm still healing. my heart does not drop at a falling glass anymore. but i notice how it doesn't drop. the absence of it. i wanted to capture that
(also i imagine a lot of people reading this don't know me like that but this is my first time talking about this. i don't want to be seen as having like a victim complex or something? i'm a very independent girl (i have a capricorn moon and rising if that gives context) and this is my writing blog where i am using writing to explore my feelings.)
best friend's brother and meet ugly - for @tsxkishimx for the Milestone Event Week 1
Your best friend picks up right away.
“Hey, what’s new with you?” You ask, hoping she won’t hear the light quiver in your voice.
“Nothing much.” She yawns. “Why are you calling, though? Did you rip your pants again and need an explanation on how to stitch them back up the fastest way?”
“No! And that happened over a year ago, why do you have to bring that up all the time?”
“Because.” You can hear the grin in her voice. “Now tell, what’s going on?”
“I might not be single anymore.”
“Shut up!” She cries out before gathering herself again. “Okay, I’m all ears. Who? When? How?”
“Well,” you cringe, glad she can’t see your face. “You know him.”
“Oh, is it Steve?”
“It’s not Steve.” From across the room, Daiki’s head shoots up. He’d been pretending not to listen in, but you can tell he’s doing anything but.
“Steve?” He mouths in your direction and you shake your head at him.
“Thank god,” your best friend comments with relief. “He’s kinda weird. But I know them?”
“Yeah,” you can’t help sounding a little miffed now. “There are guys who think I’m cute, you know!”
“Sure, sure. But Kuroko is taken and you think Kagami is overrated, so-”
“Why would you think-” You cut yourself off before you can say that name out loud, knowing Daiki will most likely wreak havoc at the thought of it. “I’ll tell you how we met and you’ll probably guess it from there.”
“Oh, an iconic entrance. You’re known for that.”
“Shut up!” You groan, almost more to Daiki than to her because he’s now taking a place on the Couch next to your feet, brows furrowed, still focused on the Steve topic.
You pull a threat from the inseam of your hoodie and play with it as you recollect that fated first meeting.
-
“Bathroom is down the hallway, the second door to the right.” Your friend says as she sends you your merry way.
“Okay,” you hop along, a little too energetic for this late hour but your friend has sweets at home whereas your mom is more fond of almonds and raisins for snacks.
Whistling, you open the bathroom door with flourish only to come face to face with a boy. A very much naked boy.
You squeak and he flinches back, tripping on a crumpled-up towel on the floor and falling backward.
“Close the door,” he yells at you and you do just that, though your brain’s too focused on panicking to do all the other necessary steps.
“And get out!” He groans from somewhere behind you.
“Oh, sure, yes.” You scramble for the door again, this time to step outside as well only to realize that there’s still unfinished business.
You knock softly. “I need to use the toilet though.”
“That’s the next door!” Comes his muffled reply.
-
“Well,” you clear your throat awkwardly. “We met when I accidentally walked in on him when he got out of the shower.”
Your friend laughs. “Oh my god, is that your theme now? I remember when you did that with Daiki, that was hilarious.”
“It was no fun at all,” Daiki grumbles, low enough you barely catch it but your friend has the ears of a bat, it seems.
“Who’s that?” She asks and your breath hitches in your throat.
“N-no one.”
“Oh, is your boyfriend with you? Let me say hi!”
You’re still hesitating when you see Daiki move forward as if to grab your phone so you react on instinct.
“N-no, you have to guess first.”
“Oh,” she sounds a little dejected. “How long have you been crushing on them?”
Daiki stops, a Cheshire cat grin growing on his face as you grow even more flustered.
“That’s a mean question,” you tell your friend but she doesn’t want to hear any of that.
“Nonsense. I know you better than he ever will. Tell me, how long have you been crushing on him?”
-
“Do you have a crush on anyone?” Your new best friend asks.
Two days you know each other now and you’ve already decided that you’ll be best friends forever, no matter where life takes you.
Thank god the teacher put you two next to each other in class.
“Yeah,” you duck your head between your shoulders. “There’s a guy in school that’s really cute.”
“Really? From our class?”
You shake your head. “No. He’s a third year. He’s going to go to Middle School next year.”
“Oh,” she sounds sympathetic and you like her even more.
At least she understands how much it will hurt to have the only cute guy in school leave after just one year.
“Who do you like?” You ask and she opens her little notebook to show you a cut out from a magazine.
“He’s really pretty,” you tell her, admiring her choice until you find a familiar face amongst all those cutouts.
“Who’s that?” You ask, pointing at it. How does she have a picture of your crush?
“Oh? That’s my big brother Daiki. He’s so annoying.”
-
“Since Primary School?” Your best friend's voice echoes through the room. Daiki’s face changes into something you can’t really pronounce but his hand curls around your ankle like a promise, a gesture so soft it’s almost surprising.
“But the only guy you liked back then was- OH MY GOD!”
You cringe but it’s too late.
“Am I on speaker? Please tell me I’m on speaker.”
“You’re on speaker,” Daiki adds before you can say anything.
“You’re such an ass!” She tells him. “I’ve been trying to set you guys up for years and you get together in the only week I’m not around?”
“Why do you think we managed? It was so much easier without your ugly mutt interfering.”
“You take that back-”
“Can we just be happy?” You cut in. “Please?”
“Hmph.” They both grunt in unison, too alike all of a sudden.
“You’re not mad?”
“Mad? No. I’m elated. I’m just pissed my brother didn’t let me know anything. At least you’re keeping me up to date. I want all the details when I’m back from my trip, okay?”
“Sure.”
“And Daiki, if you hurt her, I’m going to make sure Mom and Dad know!”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves her off, cutting the line at the same time. “As if I’d let that happen.”
hii, i was wondering if i could submit a request for a fic🤔I don't rlly have any specific prompt but i want it to be about karasu or zantetsu, either one is fine. i've read all of ur karasu fics and they're so good! i love ur writing sm!! if u don't want to i totally understand but i also just want to tell u that i think ur writing is awesome (^◡^)
Synopsis: You become taken with your coworker’s roommate, Karasu, unaware that he’s just as fascinated by you — and maybe he has been for longer than you realize.
BLLK Masterlist
Pairing: Karasu x Reader
Chapter Word Count: 8.6k
Content Warnings: relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…, <- never thought i’d be using THAT for a karasu fic, i’m bored of normal karasu characterization so i made him ooc, he’s like fr a weirdo icl, otoya catches strays, yukimiya is just trying to get through the workday, reader is a model, reader’s feet are mentioned a lot?? not sexually in the slightest (they’re injured so she complains abt them) but i mean it’s there ig if you’re a hater, very vague and unfinished feeling not on purpose i just gave up tbh
A/N: you sent this to me so long ago idek if you remember it LMAOAOAO i am so sorry i like fell off the face of the earth in terms of answering requests but HERE IT IS erm sorry it actually highkey sucks but at least karasu is in it…i guess…UGHHHH I HATE THIS BUT I COULDN’T KEEP PROCRASTINATING IT YOU LITERALLY SENT THIS IN THE BEGINNING OF AUGUST I’M SO SORRY MY DEAR but also tysm HAHHA you are very sweet!! i’m glad you like my writing and once again i am sorry for disappearing…
Additional: check my pinned post to make sure i have requests open; after reading the rules, please feel free to make your own!
You had never seen the man leaning against the wall behind the camera before. He wore a dark trench coat and a plaid scarf looped around his neck, and unlike everyone else bustling about the set, barking out orders and shoving each other into place, he was entirely calm. In his right hand, he held his phone, scrolling through something on it with his thumb, and in between his teeth was a lollipop — cherry flavored, which you only knew because of the wrapper lying at his feet.
“That’s not Yukimiya, right?” you whispered to the girl who was buttoning up the back of your top.
“Hm?” she said. “No, Mr. Yukimiya hasn’t checked in yet. I have no idea who that is.”
He was tall, with wide shoulders and the type of face that must have been crafted with painstaking detail by someone or another, his features keen, his eyes a brilliant shade of blue so dark they were nearly violet or black. Dark hair fell into darker eyebrows like the ink of a ballpoint pen on a paper-pale forehead, and just above his left cheekbone was a black beauty mark, which changed everything and yet nothing about him.
You supposed he must’ve sensed your gaze lingering on him, for he furrowed his brow and then lifted his chin, scanning the room before his eyes meet yours. He didn’t seem offended by the prying, his lips curling into a smile as he lifted his left hand into a jaunty wave, returning his attention to whatever he was reading on his phone before you could respond in turn or do anything to feel less like you had been caught committing some crime.
“I’m sorry I’m late!”
This must’ve been Kenyu Yukimiya, your partner for the shoot. He was handsome, too, with a harried, windswept appearance to his reddened cheeks and tousled hair; when he grinned at you apologetically, he was entirely reminiscent of a painting from antiquity.
He sat in the chair next to you as the makeup team got to work, applying the faintest touch of product so that he was not entirely washed out by the blinding lights of the cameras in your faces. You returned his smile with one of your own, polite and careful.
“Luckily, the director hasn’t arrived yet, so it’s not a problem,” you said. “Apparently, he’s strict on everyone but himself.”
Yukimiya winced as a heap of clothes was thrown at him and the finishing touches were placed on his chestnut hair. You watched him with amusement, your hands folded in your lap as he was yanked to his feet.
“Guess I got lucky this time, then,” he said, stumbling into the dressing room, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood yourself, stretching your arms and legs with a deep breath, rolling your ankles in the air, alternating as you did so, and then pacing back and forth in an attempt to accustom yourself to the monstrosities that your feet had been shoved into.
The man in the corner didn’t seem affected by the chaos Yukimiya’s appearance had thrown everyone into. You thought you saw something like a snort escape him, but otherwise he was calm — although you noticed he had tucked his phone away and shoved his hands in his pockets, opting to instead observe his surroundings with a soft curiosity.
You turned away before he could shift his attention to you once again, because your pride could not handle being caught by him a second time, and you pretended like you were entirely fascinated with putting one foot in front of the other, walking in a line so straight it was as if it had been drawn with a ruler.
Yukimiya reappeared completely ready a few seconds later, tying the laces of his dress shoes and then joining you at your side, although of course he did not need to practice walking or anything so silly. Like most men, he had been afforded the luxury of comfort; he wasn’t the showpiece of this edition, after all. You were, and so you were the one made up into a spectacle beyond natural ability or attempt.
“Everyone, in your places!” the director shouted as he entered the studio, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the other on his hip. He was diminutive in stature and wore a ridiculously feathered hat, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in position, so nobody would dare to say that to him, least of all you, who could so easily be replaced.
Still, for one final time, you allowed yourself to look at the man standing all by himself, wondering if he’d offer some reaction to the getup, some indication that you weren’t alone in your feelings. You weren’t sure why it was him who you sought out; perhaps because he, unlike everyone else, was a mystery, an enigma, and so while you could map out without knowing what all the other faces in the room looked like at that moment, you needed to see his to understand it.
He wrinkled his nose into a snicker, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, and then he took his phone back out of his pocket, maybe to give himself an excuse for laughing. It wasn’t like he really needed an excuse, because no one else was even looking at him, but then again, there was never any harm in caution.
