hiiii! i just wanted to say first of all that i love your writing ur so talented!!
i wanted to request hange who’s a huuuge tease during sex, like she stops just as you’re about to cum to “study your reaction” while she has a huge shit eating grin on her face.
thanks a lot!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
"For science?" - Hange Zoe
Summary : Hange is absolutely wrecking you, and claims that it's all just for science!
Content : Finger fucking, female Hange, denied orgasm, teasing
It started out pure. You were sitting in Hange's office, half-asleep while she examined a piece of titan hardening. It was late, probably near 2 in the morning.
"Dear, do you think you could help me?" Hange's voice rang out, jolting you awake. You stood up, stretched, and walked over to her desk.
"Sure. What do you need?" Hange smiled to herself when she felt your comforting presence next to her. She stood up straight, turning to face you.
"This has nothing to do with the titan hardening. It's simply just something I've been thinking about testing recently." You could see how Hange's eyes lit up the more she talked; it was absolutely adorable. "You see, I think it would be quite beneficial to me if I studied your reactions when we have sex."
Your eyes widened. Hange was always upfront about anything and everything, even the sex life between you two. She had never outwardly spoken about something like this, though.
"It's your decision, of course. I just want to see how you react to certain things, so I know what to and what not to do. You saying that you like something just isn't enough backup. So please, for science?"
Hange waited eagerly for your response. "Of course I'll help you, babe." You answered after a moment; after all, how could you say no? Sweet sex with Hange and she gets to record her finding? It was a win for you both, going both ways.
"Alright! It's a bit late, so why don't you rest up, and we can get to work at midnight tomorrow? Levi hardly ever sleeps but he won't be near this room around then!" Hange was ecstatic. You two had sex in your recreational time, of course, but something about this being "for science" really lit a fire under her.
"That's fine, Hange." You gave her a quick peck on the lips. "Goodnight, I'll see you tomorrow. I love you." You let Hange give you a miss in return before leaving her office.
"Goodnight! I love you too!" She called behind you, sliding down into her chair when the door shut. Her mind was reeling with all the things she could try on you; she put pen to paper right away, writing out a list.
Midnight couldn't come fast enough for you or Hange. Knowing looks were passed between the two of you throughout the day, and you were all up in your head thinking about what Hange had planned.
At last, you found yourself stepping into her office just slightly past midnight. Hange was sitting down, hands clasped together on the desk in front of her. She perked up when she heard the poor open and shut, eyes starting to gleam when she saw your person walking towards her.
"I've been waiting for what feels like forever!" Hange said excitedly, jumping up and rushing over to you. You let her guide your over to her desk, jumping up to sit on top of it. "I decided that, for tonight, there is only one thing I would like to focus on."
Hange leaned closer to you, hands landing on her desk on either side of your thighs. You blushed, meeting her gaze. "What would that be?" You questioned.
Hange smirked, leaning up closer towards your face. "I'm going to keep that a secret; you'll just have to figure it out as we go." Her hands made their way up your torso, tracing over the buttons of your shirt. "May I?"
You nodded, giving Hange free reign over your body. Her hands were quick to undo each button, eyes immediately falling on your breasts, which were held by your bra. She slid your shirt off and tossed it aside, now reaching behind your back to take your bra off.
Hange undid the clasp, tossing the bra aside as well. She rubbed her thumbs across your hardening nipples, brain stimulated by your breathy whimpers. She pressed down on your nipples next, noticing your whimpers getting louder. She paused, turning to write down her observations.
"Soft noises from rubbing...louder ones produced from pressing." You tilted your head to the side, wishing so desperately that her slender fingers gripping the pen were inside your cunt instead.
"Hange." You hissed, reaching over to nudge her shoulder. She dropped her pen back down onto the paper, standing back up straight.
"Don't worry, my dear. We're almost at the good part." She said, voice a little too calm for the teasing she was about to make you induce.
Hange left your breasts alone for the moment, now helping you shimmy out of your boots and pants. Once those garments were forgotten on the floor, Hange planted her hands firmly on your thighs, spreading them open. She pulled your body forwards to tilt you slightly upwards, giving you a second to place your hands behind you on the desk to hold your postion.
Hange spread your legs a bit wider, leaning down to bring her face close to your cunt, which was thinly covered by your panties. Your arousal was evident on the light gray material, which made Hange internally happy.
"Look at that." She whispered, pressing her thumb to your folds. You gasped, finding yourself whimpering even more as Hange moved her thumb back and forth, the wet patch on your underwear growing with every movement.
Hange would have felt too bad if she left you hanging now to write more observations, so she catalogued your reactions and arousal in her memory.
She slid you out of your underwear next, stepping back to admire your naked frame sitting upon her desk. Hange reclosed the gap between you two, standing directly in your line of sight so all you would be able to focus on was her.
Hange pressed two fingers to your clit, moving them in gentle circles over the sensitive bud. You rolled your hips forwards, right hand reaching to grab Hange's arm.
A small smile crossed her lips, and she then moved her fingers to your hole, only pressing the tip of her pointer into your aching cunt. Groaning, you looked at Hange with pleading eyes; she was nothing short of a tease when getting intimate, and you knew this, so you couldn't really complain about the situation you were currently in.
"Patience, darling." She mewled, voice low. Hange slid the tip of her middle finger into you next, noticing how such a small stretch was already turning you into a mess.
She sunk her fingers deeper into the slickness of your walls, letting you take moment to adjust before starting to slide them in and out in languid motions. Your pussy clenched around her digits, juices coating her fingers as she went deeper into you with each pump.
"Ah, Hange...faster please." You moaned, head dropping down against her left shoulder. Hange abided to your request, speeding up the pace of her fingers just enough to satisfy.
Hange's curious fingers curled inside your cunt, hitting right up against your sweet spot each time she pumped them in and out. The lewd, squelching sounds of your cunt being abused by her filled the room, alongside your loud moans and whimpers.
You clamped around Hange's fingers, a sure sign that you were close. Quietly, you murmured a small "I'm going to cum" into her shoulder. Right before you came undone on her fingers, Hange pulled them from inside you.
You jolted back, eyes blown wide. Your hole clenched around air, empty from where it was previously filled. Hange brought her fingers to her lips, tasting some of your arousal before wiping her hand on a nearby rag.
"Let's see...sweet taste...shock when denied of an orgasm." You scowled, watching as he jotted down some other small observations.
"So that's what you're experimenting with? Seriously, Hange?" You caught her attention, and Hange stood back upright, returning to her position between your legs.
She chuckled. “You volunteered to do this, darling. Now just sit back and let me take care of you.” Hange brought her fingers back to your puffy clit, pressing and circling.
Whining, you let Hange have her way with you, fingers pumping in and out of your dripping cunt without mercy. She always made sure to stop right before you came, the sight of you begging her to make you cum incredibly mind-racing.
You writhed on the table, hips rolling forwards as you tried to grind into Hange’s hand.
“Hange, I’m close! Pl-please- let me- ngh, this time!”
Your pleas fell upon deaf ears. Hange continued to torture your abused pussy, studying closely each time your cunt would clench around nothing.
Her notepad was full of neat writing, you weren’t sure anymore if they were actual observations or if Hange was just bullshitting you. Either way, you continued to give in to her merciless finger fucking.
“You’re so reactive.” She would coo into your ear, watching your thighs tremble with a shit-eating smirk. Small tears rolled down your face, head lolled to the side. You were close to calling it quits.
Leaning in, you tried to find Hange’s lips, desperate for some other touch. She responded with a shell of a kiss, lips barely grazing yours before she pulled back.
“I’m…Hange…” your voice was weak, clit throbbing in sync with the rythme of Hange’s fingers. Convinced begging would get you nowhere, you didn’t finish your sentence.
Hange didn’t pull her fingers from your pussy, but instead paused them, meeting your burnt out, hungry eyes once again.
“You’ve earned your orgasm, dear.”
You sat up straight in a flash, back arching as Hange plunged her fingers back in, her pace faster and harder than it had been this whole night. You were already on the brink of climax.
Hange leaned her face in close, letting you capture her lips and slide your tongue into her mouth. You wouldn’t break the kiss even for air, not until you came.
Your hips jutted forwards into Hange’s fingers once, then twice…
It was like a coil unraveled in your stomach, your orgasm hitting you hard. You cried out into Hange’s mouth, hips grinding downwards while Hange fucked you through your release.
She broke free from your lips once your body had started to settle. Hange stepped back slightly, spreading your pussy lips with two fingers to analyze the mess you had made.
With a satisfied hum, she turned to write some final observations on her notepad. You looked down between your thighs, sticky cum coating your skin and seeping into the wood of Hange’s desk.
“Delicious, as usual.” Hange said softly. Looking up, you noticed the small traces of your cum that remained on her lips. You blushed, reaching out to wipe it off with your thumb.
“Did this further your ‘scientific research’?” You questioned sarcastically. Hange grinned, relieved you still had your usual spark.
“It stopped being for science about halfway through, darling.” She responded, to which you sighed dramatically. Hange placed a hand on your thigh. “Let’s get you cleaned up, alright?”
You nodded, hopping off the desk, your wobbly legs throwing you off balance. Hange covered you, and proceeded to quietly guide you to the bathhouse.
“I think I should help you with your sex science more often.” You whispered, walking tight against Hange. She gasped excitedly, lowering her tone after remembering that others who are still awake might hear. Hange replied with a heartfelt smile:
currently thinking abt: teaching altan how to eat you out (18+)
"Are you sure about this?" You ask, still somewhat worried your boyfriend was just letting your classmates' words get to him.
Altan had overheard his own peers talking about your relationship with him in the communal showers. Something about Do you think Trengsin even knows how to eat somebody out? and Of course not, I'm sad for his girlfriend. You were sure they talked about something way more than that but Altan rather'd not tell you. He still had some pride, of course.
"Yes." Your boyfriend says, quicker than light even.
His cheeks held that flustered red hue on the surface, something you only saw on very specific occasions. Chest heaving. He's been waiting for you the entire week, waiting until it's the weekends to sit you down about it.
He nestles himself in between your legs, calloused hands eagerly trailing at the side of your thighs. He flicks his eyes up, staring into your awaiting ones. Lips laying down soft kisses over your skin.
"I haven't had any… experiences before," Altan begins, diverting his gaze, "but I can learn. I'm a fast learner. An exceptional one, I promise."
You drop your hand to the side of his face, cradling it with a softness he could never get used to. Before you could speak, he beats you to it, tone slightly embarrassed, "I can't promise it'll feel good immediately though. You gotta give me some time, baby."
A soft breath escapes you, chest shaking, "Don't do that," you tell him.
"Do what?"
"Be in between my legs and call me baby." It's your turn to look away, lips slipping in between your teeth as you try to close your legs, though the big blockage that is Altan Trengsin keeps them wide open.
He chuckles. You could feel his breath at your core, through your thick cotton panties, your breath hitching at the thought of his lips on your heat. Your pants were pulled off some time before already, so all he can see now is just one last tiny obstruction before the real thing.
Altan pulls your legs up, bracing you to him in all of your glory. This time, it's him that gets his breath caught. Eyes roving over your clothed center. He licks his lips, instinctively placing a pair of kisses on either side of your inner thighs making you clench on absolutely nothing.
"What do I do first? Tell me." He looks up at you, eyes rounding uncharacteristically so.
"Do what you think is right first," you tell him, voice soft and guiding.
He gives you a smile, nodding his head.
You fully expected him to take off your panties immediately. Hook his fingers at the sides and pull them off without any grand movements, just the mundane way of starting things off.
But this is Altan Trengsin in between your legs now.
Sinegard Academy's golden boy. The student that had every master wanting him to pledge to them. The student who raised every master's expectation on their students.
If he lives to surpass expectations and come out at the very top, you bet that applies to you as well.
So when he suddenly nuzzles his nose into your clothed core, eyes closed, inhaling such a deep breath, exhaling that same breath on the surface of your panties, you were unable to stop your legs from twitching pathetically.
His grip on your thighs tighten. Letting his lips run through your slit, your slick seeping through the fabric. He lets his lips latch onto the fabric, putting out the tip of his tongue to trace the line of your slit, soiling the fabric even more.
Your hands drop to his hair. Altan takes that as a sign to pull away and look at you. His crimson eyes were wide and round, pupils blown out.
"What do I do next?" He asks, voice painfully gruff.
You hoist yourself up on your elbows, chest heaving, lips parted and wet. "Take off my panties. Now. Please."
Like a soldier, he nods. Fingers hooking at the side of your panties, carefully pulling them down your thighs. You help him out by holding your own legs close to your chest, making it easier for him to slip them off your feet.
When he gets the fully off, curious eyes look at the drenched center of your panties. He blinks. Once, twice, before he brings it to his face. Inhaling in your scent in such a deprived way that you feel yourself grow hotter, wetter.
Fuck, you think, He's insane.
He pulls it off his face, "Do I get to keep this?"
"No, obviously. My panties are just enough for a week," you tell him, shaking your head side to side.
"Just don't wear one when we're together then," he gives you a cheeky grin, winking at you. The confidence he'd been missing earlier now making an appearance.
