rules
futakuchi kenji x student council president!f!reader
futakuchi using your power as the student council president for his romantic actions. wc: 2.6k, request
it was common knowledge at date tech that if you wanted to survive the lockers during a passing period, you needed to duck. specifically, you needed to duck whenever the giant, smirking menace known as futakuchi kenji was leaning against them, because his limbs were approximately seven miles long and he had absolutely zero respect for personal space.
well, zero respect for almost everyone’s personal space.
“y/n said i could have the last melon bread from the cafeteria,” futakuchi announced to the crowded hallway, his voice carrying with the effortless, grating confidence of a man who knew exactly how to push everyone’s buttons. he was currently dangling a poor, trembling first-year by the back of his blazer—not aggressively, just enough to hoist him out of the lunch queue. “it’s a matter of student council policy. national security, really. she was very specific about it.”
you, standing exactly three feet behind him with a stack of club budget reports pressed to your chest, blinked slowly. the absolute audacity of this man was a physical weight in the air.
“kenji,” you said, your voice flat but carrying that distinct, tired authority that only student council presidents possessed. “i did not say that. in fact, i haven’t spoken to you since yesterday when you tried to convince me that the volleyball club needed a budget increase specifically for ‘industrial-grade hair gel.’”
futakuchi didn’t even flinch. he didn’t drop the first-year either, though he did loosen his grip slightly. instead, he turned his head slowly, flashing you a smile so bright and utterly shameles that it probably could have powered the entire school’s electrical grid for a week. it was a gorgeous smile, which was the worst part. his eyes, usually heavy-lidded and brimming with pure, unadulterated mischief, crinkled at the corners in a way that made your stomach do a stupid little flip that you fiercely ignored.
“wow,” he said, his hand flying to his chest in a display of theatrical agony that would have made a drama club captain weep. “gaslighting me in public. in front of the children, y/n? after everything we’ve been through? my heart is practically in ribbons on this linoleum.”
the first-year scrambled away the second futakuchi’s fingers relaxed. you sighed, shifting the heavy folders in your arms. “we haven’t ‘been through’ anything except me denying your request to replace the school bell with a recording of you laughing.”
“it would boost morale!” he insisted, immediately closing the distance between you. he didn’t just walk over; he sort of looms-slouched, bending his massive frame down so he could look directly into your eyes. he smelled like clean laundry and a faint hint of peppermint gum, a combination that was infuriatingly pleasant. “the student body is depressed. my laughter is a tonic. a cure-all. and you told me at 8:15 this morning that you’d consider it. right after you said i looked exceptionally handsome in this cardigan.”
“you aren’t wearing a cardigan, kenji. that’s a school blazer. and i was in a finance meeting at 8:15.”
“details, details,” he waved a hand dismissively, his fingers brushing against the edge of your papers. “the point is, your mouth said ‘no’ but your pupils said ‘kenji, you are the sun around which my little planetary heart orbits.’ i’m just translating for the public.”
you couldn’t help it. a tiny, breathless laugh escaped your nose, and the effect it had on him was instantaneous and terrifying.
futakuchi’s entire demeanor shifted. the mock-arrogance evaporated, replaced by a look of such raw, unvarnished adoration that it felt illegal to witness in a public hallway. his pupils actually dilated. if he had tail, it would be knocking over fire extinguishers. he looked at you the way a starving Victorian orphan would look at a loaf of freshly baked sourdough.
“there it is,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave into something dangerous and soft. “the laugh that keeps my blood pumping. do it again. i’ll give the first-year his bread back. i’ll give him my own bread. i’ll buy him a bakery.”
“go to class, kenji,” you murmured, your cheeks heating up despite your best efforts to remain a stoic pillar of student democracy.
“only if you promise to let me carry those heavy-ass folders after school,” he countered, leaning in just a fraction closer. a lock of his brown hair fell over his forehead, and it took every ounce of your self-control not to reach up and brush it back. “y/n said i’m the official student council pack mule. it’s the law.”
“i never said that.”
“there you go again,” he sighed, though his eyes were dancing with pure, liquid joy. “erasing our shared history. it’s a tragedy, really. a cinematic heartbreak.”
the “y/n said so” rule quickly escalated from a mild annoyance to a full-blown school-wide religion.
futakuchi was smart. he didn’t use your name to get out of trouble with teachers—he wasn’t that stupid, and he genuinely respected your position too much to actually get you in hot water. instead, he used your name to justify the most absurd, self-serving, and wildly romantic nonsense imaginable.