“You’re Y/N L/N, right?” Yukimiya said to you, his hand on your shoulder as you faced the camera, waiting for the director to adjust your stances. “It’s a pleasure. I’m surprised this is the first time we’re actually talking.”
“The pleasure is mine,” you said. “And yes, it’s a wonder we haven’t worked together before, given how frequently I’ve heard your name mentioned. I’m looking forward to it.”
Something about Yukimiya served to enhance everyone he was around, and so, instead of stealing the attention from you, he somehow managed to direct the spotlight so that it shone only on your placid face. You had been expecting the opposite, but you weren’t angry about it; in fact, you couldn’t have been more pleased. It was always the worst thing when your coworker was jostling you out of the way for a few extra seconds in front of the cameras, and you thought to yourself that you’d have to find some way of ensuring you were booked with him more often.
“Amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever been so quickly satisfied by a shoot!” the director said, clapping his hands together and nodding at you both. “Excellent work. I think we can wrap up for the day. I’ll see you two here at the same time tomorrow!”
“Wow,” Yukimiya said as everyone started disassembling the set. “I thought you said he was strict.”
You shrugged as you walked over to the dressing rooms. “I thought he was.”
“Well, we probably shouldn’t complain,” he said. “Between this and practice, my schedule is booked. I have no space to be ungrateful about a little extra time.”
“Very true,” you said. “It’s always nice when things like this end sooner than anticipated. Better than later, anyways.”
The first thing you took off were those excuses for shoes, kicking them under the door for good measure and shoving your feet into a pair of fluffy slippers, wiggling your toes with a sigh. Peeling off every layer you had squeezed into for the sake of the director’s creative vision, you curled up on the bench in only your underwear, sipping on water through a metal straw and staring at the wall, hugging your knees to your chest, lost in thinking about nothing.
Only when you grew cold did you stand, pulling on a sweatshirt three sizes too large and sweatpants that puddled at your shoes, shielding you from the world as you trudged out of the dressing room, wanting to rub your eyes but knowing that you would smear makeup all over the backs of your hands. You settled instead for playing with the thread you had taped to the handle of your water bottle for exactly such an occasion, twirling the loose ends of the meticulous knots in between your fingers idly.
“Ah — L/N!” Yukimiya waved at you as you made your way towards the exit. Unaccustomed to further camaraderie after the end of the workday, you had to fight to keep your expression neutral, and when you noticed the man from earlier was at Yukimiya’s side, the lollipop long gone, you had to fight even harder.
“Is something the matter?” you said.
“No, nothing at all,” he said. “I just figured we might as well walk to the parking garage together, since it’s late and all.”
“I appreciate it,” you said. The studio you were at had only one security guard in its employ, a man that inspired pity more than fear, with a few strands of hair glued into a desperate attempt at a combover and a shirt that was far too thin to be considered professional, so you hadn’t even considered asking for an escort, figuring you would take your chances. Still, the thought of walking alone wasn’t the most appealing, and while you wouldn’t have asked for it yourself, you were glad Yukimiya had offered his company nonetheless.
“Oh! Karasu, this is Y/N L/N. L/N, this is Tabito Karasu,” Yukimiya said as you reached the door and the other man — Karasu — used one black-gloved hand to open it.
“Is he your bodyguard or something? Thank you,” you said, nodding at Karasu for holding the door.
“He wishes,” Karasu said. His voice was rough and deep and sounded like he was perpetually in on some private joke, but you didn’t mind it, not in the slightest. “I’m his roommate — the one with a car, by the way. And a driver’s license. And the time to pick his sorry ass up.”
“What he means is that he offered to stop by on his way home to get me,” Yukimiya said.
“That’s very generous of you,” you said. “Especially considering you were there even before Yukimiya was.”
“Don’t you think? It’s fine, now he owes me one,” Karasu said, his eyes glimmering. “And I intend to collect, of course.”
“He never does anything out of the goodness of his heart,” Yukimiya said with a long-suffering sigh. “You better be careful around him, L/N. Whatever he gives you, he’ll expect the same in return.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, though of course you had no intentions of ever being around Karasu in any way that mattered.
“We play soccer for the Japanese team, you know,” Karasu said. “You should come to one of our games, L/N. I’m sure some of our teammates would be delighted by that. Right, Yuki?”
Yukimiya sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If you’re talking about Otoya and Aiku, then yes, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.”
“Not for her, it isn’t,” Karasu said. “For them, sure it is. But I wasn’t talking about those two, anyways.”
“Pardon?” you said.
“Ignore him,” Yukimiya said. “I don’t really know what he’s going on about.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Karasu said, picking up before Yukimiya on the fact that your steps had stuttered to a stop. “L/N, was it?”
He offered you his hand. You took it and shook, arching a brow at the firmness of his grip, which was much more in line with a businessman than a soccer player.
“Yes,” you said. “Karasu? It was nice to meet you as well.”
“Don’t worry,” Yukimiya said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll make my other roommate pick me up tomorrow.”
“Otoya?” Karasu said. “Good luck with that. He’ll be late to his own funeral, so don’t think you’re high on his priority list. The only time he comes early is—”
“Karasu,” Yukimiya interjected. “Don’t be crass.”
“Sure, sure,” he said. “See you around, L/N. Or maybe not.”
“See you,” you said, starting your car so that it wasn’t freezing when you got in, deciding it wouldn’t be polite to tack on a definitely not to the farewell and instead opting to stay silent.
“Bye, L/N,” Yukimiya said. “Until tomorrow.”
Although your apartment wasn’t large by any means, it wasn’t small, either, sitting at a comfortable medium that was paid for half by you and half by your brother, who was hardly ever home, anyways, but needed somewhere for his mail to be delivered. He was a free spirit, always traveling: for work, for fun, for women and wine, for anything his heart desired, which left you the entire space to yourself more often than not. People were jealous of you when they found out, but when you sat on the couch alone, a blanket pulled up around your shoulders and a bowl of salad held in between your knees, the television on only to ward away the silence that permeated the room, you wondered what they had to be jealous of.
The next day, you didn’t look for Karasu when you entered the studio, but you knew as you stepped in that he wasn’t there. There was something missing, the room a little brighter without him in the corner, waiting with an unmatched patience for Yukimiya to be done. Yukimiya must’ve made good on his threat, then, to call their other roommate to pick him up, although privately you wondered why he couldn’t just drive himself.
The shoot went even smoother the second day than it had the first, and it was a surprise the director didn’t fall to your feet and grovel at the speed with which you executed his vision. Yukimiya struck that perfect balance of workmanlike and personable, and you were content to play along with him, so all in all things moved with relative swiftness.
When you went to leave, you noticed that Yukimiya was standing by the door on his own, tapping his phone furiously. You were under no obligation to stop, but for some reason, you did, waiting awkwardly for a second before clearing your throat.
“Is everything alright?” you said. He startled, almost dropping his phone as he blinked at you.
“Yes! Yes, it’s fine, it’s just my roommate is a jerk, that’s all. Last night, he told me he was fine with picking me up, but now all of a sudden he’s busy,” he said with a scoff.
“Otoya, right?” you said. Yukimiya cocked his head.
“Yes, how’d you know?” he said.
“Karasu — your other roommate mentioned him yesterday,” you said, correcting yourself so that it didn’t seem like Karasu was someone you paid special attention to. Judging by Yukimiya’s expression, you didn’t think you had been entirely successful in the attempt, which was unlike you. You bit the tip of your tongue so that you didn’t say anything further, waiting for him to respond.
“Right,” he said.
“Why don’t you drive yourself?” you said, crossing your arms and standing beside him, facing the road as he was.
“I can’t,” he said.
“You never learned?” you said. He shook his head, adjusting his glasses self-consciously.
“It’s not recommended I do,” he said. He didn’t elaborate further, but he didn’t have to; you recognized it wasn’t your place and hummed in acknowledgement.
“If you want, I don’t mind taking you,” you said. You didn’t know where Yukimiya lived — for all you knew, it was across the city entirely — but it didn’t hurt to extend your hand like that, especially because you had a sense that he wouldn’t even accept it.
“It’s alright,” Yukimiya said. “Karasu said he’s on his way, since last he checked, Otoya’s in the shower now, for some reason.”
“Oh,” you said. “That’s kind of him.”
“Kind?” Yukimiya said, and then to your surprise, he laughed. “I wish I knew as little about him as you do.”
“Is he a bad person?” you said.
“Not at all,” Yukimiya said. “He’s great. He’s one of my best friends, in fact; it’s just that kind and Karasu rarely if ever go together in the same sentence.”
“How can someone be your best friend if you don’t even think they’re kind?” you said, intrigued by the puzzle Yukimiya had presented you with. The way he spoke of Karasu, it was as if he were some willful spirit that occasionally deigned to lend his aid to those who could bring him some benefit, but the way the two of them treated one another didn’t seem anything like that.
“I don’t know,” Yukimiya said. “If you knew him better, I wouldn’t have to explain this. He’s a hard person to understand, and just when you think you’ve finally got it, he goes and complicates things further.”
“That sounds exhausting,” you said.
“That’s the strangest thing about it all,” Yukimiya said as a car pulled up in front of you both, the hazard lights turning on. “With him, it’s entirely natural.”
Karasu stepped out of the driver’s side, shutting it behind him and joining the two of you on the curb, grinning at Yukimiya in a way that almost felt mocking.
“Told you Otoya wasn’t to be trusted,” he said. “You’re paying for dinner.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Yukimiya said, tossing his bag at Karasu, who caught it without flinching. “Put this in for me.”
“Whatever you say,” Karasu said, opening the back door of the car and throwing the bag onto the floor before slamming it shut and patting the handle for good measure. “Is that everything, your royal highness?”
“Yes,” Yukimiya said. “I’m going to kill Otoya when we get back.”
“Hm,” Karasu said. “Violent.”
“He deserves it,” Yukimiya said. “Bye, L/N. Thanks for waiting with me.”
“It’s not an issue,” you said, especially because you hadn’t done it on purpose, and even if you had, it hadn’t been for him. “I’m glad everything worked out.”
You wanted to say something more, something to Karasu in particular, but you didn’t know what or how. It wasn’t like you knew him — not a little and not at all, as Yukimiya had pointed out, and indeed you had no reason to speak to him in the first place. He wasn’t anything but your coworker’s roommate, so what did he mean to you?
Yukimiya shut his door with a hurried apology about the cold, and then it was just you and Karasu on the curb, and you couldn’t tell why, but the way he looked at you made you think he could hear every thought which was racing through your mind.
“Yukimiya’s right. It’s cold out,” he said. “You should go home now.”
“I’m just about to,” you said.
“Are you?” he said.
“Why are you questioning that?” you said, surprisingly affronted, although he hadn’t said anything insulting. “Of course I am. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”
“I’m not questioning anything,” he said. “Drive safely.”
“Wait,” you said. “Will you be here tomorrow?”
“Would you prefer it if I am?” he said.
“I’d prefer it if you answered my questions instead of coming up with more of your own,” you said, which you thought would be met with shock — after all, it was a rare thing that you broke character and said anything that could be perceived as cutting — but was instead received with a snicker.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll be here tomorrow. Early, if that’s what you want.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” you said. “Do what you’d like.”