The thought literally has you blushing furiously. Hand coming over your mouth to hide the downright erotic split of your lips, the way your tongue just slips out to lick the dry muscle.
Altan takes your lack of verbal response as a win for him. Positioning his body back down, he keeps his eyes strictly on yours, not letting himself take in the sight of your core. Delaying his own gratification, if you will.
Your eyebrows curl upward, lips frowning, contradicting the downright hungry look on his face.
"What do I do now?" He asks you, again.
He looks hungry but he looks confused at the same time. You can never really tell him.
You swallow your saliva. "Look at me."
"I'm looking at you."
An irritated look comes on your face. One that has Altan chuckling boyishly to himself.
"Look at me, Altan," you try again, wiggling your legs for emphasis.
"I told you, I already am," he answers all the same.
Annoyed, you push your legs apart, revealing yourself for him, "I said look at my cunt."
His eyes darken, jaw tightening as he now tilts his head downwards. The sight before him has his head spinning with delirium.
You're wet. No, not just wet—you were fucking dripping, drenching the thin sheets of his cot, glistening so beautifully for him. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen, anything he'd ever dreamed of.
“What do I do now?” He breathes, mouth apart and ready, voice impatient. He kept his eyes locked on your core, unable to look away.
You don’t answer. Instead, you drop your hand, letting two of your fingers slip through your slit. The pads of your fingers rubbing at the small bundle of nerves, small continuous circles.
“Do you see how wet I am?” You ask, arching your back, letting your tunic bunch near your chest.
Altan nods stiffly. His body moves down even lower until he’s face to face with your cunt. Barely a hair’s width away.
“You’re dripping,” he observes. “Do you feel this way for me?” He looks up at you, memorizing the way your features twitched with each circle of your fingers.
“Yes—for you, all of it,” the heady feeling stirs in your head. Running out of breath as you move your free hand to grab at his hair softly.
“Put your mouth on me. Lick me,” you instruct.
Altan’s control collapses then. He doesn’t just lick you, no, he swallows you whole. Capturing your entire cunt in his mouth, slithering his tongue in between your pussy lips until he reaches your fingers at the top. Then he moves back down, messy, continuous vertical motions that has your gripping his hair tighter. The suppressed squeaks escaping your mouth only fueling him even more.
He’s messy. He’s impatient. He’s running his tongue all over your cunt, tasting any and all you were willing to give him. Loud slurps fill the air, drinking your wetness with the greed of ten men.
He looks at you, watching with such sharp eyes. Testing every surface, trying to find which spot has your lips falling apart weakly.
His eyes shift down to the spot you kept circling, that small pocket at the top of your pussy. He nudges your fingers away with his face, about to explore the area with the tip of his tongue when you press a palm flat onto his forehead.
“Don’t rush it, Altan,” you remind him, relaxing yourself onto your elbows. “We don’t have to rush. You don’t have to prove anything. I feel good… you’re making me feel good.”
A moan from him vibrates against your core, the intensity making your head fall back.
“Teach me more,” he says, pulling away with a glinting sheen over his chin. “I want to please you more.”
❥ 𝓗OW TO BAG A HOT DILF: 5-STEP BEGINNER’S GUIDE !
𝓼ummary: the hot, grumpy dad next door won’t give you the time of day? here’s how to make him fuck you stupid anyway. warning: side effects may include pregnancy.
❥ STEP 1 — commit to the bit (and the bit is wanting him SO bad you’re willing to risk federal charges)
you don’t believe in love at first sight. you’re not that kind of girl.
but lust at first sight?
yeah. that one had you in a chokehold the second you saw him hauling a case of bottled water into his apartment, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a faded black tank top— one that clung to the broad curve of his back like it owed you something. like it knew what it was doing.
he didn’t even look at you. not really. just grunted out a soft “hey” when you passed, voice low and rough like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, and disappeared into the dark crack of his doorway with a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck, muscles flexing under golden skin and black ink.
you’ve been down so fucking bad ever since.
toji fushiguro.
your across-the-hall neighbor. father of one. age: probably late thirties. height: unfair. attitude: uninterested.
the kind of man who walks around the building shirtless at night with a beer in hand, who leaves his door cracked open when he’s working out in the living room, who definitely has a “don’t talk to me” aura and the look of someone who’s been burned by love and never really recovered from it.
and of course, of course, that’s exactly your type.
(but in your defense, it’s not like this came out of nowhere. you’ve always had a thing for older men. it’s the deep voice, the scars, the rough hands and emotional unavailability. it’s the way they look at you like they’ve lived five lives and none of them ended well. also? your dad never called you back after your high school graduation. so. connect the dots.)
it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were just supposed to move in.
fresh start. new city. small apartment, low rent, okay view. the listing said “quiet neighborhood” and you said “sure, whatever” because all you needed was a clean kitchen and decent lighting. you didn’t ask for a brooding, musclebound dilf living directly across the hall like some kind of cruel test of character.
but now?
you’ve memorized the exact time he leaves in the morning. you know which beer he drinks. you know the sound of his shower turning on. you’ve adjusted your hallway appearances to “casually hot girl next door” levels and tried every combination of crop top and pajama shorts known to man.
and the worst part?
he hasn’t made a single move. not one. no smirk. no side-eye. not even the classic “didn’t know girls like you lived around here” line. he’s just… normal. silent. borderline rude. polite only when necessary, otherwise acts like you barely exist.
you wave when you see him— he nods.
you held the elevator door once and he told you, “don’t worry about it,” like he was doing you a favor by taking the stairs.
you’ve walked past him in tight leggings, skimpy pajama shorts, cute little tank tops with no bra underneath, but still, nothing.
not even a flicker of interest. not even a glance.
at first, you thought maybe he wasn’t into it. maybe he had a secret wife. maybe he was— god forbid— celibate.
but then you caught him on the balcony one night. shirtless. sweaty. cigarette between his fingers, hair pushed back, staring off into the distance like he was thinking about his tragic backstory. and when you stepped out to water your plants, leaned just slightly over the railing in your tiniest shorts—
his eyes dropped.
slow. deliberate.
right to your thighs.
then back up to the skyline like nothing happened.
and that’s when you knew.
he’s not blind. he’s just resisting.
which brings you to now.
standing in front of his door like a fucking maniac, heart pounding like you’re about to ring the bell at the gates of horny hell, holding a suspiciously clean, never-before-touched envelope you pulled from the depths of your junk drawer ten minutes ago.
it’s addressed to his unit, obviously.
but it’s been in your apartment the entire time.
because you’re a liar.
and you’re going to get your neighbor’s attention if it kills you.
the door opens faster than you expect. no warning creak, no slow reveal— just a single click and then bam, it’s open, and there he is.
up close. full resolution. shirtless again. grey sweats again. taller than he looked in the hallway. and staring down at you like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re here to sell something or commit a crime.
his hair is messy— fresh out the shower messy, strands curling a little at the ends, pushed back and damp like he towel-dried and gave up halfway. a faint scratch trails down his collarbone. there’s a tattoo peeking from under his left pec. you are not okay.
“…yeah?” he asks, voice still that same low, unbothered gravel. like he was just in the middle of something. like you interrupted him.
you blink once. then twice. and hand him the envelope as if it’s some kind of peace offering.
“this was in my mailbox,” you say, a little too fast. “but it’s for your unit.”
he glances down. doesn’t take it yet. his brow furrows.
“…you live in 402, right?”
your heart drops. you manage a nod. “yeah.”
he looks back at the envelope, then back at you, and cocks his head a little. “this says 404.”
“right,” you nod again, smiling like a liar. “which is your unit.”
there’s a pause. a long one.
toji squints slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or suspicious. then— finally— he sighs, takes the envelope from your hand with two fingers, and mutters, “thanks.”
and then. then. a small voice behind him:
“who’s at the door?”
you peek past him instinctively—
and there he is. a kid. dark-haired, serious-looking, big eyes and bigger pout. tiny arms crossed over a cartoon t-shirt like he pays rent. he clocks you immediately, gaze traveling from your face to your outfit and back again, like he’s judging you in 4K.
toji looks over his shoulder. “just the neighbor. ‘gumi, go back inside.”
“you said we could watch something,” the kid says, very clearly not moving. very clearly invested.
“yeah, and i will,” toji sighs, the kind of sigh that sounds like he’s already used to negotiating with a tiny lawyer. “in a minute.”
you’re standing here braless, in a crop top and fluffy socks, trying to flirt with a dilf, and his child— his ten-year-old child— is right there in the background watching this all go down like it’s an episode of Love Is Blind: Divorce Court Edition.
you panic. you smile. you crouch slightly like a Girl Who Is Good With Kids™ and wave.
“you were singing in the stairwell yesterday,” he adds, like he’s filing a noise complaint.
toji exhales through his nose, clearly already tired. “alright,” he mutters, shifting his weight as if he’s trying to end this conversation with his entire body. “thanks for dropping this off.”
you panic again. you’re spiraling. this is not going to plan. you were supposed to be effortlessly hot, a little mysterious, maybe get invited in for a drink. instead you’re sweating through your tank top, getting stared down by a ten-year-old and dismissed like some door-to-door scam.
abort mission. regroup.
you nod, stepping back quickly. “no problem! anytime.”
he doesn’t respond. just closes the door halfway and disappears, voice fading as he calls back to megumi— “pick a movie that isn’t garbage this time” —before the door clicks shut behind him.
silence.
the hallway feels colder now.
you stand there for a second. maybe two. then turn on your heel and march straight back to your apartment, locking the door behind you with a little more force than necessary and collapsing onto your couch with a dramatic, miserable groan.
okay. so maybe the fake-mail delivery thing was a bust. maybe you didn’t make the strongest first impression. maybe megumi’s gonna go to school on monday and tell his friends he saw a thirsty neighbor try to seduce his dad and fail in real time.
but you’re not giving up!
because toji fushiguro isn’t oblivious. he looked. you know he looked.
he’s just being difficult. reserved. nonchalant. you love that shit. it’s practically a challenge.
which brings you to:
❥ STEP 2 — establish neighborly rapport (aka: force more interactions)
you’ve already had contact. now it’s time for consistency. eye contact. hallway banter. the illusion of familiarity. you’re gonna bump into him enough that he has no choice but to acknowledge your existence— and then? then you’ll break him down. slowly. methodically. emotionally.
you have a plan.
a little awkward start isn’t gonna stop you. not when he looks like that with wet hair and lazy sweatpants. not when his voice sounds like it could ruin your entire sense of self-worth with a single sentence.
step two starts tomorrow.
or tonight, depending on how bold you feel. your package is supposed to arrive soon— you could just happen to be outside when it gets delivered. or drop something near his door again. or, worst case scenario, start a small fire and see if he comes running.
you’re in too deep to turn back now.
besides— if megumi’s already seen you at your worst, there’s nowhere to go but up.
you start running into him a lot more.
not in a weird way. you’re not, like, stalking. you’re just… situationally strategic.
like this morning— how coincidentally, you happened to take your trash out the exact moment he left for a run. and when he walked past you in those same criminally low-hanging sweatpants, headphones in, shirt clinging to his chest like it wanted you dead? yeah. totally natural timing.
you smiled. waved. gave a little “morning!”
he gave you a nod and kept jogging.
progress.
and yesterday? you timed your laundry schedule to line up with his, based purely on auditory research (aka: eavesdropping through the vents), and when he came down to switch out his load, you were already bent over the dryer in your tiny shorts like a good little trap.
he walked in. saw you. paused.
you straightened up way too fast and bumped your elbow, trying to look breezy while hiding the way your heart rate doubled on sight. “oh- hey! laundry day?”
toji looked at you. then at the dryer. then back at you. “…yeah.”
another pause.
god, he’s so fucking impossible.
you gave him your brightest smile and added, “mine too! small world.”
“…we live in the same building,” he said, completely deadpan, before opening the washer and pulling out a fistful of dark clothes like you weren’t trying to orchestrate a meet-cute over tide pods. he moved with the exhausted efficiency of a man who hated small talk and suspected you might be trying to sell him essential oils.
you wanted to scream. you smiled instead.
“right,” you laughed. “duh. neighbors.”
he didn’t answer. just shoved his clothes into the dryer, grabbed his detergent, and left the room like it was a hostage negotiation and you were the threat. didn’t even look back. but you saw it.
the twitch in his jaw when you bent over again. the extra second of eye contact before he left. the little crack in his silence when you giggled at your own joke and his mouth twitched— barely, but it did. you’re starting to learn his tells.
like tonight— when you caught him coming back from the grocery store, arms full of bags, and offered to hold the elevator door open for him again.
“you don’t have to,” he said, almost automatically.
but this time you didn’t let him off so easily.
you flashed a cheeky smile, cocked your head to the side, and replied, “well i want to. unless you wanna take the stairs and pretend you’re not tired.”
that got you a look. brief. amused. his lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not nothing either.
he stepped in and stood beside you, towering and silent and pretending he wasn’t eyeing your legs in the reflective elevator wall. you leaned against the side and grinned to yourself like a lunatic.