𓏵
on tuesday, he took up an entire table in the library, sprawling his long legs across three chairs. when the librarian shushed him and told him to move, he solemnly claimed that you had prescribed him “aggressive leg-stretching therapy” to cure a sudden and life-threatening cramp, and that you had personally designated that specific table as a medical zone.
when you marched into the library after hearing the rumors, ready to scold him, you found him actually studying. or, rather, attempting to study while drawing little caricatures of you in the margins of his notebook.
“my leg is failing me, president,” he whined the moment you appeared at his side. he didn’t even look up from his drawing, where he was currently giving your cartoon self a tiny crown. “the doctor—you—said i need to keep it elevated. are you going to revoke my medical leave? in front of all these books? the literature will weep.”
“get your feet off the chairs, you giant menace,” you whispered, though you pulled out the chair next to him and sat down anyway.
he immediately complied, swinging his legs down with a speed that defied physics just so he could scoot his chair close enough that your shoulders touched. the contact sent a jolt of static electricity through your blazer, or maybe that was just your nervous system losing its absolute mind.
“i knew you’d come check on your favorite patient,” he hummed, leaning his head sideways until it was resting on your shoulder. he was heavy, but you didn’t push him away. his hair was soft against your neck, tickling your skin. “did you bring the medicine? and by medicine, i mean the sweet, sweet sound of you telling me i’m doing a good job with these quadratic equations.”
“you haven’t even started the quadratic equations, kenji. you’ve just drawn me with a cape.”
“it’s a power cape,” he mumble-spoke against your blazer, his breath warm through the fabric. “because you hold the leash to my entire soul. that’s very powerful of you. highly commendable.”
you felt a genuine, ridiculous bubble of warmth expand in your chest. it was impossible to be truly annoyed with him when he said things like that with such complete, unironic sincerity. he didn’t sound like he was mocking you. he sounded like he was stating a fundamental law of the universe. gravity exists, the earth is round, and futakuchi kenji belongs to you.
“you are so dramatic,” you breathed, turning a page in your own textbook to hide the smile stretching across your face.
“i am a man possessed by a vision of a future where you finally stop fighting destiny and go to the spring festival with me,” he said, his voice muffled by your shoulder. “y/n said i’m allowed to take her. she signed a permit. it was on pink paper. very official.”
“i did no such thing.”
“the gaslighting!” he gasped, lifting his head to look at you with wide, betrayed eyes. “it never ends! i am a victim of the system!”
𓏵
by friday, the entire volleyball team had become accomplices to his madness.
you walked into the gym to deliver the approved schedule for the upcoming practice matches, only to find the entire squad standing in a neat line. aone was at the end, looking politely neutral as always, while the others were grinning like sharks.
futakuchi was in the center, spinning a volleyball on his finger, looking like he had just won the lottery.
“ah, the commander-in-chief arrives,” futakuchi crooned, letting the ball bounce off his palm and catching it against his hip. “perfect timing. we were just discussing the new dress code you implemented.”
you stopped dead in your tracks, eyebrows shooting toward your hairline. “the what?”
“the rule where the captain gets to receive a high-five and a forehead kiss after every successful block,” moniwa piped up from the sidelines, looking halfway between amused and deeply apologetic for his successor’s behavior. “he says it’s for... aerodynamic efficiency?” he looks like he regrets visiting practice.
“aerodynamics are crucial in high-level sports,” futakuchi said with a completely straight face. “and since the president is the ultimate authority on efficiency, she gave it the green light. didn’t you, my beloved leader?”
you stared at him. he was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his eyes shining with a frantic, eager energy that made him look less like a cocky athlete and more like a massive puppy waiting for a treat. he was so completely transparent about how much he wanted your attention that it was honestly a little bit overwhelming. it was like standing too close to a furnace.
“moniwa,” you said, looking past the smirking captain. “please tell me you don’t actually believe him.”
“oh, we don’t,” moniwa laughed, waving a hand. “but he refuses to practice unless we play along. he said his motivation is tied directly to the public acknowledgement of your shared ‘pact.’”
“it’s not a pact!” you turned back to futakuchi, who had now drifted closer, his large frame blocking the rest of the team from your view. “kenji, you can’t keep inventing school board mandates just to harass me.”