“I think that I will,” he said, and then Yukimiya was rolling down the window, telling him to hurry up, damnit, so he left you behind without another word, the car’s engine purring as they drove away.
You must’ve looked like such a fool the next morning, the final of the shoot, your eyes immediately going to the corner where Karasu had been that first day. It was empty, and despite yourself, your shoulders slumped when you realized that he wasn’t there, which was enough for you to break out of that strange trance. Why had you even hoped in the first place? He had made no indication that he was going to come, and you were old enough to know that hoping and wishing were certain paths to disappointment.
“Do you want me to take you back tonight?” you asked Yukimiya, sitting in a chair beside him as you waited for the director to come. It was a clumsy and roundabout way of getting to what you actually wanted out of him, but the last thing you could do was tell him the truth. What would he say, if he knew why you were actually offering? What would he think of you then?
“Hm? No, it’s fine, Karasu’s already got it. He’s at the gym with Shidou — er, another teammate of ours — right now, but he’ll be done before we are, and the studio’s closer to the gym than our apartment is, so he told me it wouldn’t be any extra trouble,” he said, and you thought he must’ve added those extra details for the sole purpose of seeing what your response to them would be, but then you remembered that Yukimiya wasn’t that kind of person. He was just telling you as a way to fill the time, not to get one over you or anything like that.
“That’s good,” you said. “Convenient.”
“Yup,” Yukimiya said. “My agent told me we’d be doing individual photos today.”
“Huh?” you said. “Oh, right. Yes, I think that’s the case.”
“That’s a shame. I enjoyed working with you,” he said.
“Me, too,” you said, and unlike most times, you weren’t lying when you did. “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, though. There’s not so many of us our age.”
“True,” he said. “It’s a given.”
“Exactly,” you said.
“Yukimiya! You’re up first!” the director shouted, entering as he always did — like a whirlwind, leaving papers scattered and assistants flustered in his wake.
“That’s my cue,” Yukimiya said with a long-suffering sigh.
“Good luck,” you said, glad that it wasn’t your turn just yet. The shoes you were meant to wear sat innocently before you, about two feet away, and although it was impossible for inanimate objects to be snide, they were quite close to it, glaring at you with their bejeweled straps and their impossible tall heels, tittering between themselves at the thought of the cuts already forming on your ankles, the bandages you’d have to remove in order for those terrors to slide on without fuss.
You set your water bottle on the armrest of your chair, taking up the thread and crossing it over itself in the patterns you had been taught in elementary school. You didn’t have anyone to tie these bracelets around, and you couldn’t wear them yourself, for they’d be cut away almost immediately, but the repetitive motions soothed your mind, distracting you from the red soaking through your white socks.
“L/N!” the director screamed, even though you were sitting right there and could hear him perfectly fine. “Put your damn shoes on and get the hell up here!”
Without Yukimiya there to soften the blow, you were the direct target of all of his anger. Swallowing back every emotion you had ever felt and would ever feel, you bent over and began to rip the nude-colored band-aids, stained rusty at the edges, off. Balling them up and throwing them in the trash, you stood on aching soles and pulled the shoes on, one after another, clenching your teeth and taking off your sweater so that you could waltz over to where the cameras were trained.
“Took you long enough,” the director groused.
“Yes, sir,” you said. “How should I stand?”
“Just put your hands there, and your one leg there,” the director said vaguely, waving his arms about before striking what must’ve been an approximation of the pose he wanted you to take. You did your best to copy it, and the cameras went off, your vision temporarily fleeing and then coming back in spots as the lights faded. “No!”
“No?” you said.
“That’s all wrong! It’s horrible, horrible — you’re not even trying to do what I asked!” he said. “Yukimiya could do it, so why can’t you? Just do this!”
He did the same thing again. You weren’t sure what else you could adjust, but you moved slightly, twisting your torso at a different angle and smiling without your teeth this time. He grunted and motioned for the cameras to go again, but after a few more photos, he groaned, dragging his face over his hands.
“This is horrendous! You look entirely stiff and posed. It’s like you're a mannequin!” he said.
“I don’t — I’m not — what should I fix?” you said, unable to stop nerves from creeping into your voice and jostling it about. As difficult as he was to work with, you knew that the director was a big name in the industry, and if he only had bad things to say about you, then your entire livelihood would be threatened.
“Ugh!” he said, stomping onto the set and grabbing your arm, wrenching it down so hard you were surprised it didn’t dislocate. You chewed on the frayed flesh of the inside of your cheek to keep from yelping, allowing yourself to be pliable as he dragged your leg forward into what he wanted from you. “It’s like you’re a completely different person today! Just disappointing.”
Whatever position he had coerced you into was nothing like the one he had wanted you to imitate, but you refrained from pointing that out, holding it in place while the photographers adjusted their lenses. It was uncomfortable and made the lace lining your collar dig into your throat even more, but at least that served as a reminder for you to be silent.
“That’s enough,” the director said, massaging his temples. “We’re not getting anything more out of you.”
“What?” you said, standing normally, tired of contorting yourself for the impossible-to-please man. “What do you mean?”
“You’re lifeless. I don’t know how you managed to fool me yesterday and the day before, but I see it now. Honestly, if it weren’t for the concerning accusations I’d face, I’d just dig up a grave and pay the families half the royalties. It’d be a cheaper and better performance than whatever you’re giving me,” he said.
“What?” you said again, shame pouring over you, cold in a way that was closer to heat, ringing in your ears and coating your tongue. You couldn’t think of another response, any other way to defend yourself. If he was saying it, then it really was the truth. You swallowed, about to bow your head and shuffle off of the set for good, but then, like a bird in your peripheral vision, you noticed someone standing in the corner.
It was Karasu, and he was muffling a laugh. When he noticed you were looking at him, he dropped his hand from in front of his mouth and jerked his head towards the director, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like get a load of this guy. Your eyes widened, and then you, too, were fighting back a giggle, because you were so tired of the entire charade and your feet hurt and you wanted to go home and sleep for a few hours but this director, this stupid fucking director, couldn’t make up his mind about what he wanted from you. And now your career was ruined and you’d go back to waiting tables and Karasu was standing there, which was ridiculous, because where had even come from? But, then again, did it matter? Because the most amazing thing of all was that he was laughing. The situation was horrible and he was laughing as if it was the most entertaining moment of his life.
“There!”
You cringed as the cameras went off in quick succession, but they were faster than you, and you knew for sure they had caught you before you had cowered away. The director stroked his chin, and then, to your surprise, clicked his tongue in approval.
“Well done,” he said. “That’s the kind of genuine appeal I was looking for. If you can bring more of that to the table, then anyone would be happy to have you.”
You frowned, his sudden switch in mood giving you whiplash. Only seconds earlier, he had been berating you, and now he was praising you? You couldn’t understand what had brought about the change, but you were at least quick enough to not question it.
“Thank you,” you said. “I appreciate the advice. And the opportunity to work with you.”
“I’ll hire you again,” he said, which sounded as much like a threat as it did a promise. “We’ll bring it out of you. Now that I know what you’re capable of, I won’t rest until I’ve perfected it in the way only I can.”
The thought of being perfected by him, molded and shaped and honed, was the most unappealing you had had in a while. You could imagine him tugging your limbs out of their sockets, rearranging them at his leisure, slicing gashes into your skin so that his clothes and accessories sat better, smoother, without unappealing wrinkles or reflections marring their surfaces.
“Thank you,” you said once more. “It’s an honor.”
“Are you alright?” Yukimiya said when you wobbled over to where your shoes and clothes were strewn about.
“I’m fine,” you said, but you weren’t looking at him. Your distracted eyes were following Karasu as he left the studio, your eyebrows knitting together as you tried to ascertain what the point of him even coming inside had been, if he was going to leave without you — without Yukimiya.
He didn’t come for you, a voice in the back of your head, sounding eerily similar to the director’s, said. He came to pick up his roommate, just like he promised he would.
“I can’t believe he chose you as his favorite. Maybe you’ll be his muse for the next few years!” Yukimiya said. The director was known for picking one model to fixate on for an extended period of time. His every project revolved around them, and they were catapulted into unprecedented stardom under his guiding hand, staying there until their retirement. It was everyone’s dream, and you should’ve been happy at the prospect of being next in that line, but when you beamed at Yukimiya, it was fake, the muscles in your mouth straining at the unnatural position you were putting them into.
“Who knows?” you said. “I don’t want to rely on it. It’s not a guarantee.”
“Smart idea,” he said, scrunching up his face. “I’m sorry. I’m used to soccer more than all of this. Everyone’s very…full of themselves.”
“You’re not full of yourself,” you said, shutting the door of your dressing room behind you and calling through it as you changed, hoping to delay him even slightly.
“You’ve never seen me on the field,” he said. “There, everyone’s different. You have to be, if you want to live. Ego’s a form of survival out there.”
“Doesn’t sound much different than modeling,” you said.
“A little different,” he said. “People here are just vain. That’s not the same.”
You hadn’t ever gotten changed so quickly, but in record time, you were swinging your bag over your shoulder and rejoining Yukimiya, who seemed as surprised as you were that you had finished so quickly. After all, you had a bit of a reputation for…sulking? Brooding? You weren’t sure what word they were using for it nowadays, but regardless, your proclivity for sitting in your dressing room in silence was well-known, as much a part of your character as it was a habit.
“You’re not wrong about that,” you said. “But vanity’s a necessary evil, I think. If you want to succeed.”
“Er, right,” he said, standing in place like he was unsure of how to react. “I suppose so.”
When you did not halt but instead kept moving towards the exit, he straightened and hurried after you. You weren’t going very fast, and his strides were so long that he caught up with you before you could even brace for the biting wind that rushed in as soon as you opened the door. The two of you went along in silence, Yukimiya obviously befuddled why you were still with him but too polite to say anything about it, and it was only when you reached the entrance to the parking garage, where a familiar car was waiting, that you allowed yourself to smile.
“Man, talk about an asshole,” Karasu said, stretching like a cat as he got out of the still-running sedan. “That director is a piece of work.”
“Karasu!” Yukimiya reprimanded, which got him nothing but a sly smile from the man in question. “He’s our boss. We can’t say stuff like that about him.”
“He’s your boss,” Karasu corrected. “So you can’t say stuff like that. I can say whatever I want.”
“You’re going to get me fired,” Yukimiya said. “It’s a good thing I have soccer to fall back on, or else I’d be in trouble.”
“Go sit in the car, then, if you want to stay blameless,” Karasu said.
“I will! And you better not bother poor L/N. I don’t want her to have a bad opinion of all of us just because of you,” Yukimiya said, jabbing his finger at Karasu, who raised his hands in the air innocently.
Today, he wore a white windbreaker over a grey shirt, and because he was not wearing gloves, you could see that there were calluses on his palms, standing out pale at the seams of his fingers. You weren’t used to seeing calluses on anyone, not when the few people you met on a semi-regular basis took such diligent measures to prevent them, but now that you were faced with them sans demonization, you found their roughness was warm and friendly, not hideous.
“He was pretty bad,” you mumbled as soon as Yukimiya had shut himself away in the car.
“Yuki, or the director?” Karasu said.