“what floor?” you asked, already knowing the answer. playing dumb. living your sitcom fantasy.
“…same as yours,” he muttered, setting the bags down for a second. “you know that.”
you beamed. “just making conversation.”
he sighed. quiet. tired. maybe even a little fond, but you couldn’t tell.
and then, just as the doors opened, a sleepy voice echoed from down the hall— “dad?”
toji blinked. glanced up.
megumi stood outside their apartment in socks and Spider-Man pajamas, squinting at the two of you like he was already judging this moment for future therapy sessions.
“you took forever,” he said. “i thought you died.”
“well i didn’t,” toji grunted, picking up the bags again. “get inside.”
you waved. again. because apparently, this is your life now. it’s not enough to get embarrassed in front of your crush— his preteen son also has to witness your descent into neighborhood whore madness.
megumi stared. then looked at his dad. then back at you.
“…hi.”
victory.
you’re three days into operation ‘establish rapport’ and you swear it’s working. slowly. he’s still playing it cool— gruff, quiet, annoyingly unaffected— but you’re catching those little cracks. the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. the tiny pauses before he responds. the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you smile too wide. the way he takes just a little too long to look away.
he’s slipping.
and you’re gonna be right there to catch him.
❥ STEP 3 — engineered domestic proximity (create a situation where he owes you and then emotionally blackmail him with kindness!)
it starts with a fake injury.
not like, hospital fake. just a little casual suffering. something light and flirty and “damn she might be unwell” coded.
you pick a thursday. the hallway’s quiet. you hear his door open— the soft clink of keys, the slow creak of the hinge— and then you strike.
toji turns the corner just in time to see you slumped against your apartment door, barefoot, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off your shoulder, clutching your ankle like a romcom extra who’s about to fall in love with the first man who offers her an ice pack. you even let out a pitiful little “ugh,” as though gravity personally attacked you.
he stops. eyes narrow.
“…what the hell happened to you?”
you wince, voice trembling perfectly as you look up at him with wide eyes and say, “i tripped on the stairs.”
technically true. you did, in fact, trip. you just made sure it was today. and loud enough for him to hear.
“you didn’t even leave your apartment,” he deadpans, looking absolutely done.
“…gravity’s everywhere.”
he sighs like you’re the world’s most annoying problem. runs a hand over his face. and then crouches down.
you try not to short-circuit.
his hand wraps around your ankle— casually, confidently, like he’s done this a hundred times before, and his thumb brushes over your skin, rough and warm and way too distracting. he presses, checks the joint, and you flinch very dramatically.
he doesn’t react. “it’s not broken.”
you pout. “still hurts.”
toji gives you a long, tired look. then rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, probably something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking drama queen,” but reaches out anyway. big hands slide under your legs and back, and suddenly you’re being lifted. literally carried.
you make a noise that is not normal.
“jesus,” he grunts, shifting you in his arms. “what the hell do you eat?”
“excuse me??”
“relax,” he says, toeing open your apartment door. “you’re light.”
you are going to die here.
he carries you across the threshold like a goddamn bride and sets you down gently on the couch, muttering something about “needy neighbors” as he tosses your throw blanket over your lap. then pauses. stares at you for a second too long. his brows draw together like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t be.
“…don’t move,” he says finally. “i’ll get an ice pack.”
he disappears into your kitchen— uninvited, completely aware of where your freezer is— and you clutch the blanket to your chest like it’s holy protection from your own bad decisions and whisper:
“oh my god.”
step three is officially a success.
after that, things shift.
slow. subtle. like the hallway air is warmer now. like he doesn’t avoid you anymore.
the next time you make too much pasta (on purpose), you knock on his door and offer leftovers. “just in case,” you say with a smile. he raises an eyebrow, gives you a long look, but takes the container anyway.
“it’s good,” he mutters a few days later, passing you in the hall.
you blink. “what?”
“the pasta. wasn’t bad.”
you nearly trip over your own shoes.
when you run into him carrying groceries, you casually ask if he needs anything next time you go. he grunts something about paper towels. the next day, you drop off a pack at his door with a sticky note that says ‘paper-towel princess strikes again >:)’ and you swear you hear him laugh. just once. low. barely there.
and megumi? megumi is your new little buddy.
you “accidentally” bump into them on the stairs one weekend and ask him about school— next thing you know, you’re helping him with a science project at your dining table, glitter on your shirt and glue in your hair, and he actually smiles at you when it lights up. his eyes go wide. he looks proud. you melt.
toji shows up to get him an hour later.
he stops in the doorway, arms crossed. eyes flick between you and megumi on the couch, surrounded by worksheets and snacks and a movie playing softly in the background.
“…you don’t have to babysit, y’know.”
you glance up, then nudge megumi with your shoulder. “he’s cool. we’re having fun.”
toji stares. unreadable. his jaw works like he’s chewing on something he won’t say. and then he nods. once. slow.
“…yeah. he’s good.”
he leaves with megumi five minutes later, and you spend the rest of the night curled into your couch like a girl who just got emotionally married in the hallway.
a few days pass.
and then— he knocks on your door.
you open it and nearly fall over, because he’s standing there in a black t-shirt, holding a plastic container full of something that smells like soy sauce and heaven. his hair’s messy. his jaw’s tight. he doesn’t look like he wants to be here. but he is.
“we made too much,” he says. pauses. adds, almost begrudgingly, “me and ‘gumi.”
your brain goes static.
you accept it like it’s a holy relic. your hand brushes his. it’s fine. you’re normal.
“thank you,” you breathe, like it’s something sacred.
you eat together on the steps between your units that night. plastic forks. beer for him, water bottle for you. megumi’s inside watching something with way too much volume. the hallway buzzes with soft domestic noise.
he chuckles— an actual, real chuckle— when you tell him about your failed ankle stunt getting you out of gym class in high school. it sounds like it surprises him. like it doesn’t happen often. you want to bottle the sound and save it for winter.
and then, as you’re wiping sauce from the corner of your mouth, he gives you this long, unreadable look. his eyes flick to your mouth. linger.
“you’re trouble, aren’t you?”
you almost pass out.
“yeah,” you say, smiling slow. “but i’m cute about it.”
he laughs again. soft. huffed. the kind that makes your stomach flutter in the worst/best way.
note to self: a chuckle = an emotional orgasm in dilf language.
❥ STEP 4 — desperate times, horny measures (blur the line between “friendly neighbor” and “would let you hit raw if you asked nicely”)
you’ve played the long game. you’ve laid the groundwork. you’ve smiled, cooked, lingered in doorways and memorized his hallway habits. you helped his child with a diorama. you have earned your place in this man’s orbit. and now, you’re upping the ante.
tight tank tops with no bra? daily.
asking if he needs help lifting shit? always.
bending down in front of him for no reason whatsoever? the moment requires it.
you’ve “accidentally” dropped your keys outside his door. twice.
you’ve complimented his cologne when he wasn’t wearing any.
you’ve said the phrase “you must’ve been crazy hot in your twenties” with a completely straight face and full eye contact— just to watch his eyebrow twitch like he was deciding whether to argue or kiss you.
and toji?
toji has looked.
slow. restrained. but it’s there.
the way his gaze drops and lingers. the way his hand flexes when you laugh too hard. the way he sometimes says your name like it annoys him to have it on his tongue, like he’s chewing on it instead of swallowing. you’re getting to him. you know you are.
especially tonight.
it’s late. you’re bored. your hair looks good and your shorts are criminal. and you know he’s home because you heard the clink of a beer bottle hit his counter through your shared wall. so naturally, you text him:
you up?
no response…
you try again:
i’m making cookies and need a taste tester. u down?
there’s a pause. long enough to make you regret it. then finally:
don’t burn your kitchen down.
which— okay. rude. but also? not a no.
you show up at his door with a plate of warm cookies and the dumbest smile imaginable, leaning against the doorframe like a horny little housewife in denial, praying your lip gloss doesn’t smudge when you inevitably start smiling too hard.
the door swings open. and there he is.
shirtless, because of course. low sweatpants, towel around his neck, hair still damp. a vein in his bicep flexing like it’s personally here to ruin you. he raises an eyebrow when he sees you.
“you actually baked something?”
you pout. “don’t sound so shocked.”
he huffs. not quite a laugh. steps aside and lets you in. silent permission. another small victory.
you sit on the couch, drop the plate between you. he takes a cookie. you take a risk.
“so…” you say, crossing your legs slowly, letting your voice dip soft and sweet. “what do i get if they’re good?”
toji chews. swallows. side-eyes you. “…you want a prize for not poisoning me?”
you tilt your head, smile like trouble. lean a little closer, so your thigh brushes his.
“i want something,” you murmur.
he watches you. unreadable.
your heart’s racing. your leg’s touching his. the tension is so thick it could suffocate a small village. he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a second— a single, traitorous second— you believe. believe he’s going to touch you. say something filthy. kiss you.
and then— he stands up.
you freeze.
no.
he walks to the door.
absolutely not.
he opens it.
“go home, sweetheart.”
you blink. “…what?”
he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even flinch.
“you’ve had your fun,” he mutters, voice low. final. “time to go.”
the plate of cookies is still on the table. your lip gloss is still perfect. and this man— this walking thirst trap of a dilf— just opened the door and told you to leave as if you were an inconvenience.
you stand there for five full seconds. staring at the wood grain like it personally wronged you. your mouth opens. closes. no words come out.
no explanation. no thank you. not even a cookie to-go.
you take the hint.
you walk home— five steps that feel like a funeral march— let yourself back into your apartment with hands that won’t stop shaking, and close the door behind you like it might collapse if you don’t hold it up. then you crawl into bed, pull the blanket over your head, and try very, very hard not to cry over a man who never asked you to try this hard in the first place.
❥ STEP 5 — let him come to you (the part of the spiral where you stop trying, and he starts breaking)
you’ve stopped trying.
no more cookies. no fake run-ins or conveniently timed errands. you’re done bending over near his door like some desperate domestic goddess waiting to be claimed. no more lingering glances, no flirty texts, no smiles he could possibly mistake for an invitation
you go cold. polite. distant.
“hey,” he mutters in the hallway one morning, voice a little rough from sleep.
“morning,” you reply. clipped. unreadable. no smile.
you don’t linger. don’t wait for anything in return. you catch him glancing over when you pass, but you don’t look back. just keep walking like you’ve got better things to do than pine for a man who slams doors in your face.
when megumi finds you on the stairs the following weekend and asks if you want to help with another project, you smile softly, press a hand to the top of his head, and say, “not this week, bud. busy.” he frowns a little. you ruffle his hair, and walk away without looking up.
you start going out more.
wearing new outfits. dresses you hadn’t felt bold enough to wear before. lip gloss that makes your mouth look mean. you let strangers hold the door for you. let them compliment you. you let them linger.
you laugh too loud outside your apartment one night, on purpose, after coming back from a date with someone who isn’t him. your heels click against the floor. your voice drips with honey. you lean against your door while someone says something into your ear and you throw your head back like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
you know he’s listening.
you feel his eyes on you like a bruise forming slow.
and then the shift begins.
it’s subtle, at first.
he starts speaking more.
“mornin’,” he grunts one day, voice thicker now. rougher.
you nod, toss him a quiet “hey.”
“new dress?” he says one night when you pass in the hallway.
you glance down at it, fingers brushing your hip. nod again. “yeah.”
he stares a second too long.
you keep walking.
the next week, he holds the elevator for you. for the first time.
you step inside without looking at him, lean against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. he stands beside you, silent for a second too long.
“…got plans tonight?” he asks.
you glance at him. his hand’s on the railing. his eyes are on your legs. the heat between you is palpable.
“maybe,” you shrug. “why? you wanna know if i’m free?”
he doesn’t answer. just scoffs. looks away.
but his jaw tightens. you see it.
and you smile to yourself when the elevator dings.
you don’t stop. you don’t wait.
and then— one night. late.
a knock at your door.
you weren’t expecting it. you’re in your tank top and sleep shorts, hair still a little messy, face clean of makeup. for a second you debate not opening it at all.
but then you do.
he’s there.
black t-shirt. low voice. tension rolling off him like heat. his eyes sweep over you once— bare legs, bare face, bare everything— and settle on your mouth.
you open your lips to say something but nothing comes out. for a second, he doesn’t speak. just stares. like he’s trying to remember why this was a bad idea.
“you done with your little game?” he asks finally, voice rough, jaw set.
you blink. tilt your head. heart stuttering.
“why?” you say. “you jealous?”
he exhales slow. like he’s holding something in. then steps forward, just once. close enough that his chest nearly brushes yours. the hallway hums with silence. you can feel it thickening between you—every breath, every second, every inch of space closing.
he looks down at you, jaw clenched. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. his gaze drops to your mouth. lingers.
“you think i haven’t thought about fucking you since the first day you moved in?”
jackpot.
you smile. slow. wicked.
“well,” you murmur, stepping back just enough to tug him inside, “what are you waiting for?”