“harass? i am showering you with the highest honors a peasant can bestow upon his queen,” he countered, dropping the volleyball and taking a step into your personal space. his hands came up, hovering just an inch away from your waist, as if he desperately wanted to touch you but was holding himself back by sheer force of will. “and i’m not inventing them. i’m manifesting them. there’s a difference. it’s spiritual.”
“you are a menace to society.”
“and you,” he said, his voice dropping to that melt-your-bones register again, “are the only reason i haven’t burned this school to the ground out of sheer boredom. look at me, y/n. i’m a changed man. i haven’t insulted a single rival captain in at least forty-eight hours—yes yes, we didn’t have a game for the last forty-eight hours, but who’s counting? not me—all because i want to make you proud. that has to be worth at least one pity date.”
you looked at him. his hair was damp from practice, a few stray curls sticking to his temples. his cheeks were flushed, and his chest was heaving slightly from the exertion of drills. but more than that, his eyes were fixed on yours with a fierce, burning intensity that made everything else in the gym fade into white noise.
he was pleading. behind all the snark and the ridiculous claims of gaslighting lay a boy who was so utterly, desperately crazy about you that he was willing to make a complete fool of himself in front of his peers just to get you to look at him a little bit longer.
it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you, and it was absolutely terrifying in its sincerity.
“it wouldn’t be a pity date,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could fully process them.
futakuchi froze. the smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his face vanished in an instant, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated shock. his hands, which had been hovering near your waist, actually twitched.
“what?” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.
“i said it wouldn’t be a pity date,” you repeated, feeling a surge of bravery that definitely didn’t belong to a measured student council president. you reached out and gently took hold of his damp gym shirt, tugging him down just enough that he had to bend to your level. “if you want to take me to the spring festival, kenji, all you have to do is ask me like a normal human being. you don’t need to forge a decree from the student council.”
for the first time in his entire life, futakuchi kenji was speechless. his mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. a bright, furious shade of crimson painted his neck and flooded his face, stretching all the way to the tips of his ears. it was a glorious sight.
“i—” he gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing violently. “y/n. president. light of my life. ruler of my heart.”
“kenji.”
“will you please let me take you to the festival?” he asked, and for once, there wasn’t a single trace of mockery or sarcasm in his voice. it was raw and breathless and so sweet it made your teeth ache. “and maybe also let me hold your hand? and buy you those ridiculous giant candied apples? and tell everyone that you’re the best thing that ever happened to this miserable, grey school?”
you smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached your eyes, and letting go of his shirt, your hand slid up to cup his jaw. his skin was warm, and he leaned into your touch instantly, closing his eyes like a cat basking in the sun.
“yes,” you said quietly. “i think the student council can approve that.”
he didn’t cheer. he didn’t gloat to his team. instead, he let out a long, shaky breath and folded himself forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his large arms came around you, locking at your waist and pulling you flush against his chest in a hug so tight it nearly squeezed the oxygen right out of your lungs. he was shaking just a little bit.
“wow,” he mumbled into your collarbone, his voice thick with emotion. “she didn’t reject me. she actually likes me. moniwa, write this down. mark the calendar. this is the greatest day in human history.”
“get back to practice, futakuchi!” moniwa yelled from across the gym, though he was smiling.
futakuchi didn’t let go. if anything, he squeezed you tighter, resting his chin on your shoulder and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck that sent shivers racing down your spine.
“y/n said i can stay right here for the next twenty years,” he announced to the gym, his smugness returning at full force now that the panic had subsided. “it’s a new school regulation. direct order from the top. anyone who tries to pull us apart is committing treason.”
you rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his broad back and hugging him right back. “i definitely didn’t say that.”
“there she goes again,” he sighed happily, nuzzling your cheek. “the gaslighting is just endless. but god, i love it when you take charge.”
n: futakuchi’s so fine but i still want to strangle him sometimes.
kenji’s taglist
@cvntyandfasionable @averys-place @anzuuhoshi @rabbitcola @forgottensniper @katzline @michexoxo @han0vyc @depressinglyobsessed @ghostwifeyy @crystal-lilac @wensurr @suha-reads @olliesoxenfree @fiannee @eri0-0 @lazyruinsperson @sh0dor1 @palanggaaa @kuroofangirl67 @n1koolya @jjunnixzz @misasprout @estelleythegreat @thelittleshinybubble @oikawashairline @thebrokeperson101 @nigelology @shugochar
© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !
iloveu