“Don’t be horrible,” you said. “You know who I’m talking about.”
“I can’t believe he compared you to a dead body,” Karasu said.
“That’s not the worst I’ve gotten,” you said. “It took me by surprise because things had been going so well until then, but he was relatively tame, all things considered.”
“Really?” Karasu said.
“Yes,” you said, dropping your voice to a murmur in case anyone was around, not wanting to give yourself a reputation as a whiner. “Once, someone asked me if my mother was a fish, because there was no other explanation for how I was flopping around.”
“That’s rude,” he said.
“It was!” you said. No one had ever listened to you before, least of all with such a benign expression on their face, and you were so starved of it that you could not contain yourself any longer. “Especially because I was standing still, not flopping around or whatever. Honestly, I wanted to ask him if his mother was a fish, because you know what? There was no other explanation for how he smelled!”
“Horrid!” Karasu said, beaming at you. “You should’ve.”
“Oh, no, no, I couldn’t. I shouldn’t even have said it to you,” you said, shaking your head and pressing your hands over your mouth, unsure of any other method of stopping yourself that would be nearly as effective.
“But you did,” he said, zipping up his jacket in a swift movement. “I’ll think of something about myself to tell you in return. Give me a day or two.”
“That’s not why I did that,” you protested. “And we don’t have a day or two, anyways, so you’ll have to do it now or never again.”
“Sure we do,” he said. “We live in the same city, don’t we? I bet our paths will cross. Where do you go grocery shopping?”
“Grocery shopping?” you said.
“Karasu! You’re low on gas!” Yukimiya said, rolling down his window.
“I go to the place across from the park on South 18th Street. Every Thursday after practice,” Karasu said. “Meet all sorts of people there. Never know who I’m going to run into.”
You could picture exactly the store he was talking about; it wasn’t where you typically went, but sometimes, if you were running low on something hard to find, you’d walk the extra few blocks. It was much bigger than the one close to your apartment, after all, and suddenly you wondered if you had seen Karasu there before, if you had seen him ten or twenty times and just not noticed.
“When do you finish practice?” you said, right before he got into his car.
“Lunchtime,” he said. “I’m hungry more often than not.”
“It’s not good to shop for food when you’re hungry,” you said.
“Then I’ll have to do something about it before I do,” he said. “Well, it depends. Only if I have good company.”
You didn’t realize until you were halfway home what he meant by that, and by then it was too late for you to change your mind — not that you would’ve. Not that you needed to. He wasn’t holding you to anything, even though you knew as well as he did that you would be there; still, ultimately it was your decision. Your choice.
That was a strange characteristic of his, one that Yukimiya hadn’t mentioned. Karasu didn’t ask for things; he didn’t command them, either. He only made suggestions, nudging you along until you reached the destination that he wanted you to arrive at. You had never met a person quite so adept at it, at presenting choices and questions as disguises for inevitabilities, at guiding people’s thoughts so precisely. It would’ve been unsettling coming from anyone else, but from him, it was natural. It was how he operated. Who were you to chafe at it when that was simply who he was?
The grocery store was large, but they never changed their layout, so you knew where everything was familiarly and without checking the signs. You didn’t have anything to shop for, so you decided to wander the aisles, thinking that if something caught your eye, you’d buy it without further consideration.
You found yourself staring at a bag of oranges, a bright red 50% Off! sticker slapped right on the netted packaging. Swallowing, you reached for it, but before you could, someone snatched them away, holding them in the air teasingly.
“I thought you shouldn’t shop for food when you’re hungry,” Karasu said. “And might I add, what a coincidence it is, seeing you here!”
“I’m not hungry,” you said, taking the oranges back and holding them to your chest protectively. “And I wasn’t looking for you.”
“I didn’t say that you were,” he said. “I distinctly recall saying that it was a coincidence we even met, in fact. Anyways, maybe you’re not hungry, but I am, so I should be off. Meals to eat, shopping lists to plan…it’s a busy life I have.”
“Sounds mundane,” you said. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “You’re right. That reminds me! Before I go, what is it that should I tell you?”
You couldn’t deny that that was the real reason for why you had come to the grocery store — what was he going to reveal? For as much as he knew about you, you knew frighteningly little about him, and now that you were faced with a chance to learn what kind of person he really was, you didn’t want to let it leave your grasp.
“Whatever you want,” you said. He plucked the oranges from your grasp again, and before you could complain, set them at the bottom of the small basket he held in his arms.
“How about this? I knew you were going to go for the oranges,” he said.
“How?” you said.
His eyes sparkled as he leaned closer to you, and you suddenly remembered Yukimiya’s warnings. Whatever you thought you knew about Karasu, it was likely only half or maybe a quarter the truth. Really, he was shifting and cunning, a fox and a crow, far from comprehension, not a danger but not kind, either.
“I’ll answer if you tell me something else about yourself,” he said.
“Why are you acting like I’m entering some kind of contract with a devil?” you said.
“I’m not a devil,” he said. “Just Karasu. My teammates think I’m a great guy, if the recommendation sets you at ease.”
“It sounds more like you’re trying to blackmail me,” you said. He shook his head.
“Couldn’t it be said that you’re doing the same? You’re asking questions about me and expecting that I answer when you have no intentions of reciprocating,” he said.
You pouted, because when he put it like that, he wasn’t wrong, and it wasn’t that you didn’t trust him — because you did. You trusted him more than you should’ve, considering how guarded you had learned to become.
“I have an older brother,” you said. “He’s overseas right now. I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”
“I have an older sister,” Karasu said. “Maybe they know each other.”
“Probably don’t,” you said. “Also, you didn’t answer my question.”
“I guess I didn’t,” he said, reaching around you to take two boxes of cereal off of a shelf. “Try again.”
“My parents didn’t want me to be a model,” you said. “They thought I should be a teacher. I’m good at it. Children like me.”
“I was going to go into investment banking,” he said. “Or consulting. One of those such fields. Maybe I still will, but soccer is fine for now.”
This was a game for him, you realized. Like tennis, but better, and so, instead of being irritated, you decided you might as well indulge it. It had been so long, anyways, since the last time you had spoken to someone freely, without concern for what they might spread about you, whose ears they would whisper your secrets in just to get one or two steps ahead.
“I threw a dress at a designer’s face once,” you said. “He didn’t like the shade of lipstick I was wearing, even though he was the one that picked it. The only reason my reputation wasn’t ruined was because he ended up liking the way the lipstick turned up digitally and promised not to say anything about it if I allowed them to use my photos after all.”
Karasu laughed, opening the doors to the fridge and taking out milk, stacking it neatly in the basket. You weren’t sure when the two of you had begun shopping in earnest, but it seemed he had forgotten about his plans to eat lunch.
“In high school, my teammate pissed me off, so I made sure to shove him around extra when we tried out for a nearby youth team. It made him look so inept that he didn’t make the cut,” he said, taking an abandoned cart and depositing his things in it, motioning for you to put your purse in as well.
“That’s mean!” you said, but it was hard to disguise the fact that you, too, were laughing. “You’re mean.”
“His fault. He should’ve played better, anyways,” Karasu said. “I had been helping his sorry ass out for too long. He would’ve been cut regardless. You could say I just…expedited the process.”
“I’m the only one in my family who still wishes my brother happy birthday,” you said. “He’s a disappointment in everyone else’s eyes, but he lets me live with him and pays his share of the bills, so how can I disown him?”
“Between the two of us, my sister is the perfect one, so I’m afraid I can’t relate. Vanilla or hazelnut?” he said without skipping a beat. Before you could even answer, he face-palmed. “Oh, wait, Otoya hates hazelnut. I’ll get that so he doesn’t mistake it for his own.”
“I used to be a waitress,” you said. “Before I was a model. It was a lot less glamorous of a career. I don’t think my feet ever recovered from it.”
“I’m sure those shoes that you were forced into for your last job didn’t help any,” he said. “They looked inhumane.”
“They were,” you said, your ankles panging at the reminder, still inflamed and angry as they were. “Though I think anyone would’ve suffered with them on. I doubt the designer had human anatomy in mind when making them; I haven’t bled like that in a while.”
“They made you bleed?” he said. You hummed.
“Yeah,” you said, seeing no point in lying. Who would he tell? Who would even believe him? “Fashion over function, right? It was only for a few photos. They’ll be healed so quickly I’ll forget I had them in the first place. Enough about me, though. Tell me something else about yourself.”
“I sprained my wrist playing soccer as a kid,” he said. “It was a long time ago, but even now, I can feel it when it rains.”
He still hadn’t answered your original question, and you didn’t think he would, not until you offered him something of equal or greater value. But what did you have like that? What aspect of your silly life held enough weight that it would make someone like Karasu, always so ready with his wit and his charm, willing to part with something he clearly deemed to be a secret?
“I’m lonely,” you said, turning away from him, pretending to be fascinated with comparing two different brands of yogurt, neither of which you would buy. “You’ll laugh, but I think this is the longest conversation I’ve had with someone outside of work since my brother last came home. It’s nice, surprisingly. Talking to you and all. I like it.”
Or maybe you just liked him. You couldn’t really separate the two. Either way, it remained that ever since you had met Karasu, you could not conceive of a time when you had not known him, a time when you had gone home to your empty apartment and watched your empty shows and eaten your empty salads and thought you were satisfied by it all. You doubted he knew he had this effect, and you certainly wouldn’t be the one to tell him — after all, he’d probably be frightened if he found out that you had, in such a short time, grown so attached to him and his games and his conduct.
“The oranges,” he said. “You tried to buy them the first time I saw you.”
“What?” you said. Now it was his turn to avert his eyes and yours to watch him in fascination, finding it far easier to stomach a secret than to spit it out.
“It was a long time ago, but it was definitely you,” he said. “It was a Thursday, and I was just coming back from practice; this grocery store is far from my apartment but close enough to the field that, when Otoya — he was sick, so he had skipped that day — texted me that we were out of bread, I decided I’d make the detour. I wasn’t planning on staying here long, but right when I was about to leave, I saw you. You only had a packet of instant noodles and a bag of oranges in your hands. They were on sale back then, too, but—”
“But I had to put them back,” you finished for him, remembering that day as well as he did, albeit not his role. “Because I didn’t have enough money to get them, even when they were 50% off.”
“Yes,” he said. “I left before you noticed me, but I always — I always wish I hadn’t. I kept making the trip here, doing my shopping every Thursday at the same time until it became ingrained in me like routine, and I told myself if I ever saw you again, I’d buy them for you.”
“I can buy my own oranges now,” you said.
“I know,” he said. “That wasn’t the only reason I came back each week.”
“Why else?” you said.
“Well,” he said. “I can’t just tell you everything in one go like that, can I?”
You scoffed. “You can.”
“But I won’t,” he said.
“But you won’t,” you said with a sigh. “Anyways. So you knew me even before we met?”
“I knew of you,” he corrected you. “Though not as a model. Just as an absurdly beautiful girl I saw in a supermarket once and thought about occasionally.”
“So it was a coincidence that you happened to be at that shoot?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.
“When Yukimiya told us about the girl he’d be working with, Otoya looked you up,” he said. “And despite how long it had been since you last crossed my mind as well as how much longer it had been since the only time I saw you in the flesh, I recognized you immediately.”