❥ STEP 5.1 — fuck the dilf. repeatedly!! (aka: daddy finally breaks, and so does your spine)
the door isn’t even fully closed before he’s got you pinned against it, one hand slamming it shut behind you while the other grips your jaw hard enough to tilt your head back. his mouth crashes into yours— hot, hungry, furious— like he’s trying to erase every other man who’s ever looked at you, every laugh you gave someone else, every second you weren’t his.
his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, your throat, your jaw. rough. greedy. like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through sheer force, like he doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks, dragging you closer, forcing your body flush against his so you can feel him— hard, heavy, pressing insistently between you.
“this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he growls, dragging his mouth down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. “walkin’ around like that every damn day- no bra, tiny little shorts, always smilin’ at me like a fuckin’ tease—”
you gasp when he shoves his thigh between yours, grinding hard, forcing your hips to rock against him. your pussy’s already soaked— soaked enough that the friction makes your head spin, a broken little whimper slipping out before you can stop it. he feels it. of course he does.
“fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, eyes darkening as he watches your face fall apart. “already wet. knew it. knew you were walkin’ around like that for me.”
“you shouldn’t be here,” you breathe, even as your hands clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, nails digging into his back like you’re scared he’ll disappear and you’d rather die than have him pull away now.
“don’t fuckin’ care,” he snarls, cupping your pussy through your panties, pressing just enough to make your knees buckle. his thumb drags over you, feeling how drenched you are through the thin fabric. “been thinkin’ about this cunt for weeks.”
you moan— full body, spine-arching, dignity-leaving moan— as he yanks your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you without hesitation. nothing stops him. your body takes him easily, molded for him, as though his hands belong there and they’ve always known exactly where to go.
you’re so wet it’s obscene. it squelches. it gives around him immediately, your walls fluttering, clenching like they recognize him, like they’ve been waiting.
“shit,” he hisses, pumping his fingers slow just to feel it, watching the way your face twists. “tight little thing. messy already. all that attitude just ‘cause you needed a cock in you, huh?”
you nod, crying out, grinding against his palm like a bitch in heat, chasing the friction, chasing him, hips moving on instinct, your body no longer yours to command.
he slaps your cunt. hard. you jerk, a broken sob ripping out of you.
“use your words.”
“yes, fuck, yes, i wanted this, wanted you, please- needed you so bad- been thinking about you too—”
“yeah?” he mocks, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your knees give out. “needed daddy’s cock that bad? all that work just to get it, huh?”
he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, making eye contact while his tongue drags over his knuckles— savoring you, devouring every trace with the hunger of a man who’s finally getting what he’s craved.
you feel your face burn. your thighs tremble. your body aches.
“needy lil thing,” he mutters. “so desperate for daddy’s cock you made friends with my kid to get it.”
your mouth drops open.
“fuck,” you whisper, humiliated, horny, heart beating out of your chest. “i-i didn’t—”
“yeah, you did,” he cuts you off, voice low and certain, already tugging his sweats down. “i saw right through you. every little look. everytime you bent over in front of me like you were askin’ for it.”
his cock springs free— massive, thick, veiny, heavy against your stomach, already leaking. it twitches when he drags it through your folds, smearing your wetness all over himself, groaning under his breath at the feeling.
“watchin’ me, droppin shit in the hallway, showin’ up all cute with cookies—” he continues, voice roughening. “all so i’d fuck you like this.”
he grabs your hips. lifts you like it’s easy.
you wrap your legs around him on instinct, clinging, desperate, your ankles locking behind his back.
he slams you against the wall and shoves in deep.
you scream.
it burns for half a second— then it’s just full. overwhelming. he stretches you open, every inch fitting so perfectly it feels intentional, inevitable— your body made to take him, built around the shape of him alone.
“this what you wanted?” he growls, already moving, already setting a brutal pace, hips snapping hard into yours. “wanted daddy to stuff this sloppy little cunt so full you can’t think?”
you’re crying already. sobbing into his shoulder, nails clawing at him, dragging down his back hard enough to leave lines. “yesyes- oh my god- yes please- don’t stop, don’t stop—”
he doesn’t. he can’t.
he fucks you hard. no mercy. no build-up. just punishing, deep, filthy strokes that slam into you over and over, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your body jostling against the wall, the wet sound of it echoing in the room— proof of how wrecked you are for him.
“listen to that,” he grunts, one hand coming down to grab your ass, spreading you open, forcing himself even deeper. “fuckin’ soaked. takin’ me so easy.”
“toji—”
“nah,” he snaps, grabbing your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, eyes blown wide, mouth open, completely ruined. “say it right.”
“daddy—” you choke.
his hips stutter for half a second. then he loses it.
“yeah,” he groans, fucking into you harder, deeper, pace turning reckless. “that’s it. say it again.”
“daddy, fuck, daddy please- please don’t stop—”
“good girl,” he breathes, voice wrecked now, forehead pressing against yours. “knew you’d sound pretty sayin’ it.”
he keeps going until your legs shake so hard you can’t hold yourself up, until your body goes limp in his arms, until you’re nothing but weight and noise and need. then he drags you away from the wall, carries you like you weigh nothing, and drops you onto the couch.
your shirt’s gone in seconds. your tits spill free, bouncing when he grabs them, squeezing hard, biting one, then the other, tongue dragging over the marks he leaves, teeth sinking in just enough to make you cry out.
you whine, arching into him, completely gone, hips lifting even though you can barely move.
“look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “fuckin’ ruined already.”
he spits on your chest. spreads it with his thumb. then shoves you back, spreading your legs open, staring at your dripping cunt like it’s dinner, like he could spend hours there.
“not done with you yet,” he mutters.
then he dives in.
he eats you out starving— insatiable, greedy, nothing held back. hasn’t touched anyone in years, and now he’s buried in you, treating your pussy like a lifeline. his tongue moves everywhere— flicking, sucking, pushing deep, groaning into the mess he’s making, matching your desperation, needing this with the same feverish hunger you do.
“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against you, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk violently. “all for me, huh? all this just for me?”
you’re shaking. crying. your hands in his hair, grinding down onto his face, desperate, greedy, nasty.
“yes- fuck- yes—”
he hums, pleased, and the vibration sends you over immediately.
you cum once. then twice. he doesn’t stop. he eats you through it, moaning into your pussy while you scream and sob and claw at the cushions like a feral bitch, your thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch.
“too much, too much—”
“nah,” he mutters, holding you down, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise. “you can take it.”
and you do. you take it until your body gives out and you’re nothing but a twitching, whimpering mess under him, tears streaking your face, chest heaving.
when he finally pulls back, his face is soaked. his chin’s messy. his pupils are blown so wide he looks dangerous.
he strokes his cock over your twitching cunt, dragging it through your folds, tapping your clit just to make you jolt, smearing your wetness back over you.
“you want daddy to put a baby in you next?” he growls.
your brain breaks. completely.
you whimper, nodding frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. “yes please”
he grins. dark. cocky. dangerous.
“fuckin’ knew it.”
and then he slams back in and fucks you like he means it— like he’s trying to knock you up, ruin you, break you down and rebuild you around his dick. your body takes it, greedily, desperately, your walls clenching around him like you don’t want to let him go, like you want to keep him there.
“gonna fill you up,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy now, deeper somehow, grinding into you. “gonna keep you full of me.”
you’re sobbing. babbling. “pleasepleaseplease—”
he finishes deep. thick. hot. doesn’t pull out. just buries himself as far as he can go and groans into your neck, hips stuttering while you feel it— feel him— filling you, spilling inside you, too much, too warm, your body fluttering around him.
he stays there. holds you. keeps you plugged with his cock while your body trembles and leaks around him.
“good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, softer now but still possessive. “took me so well.”
his hand slides down your stomach. presses there. like he’s already imagining it.
“you’re mine now.”
you barely come back to yourself before he’s moving again.
you’re still shaking. still sensitive. your cunt is pulsing, aching and full and leaking around him, your thighs sticky, your body limp and boneless against the couch. every nerve feels raw, like your skin’s been turned inside out.
and he’s still inside you.
still hard.
you let out a weak, broken sound when he shifts his hips, cock dragging inside you— slow, deliberate— he’s reminding you exactly where he is.
“toji—” you whimper, voice wrecked, barely there.
his hand tightens on your hip immediately.
“what’d i tell you?” he mutters, low and sharp.
you choke on a breath. “d-daddy—”
“yeah,” he exhales, satisfied, rolling his hips again, slower this time, savoring it. “that’s better.”
you feel everything now. every inch. every drag. the way he stretches you again even though you’re already so fucked out it hurts. your walls flutter around him uncontrollably, oversensitive, and he groans at it— deep, filthy.
“fuck,” he hisses. “still squeezin’ me like that? after all that?”
“too much,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his chest, even as your hips betray you, rocking up into him. “i can’t—”
“you can,” he cuts you off, already pulling out halfway just to slam back in. you sob.
“you will.”
your body jerks with it, your tits bouncing weakly with each thrust, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. everything feels too intense— too deep, too full, too good.
“s-sensitive—” you gasp, nails digging into his arms.
“i know,” he mutters, almost mean about it, dragging his cock against that spot again on purpose. “that’s the point.”
you cry out, back arching hard, your whole body trembling as he starts fucking you again— slower than before, but somehow worse. deeper. more intentional. every thrust aimed to make you feel it, to drag it out of you.
“so fucked out already,” he murmurs, grabbing your chin and forcing your head up so you have to meet his eyes. “can’t even think anymore, huh?”
you shake your head, tears slipping down your temples. “no—”
“all that attitude gone,” he continues, voice low, almost mocking, thumb brushing your lip. “all that mouth, and now you’re just- what?”
you swallow, breath hitching. “yours—”
his grip tightens.
“say it again.”
“yours,” you sob, louder this time. “i’m yours—”
“yeah you are,” he groans, pace picking up just a little, just enough to make your head spin again. “fuckin’ made for me, aren’t you? takin’ me like this, still beggin’ for more—”
“i’m not—” you try, voice breaking, but your hips roll into him again, chasing it, proving him right.
he laughs. low. mean.
“yeah,” he breathes. “that’s what i thought.”
his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit— already swollen, oversensitive, aching.
you jolt hard.
“nono, please- s’too much—”
he circles it anyway.
slow.
you squeal.
your body spasms instantly, thighs clamping around him, back arching so hard it almost hurts. it hits you out of nowhere— another orgasm ripping through you before you can even process it, your cunt clenching down on him so tight he curses.
“fuuuckk,” he groans, thrust stuttering. “that’s it, there it is—”
you’re sobbing now. full-on crying. your body shaking uncontrollably as he keeps moving, keeps rubbing, using you through it.
“can’t take it- can’t—” you gasp, voice dissolving into broken sounds.
“you are takin’ it,” he says, not slowing down, not stopping, cock dragging in and out of your fluttering, oversensitive cunt while your body keeps spasming around him. “look at you. still squeezin’ me. still want it.”
you don’t even know if that’s true anymore. you just know you can’t stop reacting, can’t stop feeling.
he shifts suddenly— grabs your hips, flips you over like it’s nothing.
you yelp, barely catching yourself before your face hits the couch.
“stay,” he mutters, pressing you down, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other guiding himself back in.
you whine the second he pushes back inside— somehow deeper like this, your body folding around him differently, more exposed, more helpless.
“shit,” he breathes, gripping your hips tight. “yeah. this is better.”
and then he starts again.
hard.
faster this time.
your body jolts forward with every thrust, your cheek pressed into the cushions, your fingers clawing at the fabric as the sounds get louder, wet and messy.
“daddy—!” you cry, voice muffled, broken.
“that’s it,” he groans behind you, hand sliding up your back, gripping your neck— not choking, just holding. controlling. “say it louder.”
he fucks you deeper with every word.
“who’s pussy is this?”
“yours—!” you sob.
“who you doin’ all that shit for, huh?” he snaps, pace turning relentless again. “all that dressin’ up, all that flirtin’—”
“you—! just you—!”
“damn right.”
his hand slides down your back, grabs your ass, spreading you open again so he can watch himself disappear inside you, over and over, your cunt clinging to him like it doesn’t want to let go.
“fuckin’ made a mess of you,” he mutters, almost impressed. “can’t even keep it in.”
you can’t. it’s leaking. every thrust pushes more of him out, slick and messy, your body too full, too used.
you’re gone. completely.
he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear.
“one more,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous. “gimme one more.”
you shake your head weakly. “can’t—”
“yes you can.”
his hand finds your clit again.
you break.
your whole body locks up, a scream tearing out of you as another orgasm crashes through, sharper this time, almost painful in how intense it is, your cunt clenching so tight around him it drags him over the edge with you.