“You have a good memory,” you said.
“So I’ve been told,” he said. “I didn’t go with any strange intentions, if you’re wondering. I only wanted to know what kind of person you actually were.”
He wasn’t a typical admirer, taken with your celebrity or your status. He was curious, not about Y/N L/N the model, but you, the girl he nearly met in a grocery store so long ago it was all but inconsequential. You wondered what it said about you that instead of being wary, you only felt all the more inclined to reveal yourself to him. You wondered if this was some lack of self-preservation, as your brother would declare it, or if this was an innate knowledge, an instinctual understanding that the man before you was different.
Maybe he was or maybe he wasn’t. You didn’t know, and maybe, on some level, you didn’t care. Taking his hand, you set it on the bag of oranges, placing your own atop it firmly, your thumb tracing his scratched knuckles.
“Buy them for me,” you said. “And I’ll tell you who I am, plainly and without fuss.”
“Is that what you consider a good deal?” he said. “I’d say you’re a bit more valuable than a discount bag of oranges.”
“Do you think so?” you said. “Fine, then. The oranges, and a pack of instant noodles.”
“Closer,” he said. “But I’m a fair person. I can’t accept.”
“You,” you said, all in a rush. “The oranges, the noodles, and you. That’s my final offer. I’ll give you everything if you give me that much.”
He didn’t even pretend to consider it. You thought that it must’ve been what he was waiting for all along, what he had been, in that way of his, leading you towards.
“You’re a tough bargainer,” he said.
“So you agree to it?” you said.
“Sure,” he said, and when he noticed your face falling at the noncommittal nature of his acceptance, he laughed. “Yes. Yes, yes, I agree. The oranges, the noodles, and me; you can have all three as you please.”
And it was odd, but just for a moment, the reprieve lasting only for as long as his breathy chuckle, your feet ceased to ache.
“my mom asked me to return thi—” you cut yourself off abruptly as you’re met with the sudden, unexpected surprise of a familiar pair of gray eyes when the front door of the miya residence swings open.
gray eyes that certainly don’t belong to the woman you intended to return the pie pan currently clutched in your hands to.
“osamu?” your voice comes out small, uncertain, a little fragile around the edges.
the corner of his mouth curves upward in a smile as he leans against the doorframe. “long time no see.”
–
the porch swing out back is as welcoming as it ever was, though the real estate to be found across its faded yellow cushions has waned as the two of you have grown. it was enormous to two seven-year-olds who spent long summer evenings on their backs across it, shoulder to shoulder with their little feet kicked up along the arm rests in opposite directions as they gazed up into the sky beyond the porch watching the fireflies come to life.
you can only imagine how ridiculous the two of you look now, heads parallel instead for lack of space and your legs thrown entirely over either edge at the knee, the swing shuddering with a precarious creak with each of your frequent outbursts of laughter.
for all that’s changed in the years since you graduated from inarizaki high and packed your bags—the new general store in town, your dad’s fancy electric car, the bright color of the shutters that adorn the front of the miya household, the dark shade of osamu’s hair, his muscles that have since generously filled out—
for all that’s changed, this still feels wholly the same: this easy rhythm the two of you slip into, the way it feels as natural as breathing to tell osamu everything—all the good and the bad and the wonderful and the terribly shitty things in your life that have happened between now and then.
(then, when you were eighteen standing outside of your mom’s old sedan on a sticky july morning, the trunk packed full with everything you held dear. everything but the gray-haired boy standing in front of you hugging you tightly goodbye.)
(then, when quietly realizing that you were in love with your best friend was the most terrifying feeling in the world.)
(now, with four years of university, two wasted years at a soulless corporate job, and the aftermath of a terrible relationship kicking up dust in the rearview.)
(now, when you know that for all the miles and the minutes, all this endless space that you’ve created—your heart will always be the steady pulse of a firefly cupped in osamu’s hands.)
–
it’s late beneath the glow of moonlight that pours across the porch when you finally ask, “how’s your girlfriend?”
osamu laughs, and you feel warm despite the cool night air that’s begun to nip at your bare legs. “don’t have one. tsumu’s probably got enough of ‘em for the both of us.”
it’s embarrassing, the thread of hope that slips between the careful grip of your fingers and begins to unspool in the defenseless gaps of your ribcage. “you mean to tell me there’s no mistress of onigiri miya? i find that hard to believe.”
he snorts this time, and a frog croaks somewhere off in the distance. “be nice, maybe i’ve got a broken heart over here.”
you shouldn’t be jealous, and yet—
“someone let you go? what was she thinking?”
osamu sighs, wistful. “never had her.”
your heart thumps as you turn your head, expecting to be met with osamu’s upside down side profile but instead finding yourself nose to nose with him.
“why not?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
“didn’t think that was what she wanted.”
the sound of osamu’s breathing and the trembling in your chest drowns out the steady hum of the katydids that echoes across the backyard.
“and what if you were wrong?”
you’re met with a sharp, careful intake of breath that mirrors the tightness in your throat.
“s’a shame i’m not a time traveler then, i guess.”
this time, it’s your turn to laugh. “i hear she’s back in town.”
“yeah?” he says, a little breathless, a lot hopeful.
“there’s still nobody else i’d rather count fireflies with, osamu,” you whisper.
and as osamu tilts your chin with a gentle hand to tentatively brush his mouth against yours—
as you find yourself on top of him, fingers tangled in his hair as he cups the back of your head and kisses you until you can hardly breathe—
as you begin to forget where you end and he begins—
(you’ve both changed and you’ve grown, but faint yellow lights still wink in and out of existence in the sky above, the southern breeze still carries the faint chill of the lake beyond the woods, and osamu still feels more like home than anything ever has.)
—the porch swing sways, and you can feel osamu's smile in every kiss—
you fit perfectly here atop these old cushions now, in a tangle of limbs and lips and patient hearts.
⊹ summary : the blue lock boys are invited to take a lie detector test, but they’ve got to answer twitter’s unfiltered questions
⊹ pairing : isagi yoichi x reader (established relationship)
⊹ wc : 543
⊹ warnings : reader is referred to as “girl” with she/her pronouns, suggestive, mentions of oral sex, if I’m missing something pls lmk!! MINORS DNI
⊹ A/N : this is a repost from my prev blog bc i wanna continue this series and i cant post the next part without the context from this one so if it looks familiar, thats why. ALSO if anyone has a reblog of bachira's part somewhere pls send me the link!!
⊹ bachira’s version | kunigami’s version
“Ready?”
“Yeah, let’s do this”
“@/isagisbbybgrl asks How big is your dick?”
Isagi had practically choked on his own spit at the question. “Wha—why is this the first question?!”
“I’m just reading out what Twitter wants to know?”, the interviewer laughs at the shock in his face. “Now answer the question.”
Isagi, Kunigami and Bachira were currently sat side by side across from their interviewer. They had been invited to guest star on LockX , one of the most popular podcasts to date relating to everything and anything Blue Lock. And today they were asked to answer a few fan questions from Twitter all while hooked up to a lie detector. Up first was Isagi, who looked like he was already regretting coming today.
“Like 10 inches” he sighed out. All heads turned to the polygraph examiner— Milo was his name.
“There’s no way—“
“Truth”
Bachira laughs out at Kunigami’s disbelief while the latter mumbles to himself. Something about not believing it till he sees it himself.
“Wait, now I’m curious” Bachira scooted forward and turned to Isagi. “How much of it does your girl take in her mouth?
“What the fuck Megs? Nope. I’m not talking about Y/N here. Not like that.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but more than half these Twitter asks are about her,” the interviewer adds.
“Come onnnn Yoichi”
“Fine. All of it. Next question”
“Milo?”
“He’s telling the truth” Milo nods back, while the room fills with whistles and cheers to Isagi, who’s hidden his face behind a hand but can’t help the proud smirk that grows on his face at the thought of you taking all of him.
“Okay okay” the interviewer laughs before he directs his next question, “User @/mysagiballs asks where is your favorite place to kiss a partner?”
“Hey at least this one’s not about Y/N”
“Ehh it technically is,” Bachira counters.
“It basically is,” Isagi sighs once again, finally accepting that this is what the rest of the interview will be like. “Her lips, that’s my favorite place to kiss her”
“He’s lying.”
“Wha- No I’m not!”
“Another lie”
“I feel like of all the questions you’ve been asked, this is the most mild.” Kunigami speaks up.
“But you’re lying about it, which means there’s something juicy you’re hiding” Bachira teases.
“Fine, her cheek”
“Still lying”
“Seriously Milo!”
This continues on for a few minutes, Isagi calling out a bodypart and Milo calling out his bullshit.
Her neck. Lie. Her shoulders. Lie. Her hands. Lie.
Meanwhile Bachira and Kunigami have practically fallen off the sofa in tears, laughing at how frustrated Isagi grows with every call of his bluff.
“Between her legs, alright?! I’m not getting any more specific than that. You can figure the rest out yourselves I’m sure”, he glares at Milo as he grumbles out his final answer.
“That was the…truth”
It takes a few moments for Bachira to calm down from his hysterics but then he’s teasing Isagi for being so naughty, giggling at the sight of his friend aggressively ripping off the cuffs and sensors connecting him to the polygraph.
“Yeah yeah, laugh all you want now but you’re going next.” Isagi grins at him, excited to see his friend suffer the same as he did.
you know i'm gonna have to put in a request for your event :p
i'll take slice one with sae (what a surprise) with prompt 16 >:)
write whatever you feel is easiest, sfw would be cute but i certainly won't decline nsfw :x
again, congrats baby <3
→ EVENT OVERVIEW
prompt: 16 - “do u want me on my knees?”
characters: itoshi sae (bllk) x f!reader
contents: suggestive, implied nsfw at the end, established rs, he calls u amor, reader wears a dress and strappy heels (oddly specific ik but it’s for the plot ..), slight hair pulling bcs yall are freaky
wc ~ 1k (not proofread!)
a/n: LUMI BBG TYSM ILY LMK WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS (bcs i’m not entirely sure what you’re into) AND UHH i couldn’t decide between sfw and nsfw so this came out instead 🙂↕️
another one of those… tepid sports agents comes up to talk to you and sae’s eye all but twitches for the nth time.
stiffly tugging at his previously well-kept tie, it takes almost all his willpower to muffle the yawn that threatens to escape past his lips. he steps a tad bit closer to you, chest brushing against your bare shoulder as he shoves his hands inside the pockets of his slacks. narrowed aquamarine eyes gaze down at the woman who’s enthusiastically chatting with you as he dutifully stands by your side.
formal events like this somewhat bore him. there are too many flashing lights, too many blabbering mouths and scrutinizing eyes, and the worst of all, too many probing intents. he genuinely couldn’t stand those that don’t take his privacy seriously, especially when it affects you as well.
absently looking around the decorated hall, he takes note of the second ticking by where he can finally bring you back to the safety of your shared home. tick, tock, tick, tock– each one of it goes unnoticed by him. if he was sitting down, sae would’ve started bouncing his legs up and down as you continue to entertain all these nonsensical conversations.
his large hand lands on the middle of your back mid-talk, and you straighten up as warmth spreads throughout your skin. you peer back at sae, nodding slightly at him in a silent inquiry.