“fuck—” he groans, biting into your shoulder as he finishes again, hips stuttering hard against you, spilling deep, grinding into you as he rides it out.
you collapse under him completely.
he stays there for a second. breathing heavy. still inside you. still holding you down.
then, softer this time— just a little—
“told you,” he mutters against your skin. “you could take it.”
you don’t respond. you physically can’t.
you’re just… gone.
and he sounds way too pleased about it.
you wake up sore. sore in ways you didn’t even know were possible. your thighs ache, your hips feel bruised, your legs do not work. your pussy’s twitching— puffy, overstimulated, and leaking. there’s cum literally dripping out of you, sticky between your thighs, cooling against the sheets.
and toji’s still there.
sprawled across your bed like he owns it, like you’re his bed now, arm heavy over your waist, breathing slow against the back of your neck. his chest rises and falls steady, the heat of his body sinking into yours. it’s warm. safe. a little filthy. you can feel his cock pressed to your ass— soft, but still there, like a threat.
you’re not sure if he’s awake. you’re not sure if you’re awake. your whole body feels broken in. chewed up. worshipped. wrecked. you blink blearily at the sunlight slanting through your blinds, brain swimming in the slow syrup of morning-after haze, and shift slightly beneath the weight of him.
he moves with you. groans low, deep in his chest, like the stretch of his limbs aches. then, voice gravel-thick and sleep-rough:
“fuck. you made me pull a muscle.”
you try to laugh, but it comes out cracked. “good.”
he snorts, lazy and fond, burying his face in your shoulder and muttering, “brat.”
you hum, cheek pressed into the pillow, toes curling under the sheets. you don’t move. don’t want to. his arm tightens around your waist just enough to remind you it’s still there.
you’re quiet for a second. breathing in the moment. then— soft, teasing, and only half joking:
“so… what are we now?”
he goes still. just for a beat. long enough for your stomach to drop a little. you tense, suddenly hyperaware of how real this feels, how easy it would be to ruin it. your heart thumps like you’re asking him to raise a child. (which. maybe you are. unknowingly. oops.)
he exhales.
then, low. rough. certain.
“mine.”
you short-circuit. go quiet.
he doesn’t say it again. doesn’t need to. just grabs your thigh, still sore, and drags you back against his chest like he thinks you might try to leave— even though you physically can’t. you melt into the mattress with a broken little sigh, breath catching when his cock shifts against your ass, not quite hard, but heavy and possessive all the same.
you stay there. warm. stupidly happy. still full of his cum.
his fingers trail over your waist lazily, absent-minded, like he’s petting you. like you’re his. like this is normal now. you close your eyes, let yourself float in it, wondering how the hell you went from faking ankle injuries to getting bred in your own hallway by the hottest dilf alive.
and when megumi knocks on the door half an hour later and yells, “dad, i’m hungry,”
toji groans like a man betrayed. buries his face in your neck, kisses your skin as if it’s your fault he has responsibilities.
“you’re makin’ breakfast,” he mutters.
you turn your head, blinking at him. “me?!”
“you want me to limp in there with my back blown out?”
“…you blew my back out.”
“exactly,” he grins against your throat. “teamwork.”
you roll your eyes. groan. try to wiggle away, but he doesn’t let you. just holds you tighter and mumbles something about five more minutes before letting you go— barely.
you’re smiling as you get up. your legs are still jelly. your thighs stick when you move. you’re sore and used and leaking, and you’ve never felt so fucking good.
i rlly spent the whole night editing/finishing this osmgdkkdks, i’m lowk experimenting and thought i’d try smth different so i hope u guys like thissss >.<
Do you know what I thought while reading your last Atan fic? In the last part, the song "Him-join me in death" came to my mind. And thinking about it, I reread the fic once again
THEY'RE SUCH A JOIN ME IN DEATH🥹
OMG OMG OMG URE RIGHT!!!!!! ive been hearing this song on tktok and I HONESTLY DIDNT KNOW THE TITLE i always thought the song title was how to save a friend by fray 🥹
this is SUCHHH a good thought it is so so so perfect for those two thank u rei 🥲🥲
it was actually so close to the vibe i was going for i LOVED the devotion they had for each other even though they’d been apart for so long
Hello!! First of all, thank you for all your tpw fics!! You saved me (us) from this misery🫶🏻
Would you get requests for other tpw characters?? Orrr
In general, are you getting requests right now??
THANK you so much!!!! unfortunately my reqs are closed rn since i’m getting sooooo drowned by my own ideas that i dont know which one to start/finish first and im scared i might get pressured if i accept reqs 🥹🥹
i am open to writing for other tpw characs !! prob once i open my reqs hehe :3
nerd!hange and jock!hans dotting on you, their sweet workaholic gf (18+ | MDNI)
nerd!hange… who spends their time at the library, occupying an entire table by themselves, papers and books littered all over, mind too occupied with their personal researches to even notice other people staring at them.
jock!hans… who locks in so badly anytime they get remotely close to the field. their fingers itching to get the ball and throw it, to hear the damn yells of their name alongside other profanities and praises.
nerd!hange & jock!hans… are two sides of the same coin, despite how seemingly loud their contrast were. they both have their own fixations, their own little world where only they rule over.
nerd!hange & jock!hans… who share the same apartment but one would always be missing in action. either it be nerd!hange studying overtime in the library, or jock!hans taking extra training hours.
nerd!hange & jock!hans… who argue all the time whenever they’re in the apartment at the same time. one picking up protein bar wrappers off the floor, another wiping off the formulas written on their window pane and mirrors.
nerd!hange & jock!hans… who seem to find some common ground in the form of you.
nerd!hange… who brings you coffee every day. coming by your part-time work with your favorite beverage and some pastry that caught their eye. spending the time studying at a nearby cafe while you finish up work.
jock!hans… who’d always try to pick you up after your shift. purposefully bringing that two-seater car where the backseat’s too small and cramped for someone as tall as hange.
nerd!hange & jock!hans… wouldn’t let you do anything too tiring in their apartment. dishes washed. floor swept. laundry washed, dried, and folded. they’d make sure the fridge’s fully stocked too so you wouldn’t have to worry about anything.
nerd!hange… who helps you out with your additional work. reading through your essays while you sat prettily on their lap, your eyes fluttering shut every time their free hand massages your hip.
jock!hans… who comes back from fixing the take-out, eager to pull you off of nerd!hange’s lap and onto their own. taking advantage of nerd!hange being pre-occupied with your essays and prompting you to talk about your day instead. hand intertwined into yours, sniffing your hair.
nerd!hange… who, despite revising your papers, make it a point to respond every now and then to you talking about your day, actively listening. most of the time glaring at jock!hans for taking you away from them.
nerd!hange & jock!hans… who are both attentive. they let you eat first, then sleep. whatever chores left like dishes and cleaning up, they do it without a complaint.
you… waking up to two arms slung by your shoulder. nerd!hange to your right with a book in their free hand, jock!hans with their phone in theirs. scrolling mindlessly through social media, taking photos of you sleeping every now and then.
at your call, the two of them turn to you, hans with a slightly faster reaction time than hange, both of them already smiling at your groggy face. they immediately throw away whatever they were holding, cozying up to you as now you’re pulled into two different bodies, four arms wrapped around your body.
jock!hans… who whispers sweet nothings in your ear. lips pressing kisses on the side of your face right before nerd!hange holds your chin and turns you to them. that sparkle in their eyes telling you that there’s something bubbling up in that mad head of theirs.
nerd!hange… who kisses you silly then. lips capturing yours with such a competitiveness you’d think they’re starting one with their twin. well, they are. because now hans’ glaring at you two, watching with narrowed eyes as hange slips their tongue into your mouth, hand trailing down your back to grab at your clothed ass.
it’s them too who slips their leg in between yours, pressing close to your core as you squeak out a moan into their mouth. you feel their smile against your lips, big, rough hands grinding you back and forth on their thigh, your wetness growing more and more.
you weren’t sure if hans was calling you out, or their twin, but they definitely didn’t like being on the spectating side.
jock!hans… who takes you back with that athletic strength of theirs, hoisting you on their lap with such carelessness, nestling their thigh in between yours. nothing but your clothing separating your aching core from their warm muscle.
“hans, you’re being way too greedy now,” hange calls from the side, oversized shirt pulled up, their hand down their shorts, watching you and their twin with a lazy grin decorating their handsome face.
you don’t get a long look at them, not when hans’ grabbing your face with their large hand. they roll their eyes, murmuring some half-assed cuss at them before surging upwards, gaze locked with yours. they kiss without any hesitation; roughly, they shove their tongue in, exploring your wet mouth with such hunger you could still taste the mint in their mouth.
you grab at their hair, a mess of brown strands that fall just before their broad shoulders. two strong hands grab at your hips, squeezing and holding the flesh as they start bouncing you on their thigh.
your head falls back when a particular bounce has your clit drop down on their bare thigh, hans pulling away from your lips and making their way down your jaw. tongue lay flat, licking a fat strip up the middle of your neck to your jaw. your eyes roll back, legs twitching, mouth parting.
“hans—ah,” your voice trembled, whimpers leaving your lips as you pull them closer to your neck. teeth on skin, they bite and lick everywhere they could. hands slipping underneath your tank top to grab at your breasts.
“yeah? keep moving your hips, baby,” hans replies, grin trailing down your neck until they begin to shower the valley of your breasts with their undivided attention.
nerd!hange… who never knew how much of a voyeur they were until the first time they’d ever watch you and their twin make out. their hole clenching on nothing whenever you look over their twin’s shoulder to look at them, saliva dripping from your lips, hooded eyes watching as they circle clit off while watching you and hans grind and hump each other like horny teenagers.
hange’d lean over to you, a teasing glint in their eyes as they tip your chin ever so slightly, ghosting their lips over yours, whispering, “how’s it feel? hmm?”
hans presses into you harder, so hard that you can feel their thigh flex every time they bring you down. you open your mouth to respond, to answer, but then you feel hans’ hand snake into your shorts. fingers pushing aside your panties and leisurely swiping two fingers across your wet slit as they anchor you still.
“i can’t hear you, sweetheart,” hange says, tightening their hold on your jaw as you tried to reach for them, for their own lips. “describe it to me, c’mon. how does hans’ fingers feel like?” their fingers dig into your cheek, nails putting just the littlest bit of pressure.
“g-good—ooh,” your forehead falls on hans’ shoulder, feeling their index finger enter you. your hands grip onto them tighter, hips jutting against their finger.
nerd!hange… fingering themselves, their other hand massaging their breasts, pinching and rolling their own nipple between their fingers. watching your body fail so desperately at chasing your own orgasm—on their own twin’s hand—aroused them to no end.
jock!hans… making it so that your forehead rested against theirs. a second finger enters you, quick and rough, scissoring you open as hans watches the pleasure overcome your senses. your walls tightening on their fingers.
“feels good, huh? yeah?” they grin, nudging their head up to press chaste kisses all over your lips. you could hear the taunt in their voice as they slow their pace, watching your every breath, until they eventually leave your hole.
shirt pulled down hastily, their tongue runs over your breaths in such a mess, rolling the wet muscle around your nipple. their hand, the one that had just bullied themselves info your hole, wet with your arousal, rub at the other.
you swallow, pulling at the hair at the back of their neck so they could look at you. you open your mouth again, to answer at least, but hans suddenly presses their thumb onto your clit, ripping screams from your throat as they draw fast, rough circles on that small bundle.
“shut up, will you?” you hear hange’s voice, loud and irritated. “i can’t hear her with you messing around.”
hans’ other hand leaves your breast, two fingers thrusting into you with a foreword, their other thumb still rubbing your clit; “sound’s like a you problem. can hear her perfectly… ain’t that right?”
you nod, mumbling out yesses as your hips begin to move on their own. chasing your own high. you could feel their eyes on you, two pairs of eyes watching you carefully. “so good… so—nghh, fuck, hans, baby, keep going,” you lift your head, pulling their face close to your chest.
jock!hans… who stops their every move. watching you with absolute amusement as they prompt you to ride their fingers like a needy bitch.
your eyes were screwed shut. nothing on your mind except the bubbling pleasure at your core.
“i’m close!” you break out into a scream, voice shaking, legs trembling, desperately trying to push yourself off the edge.
you feel a smack against your ass. hard and firm. then another. and another.
nerd!hange… who pulls your hair back just as you were about to come. your eyes peel back, pleading at hans who watched you with such dark eyes. hange appears above you, eyebrows pulled to the middle as though they were contemplating something.
“open your mouth, sweetheart.” you do as you’re told.
nerd!hange & jock!hans… already knowing what’s stirring in each other’s heads. the deepest chuckle leaving hans’ lips as they gather up their spit and shoot it directly into your awaiting mouth. hange doing the same, other hand gripping the sides of your throat as they drop the fattest glob of spit on your tongue.
“that’s a good girl,” hange says, massaging your breasts through your shirt. “now make yourself come.”
Girl thank u so much so feeding us these lovely altan fics you're doing God's work fr 🤭😩🫶
Will or do u write for other poppy war characters??
i plan to !!! i currently have a rin request in progress but i’m having my last 2 months for this uni yr sooo i havent found much time completing it 🥲 thank u for ur kind words anon !! i hope u have a nice day/night 😽
altan x reader (the daughter of shiro). they first met as kids when shiro brought her to show around the facility. she didn't understand what her father did to those children because she was a kid herself. altan and her made friends (kind of). it was the beginning of his time in the facility, so he wasn't tortured heavily yet, just kept apart from others and given opium from time to time. with time the situation worsened (of course) and now whenever the reader visited him, altan was either aggressive (?) towards her or just kept silent. they were teenagers when she discovered what her father actually did and it was a heavy blow to her. maybe she helped altan escape. or took care of him during his time in the facility. not necessarily explicit, but a lot of hurt/comfort. love your stories!!!
im so SORRY this work took so long aaaaa originally had the beginning of your request thought out but then i kinda got distracted nd went sideways from what you requested but the main premise (reader being shiro’s child) is still there!!