another discussion occurs between the both of you next, wordless and understanding in the way only your eyes hold all the things you want to say to each other. you then raise an amused brow when you take a second look at his appearance; his once messy hair looks even more disheveled than before, tie loose around his collar and lidded eyes looking all too uninterested with whatever the hell is going on in the event.
sae lightly pinches the side of your waist when he sees you on the verge of giggling like the menace that you are.
letting a little snicker out past your lips anyway, you turn back to the woman you were talking to minutes prior as you sense his simmering impatience. you swiftly say your goodbyes before grabbing sae’s hand, dragging him towards the hallways and opening the door to a smaller (and thankfully) vacant hall.
he’s ever so quick to close the door behind you, cornering you back against the surface as he towers over you. “thought we’re going back home?” sae asks, voice low and breathy as he idly plays with a loose strand of your hair between his fingers.
you throw him a pointed look, “we’re not even halfway into the schedule, why do you look so rumpled already?” his unkempt tie catches your eye once again, so you gingerly reach out to pull it loose before carefully redoing the knot for him. “and isn’t this event supposed to be for you athletes to mingle around?” you absently mutter, busy with the strip of fabric in your hands.
the distance between you is now barely existent. when you don’t get any response from him, you glance up at him thinking he was also looking at the tie, only to see that his eyes are simply gazing at you. bright oceanic hues closely examine your face, an odd look swirling in his eyes that has you fluttering down to the very pit of your stomach.
you gnaw on your bottom lip as sae takes a bit longer to finally give you a reply. “the only mingling i’ll be doing today is the one that involves you and me,” he trails off, stopping for a brief second to glance down at your mouth. “... in bed.”
your breath stutters in your chest at his words. sae continues to stare down at you, as if waiting for you to cave in to his spell. a beat of silence passes. suddenly remembering a small, trivial detail, you then lean back more comfortably against the door before tipping your chin up at him.
“you know… relationships should be a two-way street,” you start, casually looking around the hall before subtly nudging one of your feet against his; the one where the straps on your heel are coincidentally loose. “i help you, and you help me.” you smile at him, eyes vivid and innocent as a doe.
two can play at this game.
raising his brow in suspicion at your overly saccharine tone, he takes a slight glimpse below before mildly rolling his eyes as he realizes what you’re insinuating. sae doesn’t back away from the close proximity as he murmurs against the minimal space between you two, “what? do you want me on my knees for you, amor?”
you ignore the shivers on your back at the way the raspy timbre of his voice curls on the petname, shrugging your shoulders in nonchalance.
for a second there, you’d thought that he wouldn’t go along with your schemes, but then you feel his hands settling on your hips before he eventually lowers down… down… and down, his touch slowly and torturously trailing along the side of your thighs while he keeps his gaze focused on you.
you’d almost failed to hold in the shameless whimper that threatens to spill from your mouth, desire licking at every little nerve inside of you at the sight.
and how could you not? seeing a proud, primarily arrogant man being eased down to the floor on his knees, looking up at you like you’re the only thing he has ever yearned and ached for in all his life. such immense satisfaction swells in your chest.
barely holding in the urge, you sift your fingers through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp with your nails before you pull. a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you purr, “good boy.”
sae curses, groaning deep in his throat, “fuck– you little minx.”
the next few minutes go by in a blur of gasping breaths and hungry licks, courtesy of him staying on his knees like you’d wished for as he makes you struggle standing on your own two feet, the thought of returning to the event now instantly thrown out of the window.
taglist open !
chat if you’re not into heels, imagine you’re wearing sneakers instead (atrocious ik but i’ve done it before and i kinda slayed the fit, funnily enough shfhsdh) so he’d be helping u with the shoelaces lol
- a bit inspired from a tt i saw a few days ago :>
CONGRATS ON 200 FOLLOWERS!! For your event could I request the arranged marriage troupe?
Oh and happy new year!!! I hope you have a great 2025 :)
thank you so much and i wish you a great 2025 too!! hope you like this hehe <3
sendou would have never imagined this happening to him in real life.
sure, even if arranged marriages feel like a thing of romance novels, they still happen among children of conglomerates and bureaucrats, but with him? he might be japan's most beloved striker and he might be rising in the popularity rankings among japanese tv personalities, but he's barely made a name for himself internationally and was still nowhere important enough to warrant a strategic marriage.
but apparently, his messy love life was affecting his celebrity image badly enough for his agency to propose an arranged marriage. the most rational choice was you, a singer under the same company, who boasts the title of japan's most eligible bachelorette. the public loves your pure image, carefully crafted by your company and your impeccable media training.
obviously, sendou's unhappy with this. he wanted to rise to the global stage and marry a hollywood actress and flaunt her at the met gala, not sit across you and have this meeting on your expectations for the marriage. he silently laments his predicament. his company could have set him up with a flashier idol singer or a more glamorous actress; why did it have to be you, a singer-songwriter who he's seen in sweats when you bump into each other in the hallways of the company building?
you manage to charm even his picky mother, and by the end of the wedding ceremony, you've won over all his friends and relatives. although sendou was reluctant to marry you, he acknowledges your charisma and way with words, so he's not surprised. hell, his heart was even pounding while you said your vows, glittering under the warm lighting with your hands in his.
five months into your marriage, sendou realises he's forgotten all about his dreams of a flashy showbiz romance. instead, he's fallen head over heels in love with the simplicity of the new life he's created with you.
despite the initial awkwardness, the two of you fall easily into a routine. in the mornings, you prepare breakfast for him and sendou sends you to work before he heads for training, and when he's done with training, he picks you up and you cook dinner together. on weekends, sendou takes you out for a meal, and you plan an activity to do together. conversation comes easily during the little pockets of time the two of you intentionally carve out for each other, and with the irrevocability of your marriage, the two of you iron out any conflicts with the sole intention of coexisting harmoniously.
it's completely different from anything sendou's experienced. his past girlfriends would insist he bring them to a nice restaurant for their dates, expect him to shower them with presents and attention, and openly flaunt his wealth and fame. when he failed to meet any of their expectations, the relationship is over. but with you, he sees the content smile on your face when he fumbles around the kitchen trying to cook you something while you're sick, and he realises that he doesn't need to push himself to impress you.
it's enough for him and enough for you to be able to see each other after a long day of work and decompress by singing loudly in the car, and it's enough to talk about the weather while you hang up the laundry together. it's enough to hear your laughter when he falls for another one of your pranks, and it's enough to have you handing him tissues when he catches your flu.
sendou learns that it's not all about the fame and money, but sometimes, it's about the way his heart sings when your eyes meet across a busy table when someone says something stupid.
hiii Dee!! for your holiday drabbles, maaayybeeee accidentally standing under mistletoe with Meian? 🤭
no questions asked 🎀 meian shugo x f!reader
Spending Christmas Eve with your cheating ex-fiancé is no longer an option, so a party at Atsumu's will just have to do.
1.3k — msby manager!reader, angst and fluff
It’s a little embarrassing—thinking about how you should be out for dinner with your fiancé and his parents right now.
How you should be planning a wedding that’ll take place in the new year.
How, instead, you’re standing in the middle of Miya Atsumu’s apartment wearing the same red dress you picked out for a very different occasion, ring finger now entirely devoid of a weight you were once familiar with for the past five months.
While the Black Jackals tried not to pry into the mortifying details of your breakup when you showed up for practice uncharacteristically late one morning two weeks ago with eyes ringed red after a sleepless night, Bokuto, Hinata, and Atsumu were all wholly insistent that their team manager couldn’t spend Christmas Eve alone.
(They’d let Coach Foster off easy when he politely declined the invite to tonight’s party, but you? Not so much.)
(Bokuto’s known you since your Fukurodani days, after all, since you were a year ahead of him on the girl’s volleyball team.)
Which now finds you here, leaning against the doorway that separates the living room from the kitchen, fingers curled loosely around the sweaty neck of a bottle of beer.
“I never liked him, ya know,” Atsumu’s voice interrupts your thoughts.
You turn to face the setter, brows raised in mock amusement. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”
You met Ren a year or so after you started working for MSBY, after you’d already grown close with the team, and he got down on one knee just over six months later.
And now—
“He never liked showin’ his face at games, that cheatin’ bastard. He probably knew we’d see it on his stupid face and pummel his ass.”
Sighing, you nod in a disconnected way, taking a swig from your bottle before placing it down on a table nearby.
You hadn’t gotten into the rest of the details—how the marketing executive had been sleeping with his eighteen-year-old intern for the entirety of your relationship.
How he was only proposing to you to appease his father for the sake of inheriting his company.
How everything was a lie—
How—
“Atsumu.”
Something prickles along the back of your neck at the sound of Meian’s voice, his tone stern as he approaches.
Atsumu perks up. “And I bet Meian woulda really loved to beat his—”
“Bokuto’s two seconds from puking on your bed,” Meian cuts him off brusquely, sliding into the spot where the blonde was standing as he scurries off, eyes going wide in concern.
You shake your head, offering a genuine smile to the team captain and trying to ignore the long-ignored warmth that rustles in your chest as he looks at you.
“Really?”
He shakes his head, the curve of his mouth matching your own. “Nah, but I know he gets annoying when he’s drunk. And I know that’s the last thing you want to talk about right now.”
Meian has always had a way of reading you, of knowing what you need.
And you know that, logically, it’s just something that comes naturally to him as a captain. He does it with his team all the time.
But it still does something odd to your fragile heart anyway—the way he notices you.
Bokuto’s sworn this secret (which you accidentally shared after too many drinks one night) to the grave, this stupid little crush that you have on the team captain. One that sprouted long before Ren came into the picture.
One that you were quick to pluck, to try digging out at the roots before it could blossom.
Part of you is loath to admit that you were inclined to reciprocate Ren’s advances solely in an effort to get over these feelings.
Feelings that came boiling right back to the surface the night after that teary-eyed practice when your phone lit up with a text from the captain.
MEIAN: I’m not going to ask about things you’re not ready to answer.
MEIAN: But if you need help, a hand, or anything, let me know, and I’m there.
MEIAN: No questions asked.
Meian stayed true to his word when you subsequently texted him an address and asked him to bring his pick up truck.
He didn’t dig for details when you swung open the door to your shared apartment with Ren and gestured at the boxes you’d packed.
Truthfully, you didn’t know who else to call.
You didn’t know who else would let you sniffle and struggle your way through it all without prying. Without pushing. Without batting an eye when you asked if he could grab things from the closet you couldn’t bear to look back into again.
Without asking for all of the sordid details of your fiancé’s affair that still find you dry heaving in the bathroom most nights.
You didn’t have much, the apartment and furniture was Ren’s to begin with.
He helped you move across town back to your parents place with the promise that he’d help again when you found an apartment.
“I’m not ready to talk about it yet,” you exhale, and Meian nods in understanding as you smooth your fingertips down the skirt of your dress. “But when I am…”
He waits patiently as you trail off, eyes offering a comfort that’s always been there, that feels like a balm now against the frayed edges of your rattled nerves.
“...I’d like to tell you,” you finish, nervously pinching the material’s hem.
Meian smiles. “I’ll be here.”