Obviously no pressure, but I would die for you to write some Altan angst. I understand this isn’t very specific request, but please (if you have the time)!!
I love your writing so much. ❤️☺️l
HII thank you sooo much for reading !!! here’s some angst :>>
synopsis: to befriend or to devote yourself; you wonder if the punishment that is being your father’s child is absolved by setting him free.
pairing: altan trengsin x gn!reader
warnings: hurt/comfort / canon compliant / implied torture / mentions of blood / time skip / alludes to death / body descriptions / violence / trauma / altan and the reader are kids for a while / no explicit reader descriptions as far as my rereading goes!! / angst / 4.4 wc
a/n: had a hard time picking out the title since idrk much songs anw the 2nd title for this was apocalypse by cas! take with that as u will. i find it the better option to listen to while reading BUT i found forever (or never) from forever young better for the title. anw have fun :D
"Are you my Papa’s friend?"
You weren't quite sure if the small, crunched-up body was an actual person or just another one of your father's friends. You raised a hand, pointer finger extending wearily to tap at its shoulder. Before it could land, the figure flinched hard.
A loud yelp left your lips, legs forcing you to stand and leap away only to fall back pathetically on your behind. You winced, teeth clenched tightly. "Ow! That hurt!"
Sharp, dilated eyes stare at you from the corner of the room. Knees pulled to their chest, back facing you, a part of you wonders if that glare was truly directed at you; what did you do? Did you hurt him? Why was your new friend—your father’s friend—looking at you so angrily?
"I'm sorry," you speak, high-pitched tone befitting that of a child, one same as the other young soul in the room. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was… curious," you pause, cautious in your movements as you mirror his posture, pulling your own knees to your chest, resting your chin in between the valley of your knees. "Not many kids my age stay around. They always leave me alone."
He doesn't move. Not even a small twitch in that frail body of his.
"Please don't leave me too," you continue on, gaze dropping to the tiled floor, then back up to the steel cart beside you. Your reflection stare back at you, distorted from the material.
You don't dare to make another move towards him. Instead you keep your seat, breathing until it evened out, until all you could hear in the room was the subtle whimpers coming from the corner. You wanted to ask him what's wrong, why he's staring at you like how the previous kids had once looked at you—like they were terrified of you.
You let the silence simmer. Knowing from experience that hastily pushing them to be your friend off the get-go always ends badly. Usually with them disappearing the next day.
So you play with that small handmade bear your father gave you yesterday. It was beaded at the edges, faceless, body sewed with colorful threads. You haven't seen anything like this in Mugen, though you never really stayed there for long.
Your father took you with him on his ship the moment you could walk, years past and you're still on that very ship. Finding yourself sleeping for days at a time, memories blended together in a haze that your father couldn't care less to clear up for you. He'd snap every time you try asking him, and each time he'd make up for that fit of anger by letting you play with his… friends.
Friends that looked more your age than his. Some older, some younger. They never looked around his age though.
Your head perks up the moment you hear a faint sound of shuffling, hopeful eyes widening. You see him stare down at your hands, towards the beaded bear you hold, his shoulders rising and falling in inconsistent pulses.
Wordlessly, you hold it higher, with the faceless head of the bear faced towards him, the colors bright and easy for him to see.
He blinks, but he makes no move to push himself further into the wall.
You take that as a good sign.
Placing the toy on the tiled floor, you slide it to his direction with as much accuracy you could. The toy crashing quietly at his exposed tailbone, just below the strings holding his clothes.
He watches you for a moment, something in his features appearing all the more defensive, then he moves in one quick motion; he switches from his right to his left, swiping the toy behind him and once more guarding his own center with his frail shoulders.
"You can have it," you speak, the cautious lilt of your voice doing nothing to make him ease. You give him a small smile, doing your best, "It's yours now. It'll guard you, I promise."
His face disappears into the corner, sounds of shuffling filling the air as you guess he's playing with the toy in his own way. You watch him as his shoulders move in stiff movements. Stifled whimpers every now and then. Beads moving around and hitting the tiles.
It's rare for anyone to ever accept your offering. Most of the time they snarl at you and lunge towards you—one time you even hit the back of your head on the cold floor at the force of their body.
You never saw that one again. Not even at the night of that incident.
Letting the moment dwell on for longer, sitting there in idle silence as his cries slowly quiets down, the familiar drum of footsteps entered your ears.
You whistle at him. The simple sound making him tense again.
"Hey, I need you to give it back," you glance at the door behind you, turning back to the corner only to see those clouded eyes again. "My father’s back. He’ll take it from you if he sees it. I’ll give it back to you when I see you again."
You swallow nervously, "Please? I promise to give it back to you."
His head shakes. One subtle, even undistinguishable, movement.
"You can trust me," your eyebrows smooth upwards, hand laid out and waiting for him to take.
The footsteps get closer. The sound sends hammers through your chest.
Promising him this thing was a risky one. You didn't even know if you'd see him again. Gods, you pray you would; the exact moment the toy slides back at you, at your toes, the harsh sound of doors opening make you both flinch.
Your name leaves his mount with a soft timbre, his white coat falling just past his calves, a full black uniform underneath, hands covered with some kind of unclear elastic.
"I hope you had some fun with our new friend," your father, Shiro, says. Bending down, two strong hands grip your sides and hoist you up until you're sitting on his arm, bouncing you ever so slightly.
You don't look at him. Lips pulled nervously in between your teeth as you stare down, the sight from where you are made the boy seem smaller, weaker… more tragic.
He calls your name again.
This time you look at him.
"He's a nice one, Papa," you say, doing your best to look at him with those puppy-dog eyes you know he's weak to. "Can I see him next time? Please?" Your hands discreetly squeeze the toy you hid in your shirt.
Thinly-veiled amusement comes on your father's face, his lip quirking up at the corner, "That so?"
You nod eagerly.
"Well then, we'll just have to see if he's as strong as he is good, right?" You don't understand what that means but you twist your body to look at him one last time, the figure slowly growing smaller until what replaces him is the steel door, scratched and burned.
The next time you see him, he lays static atop a steel bed. No cushion, no sheets, just a steel sheet with a splotch of red. The smell faint vaguely of something sweet and mature at the same time.
It was a week after you first met him. You counted.
You ran as soon as you heard your father's go-ahead to spend the few hours with him as your father checked on another friend on another ship.
"I'm back," you chime, voice gentle, hoping your words don't stress his ears.
He doesn't move. His eyes not even peeking open.
You carefully poke his shoulder, childish curiosity coming over you as you kept at it until his eyes eventually slivered open.
His eyes were still cloudy like how they had been when you first met him. You wonder if he could hold himself up, if he could just sit up from the bed and speak to you properly, either way you don't ask him that. Instead, you pull out that same toy you promised him.
"Here, you can have it back," you smile at him with pursed lips, placing the toy right by his hand, avoiding the red spot a few feet away. "I promised you, didn't I?" Your eyes turn into crescents, smiling at him, chuckling lightly even as he remained silent.
He blinks at you, chest raising and falling at an even pace, different from the way you first saw him.
A part of you hopes it was him warming up to you, maybe even acknowledging you as a friend, but you see the subtle bruises littered across his forearms. Small, almost invisible dots right beside it, dots you know came from those scary needle injections your father never explained to you what were used for.
You couldn't imagine how much it hurts him, how the bruises possibly weigh him down. You know it's selfish, but you don't think about it. You shut it out of your mind completely, focusing on the way his shoulder dips ever so sluggishly, extending his arm so his fingers could wrap around the toy.
Hope swells in your chest. You move away, running to the nearest tall object you can climb on.
"How're you feeling?" You ask lightly, scooting further to the center of the stool. You felt a bit stupid asking about it, especially in his state, but you hope he feels your genuine concern. "Papa won't let me see you too much… I was really happy he let me today," you share, watching for any response.
His body moves to lift himself up, a gargled choke escaping his lips as he does so. His eyes threaten to close, appearing as if they were too heavy for him to keep holding up.
"Be careful!" You dart towards him, stabilizing his upper body with what little strength you have. Half of your leg dangling off the stool already.
"What's wrong?" You ask worriedly. Your hand moves from his shoulders to his forehead, placing the back of your palm on there, mimicking the same gesture your father does whenever you have a fever. "I don't think you have a fever…" you cock your head to the side, "Water? Do you want to drink water?"
Another sluggish sound leaves his lips, attention dropping to the toy in his hands.
You hop off the stool, running outside to your room down the hall, pouring water from the container to a steel cup, running back all the same. Your chest heaves as you come back to him, eyes widening as you see him back on the floor in a rather worrying position.
You drop to your knees, helping him up out of instinct. "Here, drink this. You need water," you say, voice barely above a whisper.
He shakes his head, whimpering, pushing himself away from you at the very sight of such a cup.
You don't dare to make another move. Keeping your distance instead, you watch him with gentle eyes.
Just like before, you sit there idly. Picking at your knees while he plays with the toy in his own way; scratching and pulling at the colorful beads on it.
As time passes by, you've already gotten comfortable on that spot underneath the steel bed. Resting your head on one of the wheeled legs while you watch his movements slowly grow bolder. His chest is to you now, no longer guarded, no longer shoved to the wall and cowering.
"What's your name?" You ask, breaking the serene sound of temporary silence.
His movements stop abruptly.
You speak of your name with the same softness as your question, "It was very nice meeting you the first time. Are you naturally quiet?"
"Papa says I'm too talkative and needy for my own good. I never know what he means by that," you say, still keeping your gaze locked in still figure. "I am very happy I got to meet you again, by the way. You're the only one I met twice… everyone always leave me the first time."
He starts to move again, small movements aimed at toying with the bear. "Do you need anything?" You ask.
"Maybe I can give you something to trust me," you murmur to yourself. "I just want someone to talk to. I just want a friend. Papa has many friends… I haven't got any." You pick at your nails this time, pulling at the skin around it until you feel a bead of liquid at the corners of your eyes.
You look up at him, "Can you be my friend?"
His eyes were on the steel cup, not at you.
Pouting, you take the cup and bring it to your lips. You drink only a sip, wiping off the residue from your mouth and bringing it to his direction.
You bring yourself to your hands and knees, reaching just enough so you could place the cup in between you two.
"It's water, I promise. You can trust me."
When you get back to your spot, it doesn't take a long time before the boy's stretching his arm out. His eyes glued to yours, still clouded, still cautious; he encloses his hand around the cup, moving back with one swift movement.
He turns his back to you, body nearly folded in half as he drinks the water.
You sigh, relieved and thankful at his trust.
He puts the cup back where he got it, the single drop of water trailing down the corner of his mouth harshly wiped away with the back of his hand.
The two of you descend into silence again. Watching him as he plays with the toy just as how you do. Unlike before, now he murmurs quietly ever so often. Indistinct words you can't figure out, words you don't think you can ask him about.
Soon, the synchronized steps from outside enters your ears. Both yours and his, actually, considering how you both perk up at the sound.
You two blink at each other.
Then, he pushes himself off the floor. Scrambling back up the steel bed in such a hurry that his legs dangle helplessly as his upper body already lays pressed down on the bed. You push yourself off too, running to him and lifting his legs up the bed, muttering apologies under your breath as he brings himself to the same position as earlier.
You run to the other side and sit back down on the stool, legs stuck together politely. You catch his eyes looking over you with… nothing? There's no aggression like the first time you saw him, there's no guarded look on his face, it was all blank.
He lifts his hand, the one nearest you, holding up the toy in your direction. You gasp, feeling a new sense of happiness come over you as you take back the toy and hide it carefully on the waistband of your frilled skirt.
Before the doors open, before your father barges inside, you hear a small word from beside you.
You didn't hear it properly so you cock your head to the side, praying he repeats it.
The doors open before he gets to.
Your father's walking over, you could visualize the look on his face already, but you couldn't register any other sounds aside that small squeak of his voice.
"Altan."
"Altan!"
You gasp, surging forward as you fall to your knees with a sob, arms coming around the once frail shoulders you'd know all too well.
Your white coat is stained with red from the blood of keeping your father's men alive. The ship carrying your father's injured men was where you found yourself in, not until you hear one talking about a specific patient of your father's. A specific friend of his.
You'd crossed ships, keeping your objective to yourself as you stare at your father, your papa dead in the eyes with nothing but blankness.
But, here you are now, with a guard subdued by a tranquil stabbed in his neck, disobeying your father as you meet your one and only friend for the first time in years.
"Don't come near him!" You hear a female voice scream from the other side, leg pulling on the chain attached to it. "Stop it! Leave him alone!"