And it’s then that you feel something light hit your head, and you glance around to find a plastic sprig of mistletoe rolling away on the floor.
“Really?” you choke out a weak laugh.
You don’t immediately look up at Meian. Because while it feels almost childish, the back of your neck burns anyway with the implication behind the silly tradition.
It wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve found yourself wondering what his lips would feel like against your own. Wondering if he’d cup the back of your head or stroke your jaw. If he’d part the seam of your lips with his tongue and run his thumb against your chin as you melt into his touch.
Wondering what it would feel like to jump into his arms after a win, to wrap your legs around his waist, to drag your fingers through his sweaty, messy hair and laugh in a mess of tongue and teeth as someone tells you both to get a room while he presses you up against a wall—
You’re tugged away from that train of thought by the feeling of Meian’s large hand taking your own, and your eyes go wide as he lifts your knuckles to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to them.
“Rules are rules,” he shrugs, offering you a lopsided grin that has no right being that handsome under the multi-colored glow of string lights that adorns the living room.
Overcome by a fleeting surge of confidence as your heart flutters wildly in your chest, your fingers find a home curled in the collar of Meian’s button-down shirt before you can think better of it.
“Captain, I thought you followed rules to a T,” you tease in a voice that feels almost foreign on your lips.
But you’re too caught up in the moment to second guess yourself.
Meian leans in as you tug him closer, and you sway a little, steadied only by his hand as it comes to rest against your waist. Gently, featherlight—as if he’s still waiting for you to change your mind.
He quietly says, “You’re the manager here, maybe I need a refresher.”
His breath is hot as it curls against your lips in the scant space left between your faces.
Your mouth brushes against his, and you can feel him smile against your lips.
“Like this?” he murmurs, fingers curling and pressing the fabric of your dress.
“Yes,” you breathe out, and Meian’s other hand slides to the back of your head as he kisses you.
sae itoshi x f!reader | slight(?) language | kissing
wc: 1.3k
it was never your intention to kiss the sae itoshi.
it was supposed to be a fun one-week vacation for you in madrid. but circumstances happened and changed when you accidentally met your ex. now, the fun you’re supposedly going to have turned into an unbearable nightmare of trying to run away from his obnoxious ass. you have no intentions of talking or making peace with him especially when the reason for your falling apart was because of a cheating incident a few months ago. many people would know that you give zero fucks about cheating, including him, so when he asked you to get back to him, you scoffed the life out of you and thought he was kidding. and now, you are kissing the most famous sae itoshi in re al’s home stadium, right after their big game against fc barcha, in front of all the cameras, even probably in all spain or even in front of the whole world.
you first met sae on a flight going to Madrid. it was a very rare occasion for you to get upgraded to business class, so when the flight attendant asked you if you wanted to move to a business class seat, you didn’t have to think twice and said yes. you were seated next to the magenta-haired man with weird hair physics who was wearing a black sleeping mask while an ongoing football game was playing on his big screen. before, you didn't know who sae itoshi was. sure, you've heard about his name, and how he is japan's greatest treasure, but it has never occurred to you to know more about him. you didn't know what he looked like or whatever. all you know was that he is, apparently, good at playing football and that he plays in a professional football league in spain.
so when you saw him play, you couldn’t believe your eyes. the man from the plane was the same man your coworkers were crazy about. and when he struck a breathtaking goal that opened the door for re al’s victory near the end of the game, and everyone was rejoicing in re al’s home stadium, you couldn’t help but also join the crowd. hell, you didn’t even know what was going on. when they started chanting his name, you saw him waving his hand up, hyping the crowd to make the chanting louder. there’s a burning passion in his teal eyes as he continues to hype up the people and as his teammates give him a supportive slap on his back.
it was a fleeting moment of exhilarating joy especially when you realized that your ex was just sitting behind you. you don’t even know why he was there right now. as far as you know, your ex never really cared about football, like you before, so you were confused about why would he be there. when you started walking away from your seat, you heard him call your name but you pretended you didn’t hear. he kept calling your name, it was getting annoying. you thought you were clear before that you would never ever give second chances to someone who messed up, especially when the issue was infidelity. when you reach the entrance to the tunnel, you finally face him.
“i do not give a fuck if you want to explain. you cheated, saw it with my own eyes, and that was enough for me. we’re done. now if you could please stop calling my name, there’s someone waiting for me,” you said, with annoyance traced in your voice with every word you spat. you don’t really know who would be that someone waiting for you, all you wanted was to escape from his obnoxious and ridiculous begging. you turned your back again, but this time you felt his hand, grabbing your wrist.
“can you please let go?” you asked. you tried to be polite and civil but it seems like he’s been pushing his limits already.
“please, here me out fi—”
“what’s going on here?” you both look at the owner of the voice and for some reason, you sense a relief in your veins. you removed your ex’s hand from your wrist and gingerly approached sae itoshi. he looks so much better up close with those teal eyes, intently looking at yours, deciphering what’s going on in your head with the way you look at him. he may or may not remember you because you barely interact during that flight except when he lends you his moisturizer because you forgot to bring it. it also looks like he just finished his interview since the cameras are still following him. you’re fucked, you thought. they’re still probably airing and other people may be witnessing what is about to happen.
“sae…i was just about to find you!” you said with a forced smile on your face. you continued approaching him and stopped when you are just one step away from him.
you prayed a million times of sorries in your head before you went ahead and held the side of his face, tiptoeing, before placing your lips against his. you heard audible gasps from the people, a lot of camera clicks, and a bunch of ‘oh my gods,’ when you kissed him. it was usually a normal sight for them to see a football player kiss their significant other but sae itoshi was different. he doesn’t have any dating rumors and has never been linked to anyone so it’s a surprise to other people to see him kiss someone—or rather to see someone kiss him—out in the open like this. he was unmoved when you kissed him and all you could think of was, ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ and was ready to pull away but you felt his hand on the small of your back and started responding to your kiss.
your head was spinning and spinning, your thoughts were incoherent, and for a moment, it felt like the world had gone still and silent. his lips were soft against yours and you’d be lying if you thought it wasn’t slightly addicting. you felt him pull away for a second, shifting his head’s angle before diving in again with his lips with renewed intensity. his kisses tasted like mint and strawberries, probably from the electrolyte drink he was drinking before. you felt his hand on your hips as your hand traveled to his slightly damped hair.
someone cleared their throat and pulled you both in reality. you quickly pulled away but stood close, not wanting to see what was waiting around you. and then a flash of light came flashing in and your heart suddenly felt like it was going to explode. he was quick you block most of your face with his hand on the second wave of flashing before making his body as your shield from all the camera shots. he took off his jacket before putting it around your shoulders, gesturing to his manager to accompany you out of the pitch and into the locker room. before you can fully exit the pitch, you look back and see him approach your ex, muttering some words. you’re not good at reading lips but you could’ve sworn he said something along the lines of, ‘…my girl.’
•••
the whole stadium was in chaos, but sae itoshi didn’t care. when you were already far enough to not hear the words he’s about to say, he made his way to your ex’s.
“please stop bothering my girl. i’m only going to ask once,” he said before leaving the pitch.
when he got to the locker room you were in, waiting, he closed the door and stood in front of you.
“i’m sorry—”
“i don’t need apologies. i need explanations,” he said, cutting you off.
haii, can i request oliver aiku angst/comfort fic? i need this man😖
i hate aiku with my entire life so im not the best at writing him but here u go! ive also never written angst before sooo...i hope its not terrible
It started small, like most arguments do.
“I don’t understand why you can’t even text back,” you said, crossing your arms as you stood in the middle of Oliver’s apartment. “It’s not like I’m asking for hours of your time—just a text. Something.”
He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes telling the story of too many late nights and early mornings. “I told you, I’ve been busy,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.
“Busy?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly. “You always say that, Oliver. But I’m starting to wonder if you’re too busy for this—for us.”
At that, his jaw tightened, and he finally looked at you. His dark eyes, usually so warm, were hard, unreadable. “Maybe I am.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What?”
He exhaled sharply, his hands falling to his sides. “I don’t have the time, alright? Between practice, games, traveling, interviews… I barely have time to sleep, let alone keep up with everything you expect from me.”
You took a step back, his words cutting deeper than you’d anticipated. “Everything I expect from you? All I’ve ever wanted is for you to show me that I matter. That we matter.”
“I’m trying!” he snapped, his voice louder than you’d ever heard it. “But it’s not enough, is it? Nothing I do is ever enough for you!”
You flinched, his anger leaving you momentarily speechless.
He ran a hand over his face, frustration etched into every line. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less sharp. “And maybe… maybe this isn’t working. Maybe we aren’t working.”
Your heart dropped. “You’re seriously saying that right now?”
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t keep pretending I can balance everything when I can’t. I don’t have the time, and it’s not fair to you.”
“Not fair to me?” you echoed, your voice trembling. “So, what? Your solution is to just… give up?”
His silence was answer enough.
You stared at him, waiting—hoping—for him to take it back, to say something that would make this all make sense. But he didn’t. He just stood there, his arms limp at his sides, his face an unreadable mask.
“Fine,” you said, your voice cracking. “If that’s how you feel, then I won’t waste any more of your precious time.”
You grabbed your bag and walked out before he could see the tears spilling down your cheeks.
Weeks passed, each one heavier than the last. You told yourself you were moving on, but the ghost of Oliver lingered in everything you did. The empty side of the bed, the late-night silence that replaced his voice, the way your heart ached whenever you heard his name.
But what you didn’t know was that Oliver was struggling too.
At first, he thought he’d made the right decision. Breaking things off would give him the space to focus on his career, to get his life in order. But the silence of his apartment quickly became unbearable. The things he once found comfort in—soccer, his teammates, the rush of a goal—felt hollow without you to share them with.
He missed the way you smiled when he walked through the door, the way you teased him after a game, the way you made his chaotic life feel just a little more grounded.
One night, he sat alone on the couch, staring at the empty spot where you used to curl up beside him. The realization hit him like a freight train: he’d pushed away the best thing in his life because he was scared of failing you.
And now, he was failing himself.
The next day, he showed up at your door.
You opened it hesitantly, your heart pounding at the sight of him. He looked different—his hair disheveled, his usual confidence replaced by something raw, almost vulnerable.
“Oliver?” you said, your voice cautious.
“Hey,” he said softly, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. His dark eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he just stood there, as if he didn’t know where to start. “I… I messed up.”
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms defensively. “Yeah, I think we established that.”
He winced but nodded. “I know. And I’ve been thinking about it every day since you walked out that door.” He hesitated, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “I was wrong, alright? About everything. I thought letting you go would make things easier, but it didn’t. It just made me realize how much I need you.”
“Oliver…”
“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry for what I said, for how I made you feel. You deserve better than that. And I don’t care how busy I am—I’ll make time for you. For us. Just… please, give me another chance.”
You stared at him, your heart warring with your head. Part of you wanted to slam the door, to make him feel the same hurt you’d felt. But the other part—the part that still loved him—could see the sincerity in his eyes.
“You really hurt me, Oliver,” you said quietly, your voice cracking.
“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, you sighed, your shoulders sagging. “You can come in. We can talk.”
Relief washed over his face, and for the first time in weeks, you saw a glimmer of the man you’d fallen in love with.
any thoughts on which blue lock men would absolutely be one of the best fathers out there? <33
ﾟ+* ꔫ — 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 + 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒
content: fluff. f!reader. marriage. mentions of pregnancy, child birth. an: sobbing they are all such sweet dads nonnie it was so hard to choose </3 gave us four best dads in no particular order because i could not rank them if i tried.
featuring: kunigami rensuke, mikage reo, isagi yoichi, oliver aiku.
° 𐐒𐐚 . kunigami rensuke!
he's a caring father. a little over protective, and a little confused — but he works hard to be a good husband and a good father to your kids, and that makes him perfect<3
he's the perfect man to have as your husband & as the father of your kids. chivalrous, a total sweetheart, doesn't get swayed easily, somewhat stubborn and oh, so loving. he's patient and caring and always available during your pregnancy, and he remains steadfast with those traits when the kids do get here.
he's way more into planning the baby's rooms than you are, honestly. stresses so much over the little details — wallpapers, curtains, sheets and number of pillows, exact furniture placements, everything.
he drives your baby girl and boy to school every single day, steals your duty of fixing their bentos for them, loves braiding your little girl's hair, and cries ("rensuke, are you crying?" "n—no, i'm just feeling a little emotional, a'right?") about how one day they'll be all grown up and people of their own.
none of the blue lock men EVER miss a sports meet, that's for sure — but kunigami? he helped the school arrange it. none of those boring lemon-on-a-spoon games. he pushes the school to replace the regular games with football related ones. a dribble race. the baton in the baton relay is replaced by a football.
one teacher makes the mistake of telling him "but sir, these are football games. what about the girls?" he gave them a whole lecture on how little girls can play and be interested in football just as much as little boys.
his enthusiasm is masked by his gruff exterior, and often it's just you that's left to placate him when your baby girl and boy get tired of listening to their dad explaining football rules and positions to them over and over again.
"rensuke," you hum, walking over to share the seat with him when he flops onto the sofa in defeat. "don't look so down, honey. they're only five and six years old. they just don't have the attention span."
"just wish i knew more ways to spend time with them." he confesses, running a hand through the spikes of his orange hair. "football's all i cared for when i was a kid, y'know? so i'm not sure what else to do."
he's so sweet :( and he feels better right away too, when you kiss his forehead and tell him he could take them to the aquarium next weekend. "they've been dying to go see the penguins."
"really?" he mutters, that contemplative frown that you've gotten so used to seeing and fallen in love with creasing his brows. "hmm, i'll see if i can take the day off."
° 𐐒𐐚 . mikage reo!
he's the fun dad. the life of the party even in the family. he starts off a little rocky, but after that he's so very supportive, lifting his son up into the light and paving the way for his future with everything he's got.
reo didn't have exactly the best relationship with his parents. it was great when he was a kid, but as he grew up and became a man of his own, his dreams and the dreams his parents set for him became obviously separated from eachother — which ended with him getting estranged from them himself.
which might lead one to believe that he would avoid doing that with his own child at all costs — but for reo, it was a shock at first when he realized his son had no interest in football.
"he's into art." you stroke his hair, letting him lay in your lap and mourn the loss of his personal father/son dreams. "he wants to paint, baby. look at him. only five years old and he's already so good at it."
"maybe he'll get bored of it in a few years." reo muses, rolling over in your lap to press his face into your stomach. "maybe he'll get into football later."
"reo." you say his name sternly. "don't push your own dreams onto your son." it's a simple reprimand, but it hits reo hard. he fixes his mindset instantly after that.
he's ready to bribe Tokyo's best art schools to let his son enroll in — but with the amount of top quality supplies, world class teachers and expensive classes reo has made available for his little artist son, he gets in without a hitch.
he takes so much pride and joy in knowing that his son is an art prodigy — showers him with gifts and praise, takes front row seats at every award ceremony, takes him out on celebratory dinners, and he pays for everything.
he'd also find it incredibly funny to buy his son art-related gag gifts, pretending he's innocent and doesn't realize what he's doing. "mom, can you tell dad to quit buying me the cheesy aprons." your son complains to you, showing you the OOPS! DRANK FROM MY PAINT CUP AGAIN! apron that reo had bought him online.
you don't tell reo to quit, though. you're just glad your husband has a happy, healthy relationship with his son.
° 𐐒𐐚 . isagi yoichi!
he serves as the closest and wisest mentor for his kids. he's a little nervous about his duties sometimes, but any time his children need someone to lean on, he's there. and he's there for you, too.
isagi knows what it's like to be average. he knows what it's like to dream. and he also knows what it's like to work hard, hone himself and make those dreams come true.
when the doctor tells you both that you're going to have a child — and when the doctor confirms that it's a boy — the first thing isagi does, is teach himself that your child is going to be a separate person from him, that will have separate interests and dreams of his own.
he's fully prepared to love and support his son in every way, no matter how alike or different he turns out to be from isagi himself. takes a lot of time off for you, especially during the later months of your pregnancy. he's so antsy too, always half-awake and jerking up every time you cough or mutter in your sleep.
checks on you so many times throughout the night that it gets in the way of your sleep and irritates the fuck out of you. he's just doing his best :(
and when the baby gets here, he's so on board with making sure you get enough rest and continue to get enough to eat.
scoops your baby boy up from your arms as soon as he's done feeding and takes him to the living room, telling you to make yourself comfortable in bed and take a nap. hours later, you wake up and head downstairs to see him sitting on the sofa, dozing off with the baby swaddled in his arms.
gets super nervous at parent meets but he attends each one. listens carefully to the teachers' feedback and scolds his son as due — but so gently, in such a reassuring tone that it's impossible to throw a tantrum or get upset with him. he's a real nice dad <3
and he's so lucky both his sons (because you get another little boy two years after the first) are into football. he coaches the school teams sometimes, coming over to give pep talks and offer tips before important games.
tells his boys to stay humble no matter what the outcome, but secretly takes so much pride with each goal they score<3
° 𐐒𐐚 . oliver aiku!
he's his daughter's daddy. his happiness comes in tow with yours and your daughter's happiness. you're both the lights of his life. people say oliver was tamed when he met you — and softened when you both had your little girl. and in a way, it's true.
(dilf dilf dilf dilf) loved showing you off when you were pregnant, and he loves showing of his baby girl to literally the whole world. buys you and your daughter the prettiest matching dresses, and brings you along to every event he attends.
"meet my girls," he says, shaking the host's hand firmly, giving the man a proud smirk as he puts an arm around your waist and brings you closer. "this is my wife, and our daughter."
"everyone knows, oliver." you roll your eyes, picking your daughter up and pressing her to your chest. she clutches the neck of your dress and buries her little head into your neck, tired already of the crowd, the noise and the flashing lights. "what do they know?" he grins, pinching your cheek in response to your eye-roll.
"that i'm your wife and she's our kid." you answer, letting him lead you to the seats reserved for the aikus. "i'm sure you've introduced us at least five times already. they'd know — if the news about our wedding and our baby weren't enough."
"hey, but isn't it fun?" he leans in and kisses your cheek — you just know people are snapping up pictures. tomorrow morning, your friends will send you the latest headlines: mr. oliver aiku is such a romantic!
"hmph," you huff, because it's true, he is a romantic. a show off, but a romantic one nonetheless.
spoils your daughter thoroughly — buying her dolls, pretty clothes, the trendiest school bags, cute shoes, whatever she asks for. and he always pulls up at the school gates in his most expensive car when it's time to pick your daughter up from school.
"you're gonna give her a big head if you keep spoiling her like that, oliver." you sigh, when he comes home with yet another dollhouse set for her. "she's my little princess." he shrugs, smiling nonchalantly as you cross your arms over your chest. "and a little ego never hurt anyone — mhm?"
walking over to you, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, whispering in your ear, "and it's not like i spoil you any less, is it?"
crying at the thought of second chance romance w osamu bc half the battle is winning back osamu’s heart. the other half is restoring atsumu’s lost trust. and that’s even worse
omg if we’re sharing tobio thoughts… what r opinions on being tobios first and last… it’s one of my favorite tropes (?) to think abt with him… awkward flop boyfie who just gets obsessed and absolutely smitten with you to the point that its a little concerning but he cant imagine a life without you anymore…
you kiss tobio for the first time during a test of courage in high school, alone in the woods at night, on your third year class trip.
you really don't think anything will come of it. it's all very spur of the moment—throwing caution to the wind, what with graduation just around the corner, because you don't have anything left to lose or expectations that can be let down. sure you've had a crush on him for a long time, but this is kageyama—you fully expect him to outrightly reject you, or simply act like nothing even happened.
but he doesn't.
you turn the flashlight he's holding off, and he stops walking, confused as to why you'd do that. then he just goes very still, frozen as your lips brush against his in the dark. after a barely a heartbeat has passed you move to step away from him, but before you can, he grabs your hand to stop you—more out of instinct than anything. you reach over and turn the flashlight on again, and in the dim light it provides you can see how terribly pink his cheeks have gone. the perplexed little pout. the way his eyes are fixated on your lips.
"did you mean to do that?" he asks—a little guarded, the question slightly mumbled through the purse of his mouth.
and this is your out. you can apologize, and say it was an accident, and he'd probably leave it at that. this could be the tidy, easy end to the one=sided love story of your youth.
but you don't.
"yes," you say, your answer surprisingly even in spite of how wretchedly meek you feel under his gaze.
"do you..." he seems to grapple with himself a bit, pulling faces like he's arguing with himself internally to make sure the words he chooses are the right ones. you've never seen him care this much about expressing himself. never seen him try so hard with anything that isn't volleyball. "... like.... me?"
"is it alright to like you, kageyama-kun?"
he doesn't have to think about his answer to that question for quite as long, and there's something so quintessentially tobio about his reply.
"if you want."
after many years, and even more kisses are shared between the two of you, tobio asks you to marry him in his simple, tobio way. he doesn't fight to find the words like he did during the test of courage, but his cheeks are pink like they were back then, your heart races in your chest the same way it did in the dark, and (with a breathy, watery laugh) your reply is an echo of the words he said to you that night in the woods all those years ago.
both then and now, there's nothing either of you could ever want more.
red string soulmate au where rin makes the choice to get his severed. it's expensive. permanent. but he's too focused on his goals. on taking his revenge against sae.
his soulmate is a distraction he doesn't want. he doesn't think twice about it.
until he walks in the room where it will be cut, and the person waiting for him there is you.
oh suguru adores it when you call him by his name... don't get me wrong he likes it whenever you call him 'baby' or 'my love' etcetc too but his own name spilling from your lips is like music to his ears.
when your voice is all raspy in the morning as you call for him from the bed, when you can't open a jar and you whine for him to come and help you. when your face is tucked into the crook of his neck and your lips brush against his skin as you mumble out his name in an attempt of convincing him to carry you to the bedroom himself – he will come and find you under the covers and he will come and open the jar for you and he will hold you to his chest and carry you into the bedroom. it makes him feel so good, when you need him.
when his name is the only thing on the tip of your tongue, the image of him the only one circling inside your head. when he's the one you seek out in every scenario. he fucking loves it.