Your minds goes silent as you touch the soiled fabric of his tunic, hands holding the back of his neck as you once did right before the soldiers of Nikara saved him. You grip either side of his head, tilting it upwards until you could see it—his face.
Broken, bruised; you lift up his eyelids and you see that familiar cloud in them. You choke out another sob, wrapping him in your arms until you feel him jerk and push you away, retching sounds leaving his mouth as he doubled over.
"Haven't you done enough?" The female screams at you again.
You turn to her, eyes bloodshot-red and wild, lips quivering, "You have to get out of here," you tell her.
Confusion washes over her face. Loud and angry confusion as she lunges at you again.
You shake your head, a trembling breath leaving your lips as you look at Altan. "Hey, hey, c'mon, I know you're still there, Altan," you try to speak over your sobs, tears falling in endless columns as you cradle his head to your chest. "I'll get you out of here—I promised you that, remember ? First you gotta wake up for me, Altan, please."
His body jerks again, but this time you feel his eyelashes on your collar—on your skin. You look down, his eyes are heavy, drooping, fighting to open.
"There it is," you try to slip yourself into his vision, brushing away the hairs clinging to his forehead, "I'm here, Altan… Your friend's here," you whisper into his hair, bringing him once more to your chest.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Once again, the female with him asks.
You ignore her, lifting his head and bringing his forehead to yours. There, his eyes open. Clouded crimson eyes you've grown accustomed to stare back at you. Your name rolls off his tongue right before he lets out a guttural sound once more.
"I'll get you out of here, okay?" You tell him, pulling him close, "I promise."
You let go of him, making your way to the sleeping guard on the floor and pulling him into the cell beside theirs. You put him under the stone bench, hiding him as best as you could as you walk back to their cell.
The woman watches as you close the door to their cell and lock it, wiping away your tears as you look down at Altan's body on the floor.
Just like how you first met him, you leave him all the same; his figure shrinking as you move away until all that you see is, once more, the steel doors guarding their cells.
The very next day, you make sure your father's as occupied as possible. You also make sure to slip in pills you've personally made into the water system of your father's boat.
You know he doesn't let his prisoners drink so you had zero worries about accidentally having Altan and that girl with him drink it.
You float around the main laboratory where he kept his prized patients — in this case, that'd be Altan — mapping out the fastest escape route you could as the sun slowly went down.
When it had gone down fully, you slip into one of the rooms in the boat, one where another experiment of his laid head facing the ceiling.
The assistant in the room notices you, her eyebrows raising as you walk over to the body. Thankfully, you'd buddied up to her that very morning, laughing and joking through clenched teeth.
You call her forward, asking her about a question related to the body. She straps her gloves back on, pulling her mask up, and leaning over to answer. Your hand grip the body of the injection in your pocket, knuckles going white with how tight your grip was.
You breathe in.
I'll get you out of here.
With one fluid strike, you stab the injection onto the thick side of their neck, hitting the jugular as her legs give up just as fast. Her hand tries to stop yours, gurgled sounds spilling from her. The next part of your plan should've been to scream, to draw attention to such a scene and slip out into the main laboratory while the rest clamored; a fire rolls out from outside instead.
The hallways get filled with thick, dark smoke as you leave the room. You desperately cover your face with your sleeve, coughing out as you bumped recklessly with the other guards, the effect of your pills evident in the way they swayed around like leaves whilst carrying their weapons.
"Altan!" You called, voice loud and trembling. Your eyes were starting to hurt. Your ears were ringing with screams.
You didn't know where you were going anymore. Turning left, then right, straight, then right again; you wonder if you were walking to your death now, if you were simply prolonging the time before you're burnt to a crisp along with the other people on board.
I'll get you out of here, okay? I promise.
"Altan! Where are you?" You called again, louder, weaker, the smoke entering your lungs wore you down faster than you thought. "Altan!"
You think to leave, to get the easy way out and exit the boat and swim away to your safety. But you needed Altan. You needed to save him. To get him out of there as you promised.
Soon, you see a bright light from the end of the hall.
You feel your heart lurch as your world stops.
You know that light.
Altan.
You called for him, running through the smoke as you see him fight off the oncoming guards. Fire rolled off of him like it was nothing; anything he touched burned to a crisp in no less than a second.
Again, you call for him, desperate to see him at least for one last time.
The light shifts to face you. A woman stands beside it, crouched over and limping, the resemblance between the too close now that you see them both in the light.
His mouth moves in a way you think it was your name he whispered. It couldn't have possibly been anything else. Not when crimson eyes, bright and clear for the first time, stare at you from the end. Not when the fires guarding his body had weakened just slightly.
Not when he lunged towards you, wrapping you in his arms, unbeknownst to him the fie he inflicts on your body.
Your skin singe with the heat radiating off of him. Yet, you bite your lip and endure it.
You'd endure it all just to prolong this moment.
"You're here," he says, breathless, both hands holding your face up to look at him. The image of that boy, that friend you made on such a fortunate day, was all you could see. "You're really here."
A small smile comes on your lips. The words that leave him worth more than the warm pain slowly consuming your senses.
He seems to notice it because then he's taking his hands away. The pain, though now lessens, still screams for more. More of his touch, of his warmth.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"I told you to trust me, right?" You interject, attempting to laugh at his apology but, like a cruel memory, the deafening sounds of footsteps return to your ears.
You inhale sharply, turning to the side, "This way," you tell them, swiping your hand through the smoke as you run towards the exit. You move to the side, Altan pushing past it as the metal melts around him, a pathway for you and the girl.
The three of you run towards the edge of the boat, the very spot where a smaller boat should be hanging from. One that hopefully could bring all three of you to the shore safely.
But the three of you come to an abrupt stop at the sight that awaits.
The entire dock was filled with Mugenese soldiers. All with bows already quipped with flaming arrows, waiting for the very command.
You definitely didn't think that through.
You turn around to a familiar scene; the two Speerlies stood with their foreheads to each other, Altan's hand resting on either side of the girl's face. Your heart warms, you had hoped to get to know her even in the small time you've spent with her yelling at you in their cell.
You glance back at the dock, worry crawling through your veins for the very first time that night.
"Altan! No!" You hear a scream from behind, a scorching hotness envelopes your wrist before you can even turn.
His face enters your vision. The fire surrounding him slowly growing stronger just as the pain consumes you all the same. You could feel the muscles in your wrist melt to the bone, yet the pain doesn't seem to move you any more than the fear of what was to come.
Your name leaves his lips in a soft plea, breath fanning over your face in flames.
"You go with Rin. She's family. She'll take care of you," is what his mouth says, yet the look in his eyes, through those tendrils of fire that mimic his lashes, you know he means the opposite.
Your throat bobs, slowly losing control of your own body as the flame tie you in a longing hug, one that perfectly reflects his own, one that feels like his arms—skin to skin.
You reach into your pocket with what little strength you have left.
His eyes, whatever those indents in his face were, widen and his lips part. The object in your hand slips from yours to his, the beads decorating the small bear melting in an instant.
Your hands, or whatever was left of it, go to wrap around his shoulders again, moving to hold the back of his neck as you pull him impossibly close. It was just as you did the night before he was saved, then the night before this, and now on the night as you speak with one final breath.
"I promised you, didn't I?"
At your words, the fire that was Altan consumes you whole; through it all, the only thing you saw, the only thing that remained in your mind, was his smile.
What a beautiful sight, you thought.
hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! if you liked what you read, you could consider buying me a coffee :D
We(yes we) NEED MORE ALTAN FANFICS.. Especially during High school times... Because l feel like Altan really needs someone who can be with him since his school days- Please someone be a family to this man😩
yep school day altan here he comes!!!!! u can check this out :D
summary: apparently the golden boy of sinegard academy is weak for one thing: persistence. unfortunately for him, you’re more than adamant on making one (1) new friend.
pairing: third-year!altan trengsin x third-year!reader
content: gender neutral reader! / awkward altan / family dynamics / reader is very persuasive and persistent / altan is grumpy / fluff :) / somewhat quick pacing / 5.1k wc
Students at Sinegard Academy come from colorful lines of families. Most of them fighting for which father holds greater power over another's. Which student came from a powerful province, and which came from provinces too poor and ignored that others forget about it.
Thankfully, you don't have to bother comparing families because yours never came from a province. You never came from the all-prestigious entrance exam—Keju. Instead, your ticket to the academy was because of your family and Master Jiang's persistence.
Your family was one of the original families tasked with working as keepers and attendants of the revered academy.
As a child, you lived at one of the small houses near the gates of the academy. Helping your family out by watering the plants around the gardens, arranging minuscule things that need arranging. Essentially stewarding the academy during holidays and break.
When the age came to take the Keju, naturally you didn't get the highest score. Not with you being a resident of Sinegard anyways.
Despite that, one fortunate meeting with Jiang Ziya lead you to getting a shot in the academy. You were just watering the plants in his garden when he see you, eyes swelling and mouth grinning.
He had asked you one singular question then: are you smart?
You answered no with your whole chest. He let out the loudest laugh afterwards, telling you to wait until the start of the classes.
You don't know about the particulars on how Jiang managed to get the administration to let you study at Sinegard Academy despite failing almost every requisite there is. You think it's simply because Jiang wanted to piss off the administration, wanted to see how much bullshit he can pull before they kick him out.
Clearly you weren't enough bullshit because he's still there. Most of all, he's your master. You're his apprentice. Only one, too.
The terms that came with you entering Sinegard was that you still have to work as a steward over the campus grounds. You had to catch up, juggle, and advance your studies all the while maintaining your responsibilities as an attendant.
Fortunately you never had been around your classmates too much during your first year. That small factor helped greatly with you ignoring any unnecessary opinions from your peers.
Now, with the change of uniform from the traditonal Sinegardian student uniforms with your Lore armband to the old and cut-up uniforms of the campus attendants, students from your year barely recognize you as they line up every breakfast, lunch, and dinner for their food.
One of the things you found rather interesting, but at times heavily tiring, as an attendant were mess hall duties.
Having mess hall duties meant overhearing the occasional chatter during breakfast, lunch, and even the usually quiet dinner. It varied greatly with the crowd.
First-years usually race towards the mess hall, carrying with them an enthusiasm you'd never expect from someone training to be a pawn in the country's military. Only a quarter of them held at least a semblance of respect for attendants like you, the remainder din't really bother much with the custom.
Second-years usually dribble in countable groups. By then, the numbers of students have already been halved and so individuals either find a circle, or eat on their own. Regardless, you'd found that they stay for a maximum of fifteen minutes before the books of the library call their name.
Third-years, fourth-years—even fifth-years—are pretty much ancient texts. You mistake them for your fellow attendants or even mentors most of the time, with their taut and exhausted faces and deep dark circles under their eyes. They hardly cared though. They would mutter a simple thank you or a shallow bow before grabbing their steamed bun and leaving.
Today, the mess hall was pretty rowdy. The tables allotted for the first-years were buzzing with students sharing their plans for the upcoming lantern festival.
It was a three-day celebration. The administration suspended the classes on the last day of the week so students would have three days of rest. Many spoke about heading back to their province. Something about their parents sending carriages in advance so as to waste not much time.
"Do you plan on going back to your province too?" You suddenly ask the student in front of you. Having been debating about sprinkling in some social interaction into your otherwise monotonous and boring day-to-day job at the mess hall.
The student, tall, dark, and foreign-looking, looks at you with surprise. His sharp and thick brows shooting upwards. He looked fairly your age. Familiar too.
"I mean for the lantern festival. Are you going back home?"
He blinks at you. Lips pressed into a thin line.
Move the line! You hear someone say. Your eyebrows furrow, the line wasn't even that long! God forbid you talk to someone other than your fellow attendants. Still, you don't look away from the man in front of you.
He tries to open his mouth but no words follow. Only that awkward silence that makes you look even more like a loser.
"Sorry," you look away then, handing him the remaining food he should have gotten moments ago.
Just as confused, he nods. Turning away sharply, sitting at the farthest corner of the mess hall. You watch in sheer fascination as he sets his food down, back straight and strict, scooping the contents of his soup to his mouth in a fast pace. You'd only been watching him for a short moment before he's already heading out of the mess hall.
That's weird, you think. I think I prefer it if the person'd just cuss me out instead of making me look like a loser.
Huffing out a breath, you turn around and continue to serve the remaining students in line.
When the afternoon rush finishes, you eat your own lunch at one of the stone benches at the edge of the third tier. Sitting beside another mess hall attendant, a bowl of stew on your lap as you overlook the small group of students training at the lower-tiered courtyard.
"Are they second-years or first-years?" You ask. The distance way too far for you to make out the distinction.
"Second-years. They have an armband," your father's voice, deep and scratchy, answers. "The armbands look fairly new too."
You hum, watching them curiously. The synchronized movements of the class proving to be a way better form of amusement than you thought. You watch as they swing the wooden object in their hands, twirling it into the air before slicing it through. The distant hyah! from them contributing to the experience.
They seem to be doing a routine. Each movement perfectly curated to mimic something like a performance. Repeating continuously until mastery, you believe. You've watched them for the entire ten minutes, your bowl untouched, and they still haven't paused to take a break.
"Gods, I remembered hating that," you say ever so casually.
"Good thing you're not in combat. You're in that lousy class Lore," your father says in contrary. Raising an eyebrow as he glances at you.
You take a spoonful of stew. "Better than nothing. You'd be surprised with the amount of things I learn from Jiang," you say lightheartedly, letting your shoulders relax.
Your father clicks his tongue, tearing apart his bread and giving you half. You ask him, "Do we have any plans for the festival?"
"No," your father answers.
"Not even a proper supper? C'mon… we can stir up a few meals from the ingredients in the kitchen!"
"You don't even know how to cook. You'd just be giving your mother more work," your father responds back, that smooth look on his face as he closes his eyes, just in time for his daily meditation.
You don't think he should meditate immediately after eating but hey, you'd just get scolded if you say anything about it.
Keeping your eyes trained on the group, they finally get their rest just as you hear your name get yelled out.
"Bring this to Master Jiang. He forgot to come by for food," your mother says, handing you a wooden tray with a full bow of stew, three meat buns, and a cup of tea. You wonder how he would digest such a meal with a measly cup of liquid.
"Mother, I don't think he forgot…" you take the tray with both hands, already knowing that every food on it would just find its place in your stomach a few moments from now.
Your mother shakes her head, shooing you away as she takes your seat beside her husband, smacking the meditating man awake and scolding him.
You hike up the stone steps, up the spiraling staircase to Jiang's garden. "Master! Speak if you're here!" You sing-song as you go inside the gate, receiving nothing in response. Which, literally, answers your question perfectly.
Taking a seat at one of the benches, you dig in his food. You've known now, from the many times you were told to bring him food, that if he ever forgot to go to the mess hall for a meal, he didn't really forget. He simply chose not to. That's either because he has some better things to do like bother Jun, or look for people to pester down at the busy districts of Sinegard.
Anyway, that simply meant more food for you.
Who were you to deny yourself of such pleasure?
You were in the midst of eating your second meat bun when you feel a heavy presence by the tall sets of bushes to your right. Carefully, you turn your head just slightly. Ready to curse out your master in case it's one of his pranks.
It's not one of his pranks, though, because it's a man standing there and not that white-haired fool.
Wouldn't you know—it's the same tall man that ignored you earlier at the mess hall too! This time, a silver prong protruded from his back, peeking just slightly, glinting from the sunlight.
"You're being weird, you know that right?"
He maintains his silence. Simply quirking his head to the side as if he never heard you in the first place.
Rolling your eyes, you turn back to your tray. Dropping the meat bun on it, suddenly losing your appetite at such an introverted guest. You look back again, ready to call him out once more, only for him to disappear into thin air.
"This guy…" you sigh, shaking off the nerves. You decided on reading your textbook instead, one Jiang had personally stolen from the forbidden section of the main library.
"It's you!" Your words come out way more enthusiastically than you had intended. The finger you had mindlessly pointed at the man got a deep scowl in response. "You come here too?"
He closes the book with a loud thump. "It's a library."
"Technically it's the forbidden section. Technically forbidden means you're not allowed to go there," you say as-a-matter-of-factly.
"Well, you aren't allowed here either," the man retorts, lifting himself up from the floor only for you to stop him.
"Woah, woah, hey—I'm not going to rat you out, don't worry. You can keep reading, I don't really mind! I just came here to read too," you tell him, holding your hands out to prove you weren't a threat.
He snorts, "How perfect."
"Wow, rude."
His brow arches. The light from your lamp lighting the space just enough for you to notice the subtle movement.
You look towards his bicep. "Strategy?"
He doesn't look to yours. Instead he says, "Jiang took you in."
"Yeah, well, he didn't really have a choice. He wanted me here, he needs to take me in. Besides, I never liked Strategy or Combat," you blurt out, hoping he wouldn't notice the sudden word vomit.
"What do you mean?" Well that clearly piqued his interest.
You grin, "You're interested?"
His face tenses. Forehead creasing as his lips slip into a tight line. The exact same look he had when he stood in front of you at the mess hall.
"See, you're doing that again!"
"Doing what?"
"Being fucking weird," you say annoyedly, "First, you ignore me at the mess hall. Second, you hid and watched me eat at Jiang's garden earlier. Now you're here."
"I didn't ignore you," he counters, "and this is the library. It's a public place."
"So you're agreeing?" You cross your arms this time, mimicking his own stance. His face twists in confusion even more. "You're agreeing that you were watching me eat at Jiang's garden?"
A sound leaves him. Somewhere between a disbelieving scoff and a snort. "You're exactly like Jiang."
"No I'm not, I don't smoke during classes." He turns his head to you, movement so sharp you felt the whiplash. "Just kidding…?"
"Hm. You can have the library. I'm leaving," he grunts, walking past you.
"Already? You aren't even interested in why Jiang took me in Lore?" You ask, sounding a bit way too desperate for you like but you quite literally have no friends in your three whole years of studying at the academy.
You need one now.
He pauses, just a few steps from the door. He looks over his shoulder, eyes losing themselves in yours, "No." With that he leaves the room, closing the door shut behind him.
A scoff escapes you, "Douchebag."
You spent that evening reading up on the list of unconventional books Jiang had previously ordered you to. Truth be told it's been about two weeks since you last saw him. You have no idea on what the hell you're supposed to do now that you've finished reading and writing five-paper reflections on each book.
The next time you see that blunt fellow wasn't at the mess hall, it's at the mandatory triage classes Enro held.
"Wow, are we that close of friends that you're sitting beside me in classes now?" You say jokingly, grinning at the stone-faced man.
"I'll sit on the floor," he stands.
You pull at the sleeve of his tunic, "Just kidding! C'mon, sit down. At least I'd have someone to talk to while Enro's killing everyone silently."
"I'd rather get killed by Enro," you hear him murmur. He sits back down nonetheless, huffing out an annoyed breath as he crosses his arms.
"What's your name?" You ask him, offering a friendly smile.
He looks at you.
With a sigh, he answers, "Altan."
Happily, you give him your name in return. Quite content that at least now you and this Altan is on the second level of friendship among its many levels. He doesn't seem the least bit happy of getting a friend but hey, who knows, maybe he was just a tough nut to crack.
The first few minutes of class pass by excruciatingly boring. Something about the kinds of toxic substances everyone must know. You didn't really bother much with paying attention. You were seated at the back, and Enro hardly ever called on students. If she did, she usually called on the student beside you. Altan would answer her questions in a heartbeat, quick and correct, always precisely the answer Enro was looking for.
"How did you know that?" You had asked Altan after a particularly tricky question.
He shrugs, "I read."
"Was that what you were reading last night?"
He shrugs again. This time offering not even a word but a simple jerk of his shoulders.
"I'm really curious," you try again, leaning back on the wall behind you, "How come I don't really remember you during our first year… you're a third-year too, right?"
"Maybe you were too busy buddying up with the other first-years," he responds. It still lacks the enthusiasm, but at least it was more than five words.
"I didn't have any friends during my first year, if that's what you're thinking."
He turns his head to you, raising his eyebrows disbelievingly, "With how talkative you are, I doubt it."
A small smile comes on your lips.
"What are you smiling about now?" He sighs, rolling his eyes at you.
"Gods, it's nothing, Altan. Can't I smile anymore? Would've you preferred if I sobbed right here, right now?"
"Go ahead," he scoffs.
Unfortunately for him, you are a student of Jiang Ziya.
So you suddenly drop your head, letting a loud sob slip from your lips, crying Altan's name like he'd just broken your heart seconds ago. You could already feel the eyes on you, the way you feel an insistent nudge at your knee. You sob again, this time louder.
Now it's Enro asking the entire class what's wrong with you. Altan cutting in to say it's nothing.
"Cut it out," he says, close enough that you were the only one hearing it. "I said cut it out." He elbows your side, voice coming out stricter.
You lift your head, wiping off imaginary tears as you apologize to the class. "My apologies, Master Enro. It will not happen again," you say, ignoring the lingering whispers and the shameful look coming from Altan himself.
When Enro turns back to her lecture, you turn your head to Altan. A cheeky smile gracing your face, counteracting the death glare he was currently sporting.
This is going to be so much fun, you think.
When you see Altan at the library, in the forbidden section no less, he still makes an effort to get as far away from you. The only difference now is that he didn't fully leave the library.
To you that's good enough progress… especially since now you actually have a human being also reading with you, not just ghosts of whoever.
The more you pester him around, the more talkative he gets. Though most of his words are always laced with some kind of passiveness or sarcasm, sometimes he genuinely asks about you. Like how you got into Sinegard, how Jiang's actually lecturing you in your Lore classes, and now, where he's asking about how your family got into the job of stewarding the campus.
The two of you were somewhere by the third tier, overlooking the same group of combat students you overlooked before with your father. The tray of food Jiang failed to get sat between you and Altan.
"I think it was my great-great-grandfather from my mother's side, I'm not a hundred percent sure. When I ask about it to my family, they always tell me fate just decided best for them to be the keeper of the mountain. I think they're being dramatic," you explain, biting through the piece of bread.
"That's rude. You calling your family dramatic," Altan remarks.
You glare at him, "Altan, do not tell me what's rude. You're ruder than I am."
"Am not."
"You are. You ignored me that first time I talked to you in the mess hall," you point out. The resurfacing memory making you cringe internally. You probably looked so stupid then.
He thinks it over for a moment, the downward jerk of the sides of his lips tells you he remembers it exactly the way you say it.
Then, he says, "I don't really remember that."
"I asked you if you had any plans for the lantern festival," you replied, your memory popping up at the right time. "Actually, now that you're here, do you have any plans for the lantern festival?"
He blinks at you.
"No."
"Oh," his face stiffens for a moment, visibly caught off-guard. "Well if you want you can spend the holiday with us!"
There's a heaviness in the air from his side of the bench. You see the quiet debate within his own mind, pretty obvious now that you've found yourself always floating to his side whenever the situation allows, his mannerisms now docked permanently in your brain.
You wait patiently, keeping a small hopeful smile on your face.
Finally, he exhales a breath. "Has Jiang given you a new set of readings?"
Oh, you think, It's fine. I can ask him again next time.
"He did," you feign an exasperated sigh, reading towards the waistband of your pants and handing him the small piece of parchment where Jiang made you write the list. "I think I'm one more reading list away from finish every text there is in the forbidden section."
Altan snickers, taking the parchment from you as he looks through it thoughtfully.
The topic about the lantern festival doesn't come up the rest of that day, or any other day forward. You've tried dropping hints about it here and there hoping he'd catch onto it, he never did. Well even if he did, he never said anything about it.
Now it is that day of the break. The first day.
The entirety of the academy's grounds are dead silent. Barely any soul walking by as everyone else had already gone back to their home provinces yesterday, refusing to waste any rest time.
You on the other hand couldn't really leave the campus even if you wanted to. Your home was literally by the gate, the lone bungalow where you and your family retire to every break and end-of-classes.
The couch in your living room had definitely seen better days, with you lying on it since your eyes had opened. Not bothering to stand even if you felt the call of the bathroom. You barely have any time to actually rest, so you're taking this break as leisurely as you can.
Sinegard Academy's spot in the mountainside of Wudang Range was actually very airy. The cool winds seeping into the windows lulling you to sleep every time.
"Wake up!"
You peel open your eyes. The angry scowl of your mother comes into your immediate view. "What?" Right from there, you feel a harsh slap of a rolled-up newspaper on your shin.
Apparently, your mother's fury is all because of a singular head of cabbage your father forgot to carry with him when the two of them were walking through the market earlier that day. You couldn't even complain, the savory smell from the kitchen already has you standing up.
Before you leave, you sneak a spring roll in your mouth. The crispiness of the wrapper was downright mouth-watering.
You grab an oil lamp, hiking your way up the stone grounds of Sinegard Academy, wearing on your wrist the link holding the campus keys. You go into the gigantic cooking area of the mess hall. Pulling aside the curtain to the pantry as you look for cabbage.
While you rummage through, you overhear rummaging from a different part of the kitchen entirely. You discreetly take the cabbage from the crate. Peeking just slightly through the curtains, you spot a very, very familiar figure.
"Trengsin?"
The figure stiffens, broad shoulders lifting.
Slowly, his head turns to your direction. The way realization dawns on his face almost comically has you laughing loudly. His eyebrows were knitted in a way that so clearly expresses his distaste. The slight stretch on his lips, a scowl at you already.
"When you kept ignoring my invitation, I thought it'd be because you were going back to your province. Yet here you are stealing—" You glance down. He held bags of thickly sliced carrots, three eggs, and a piece of celery. "—do you own a pet bunny?" You can't help but ask, eyes still squinted as you eye the contents in his arms, not entirely sure on what the purpose for those things are.
"Do I own a pet bunny," he repeats your question.
Your features keep still.
He scoffs at you, back turning, making his way to the door.
Even more confused, you trail after him. Making sure to lock the back door of the mess hall as you leave. "Wow, someone's got a stick up their ass," you say loudly, walking beside him with your arms crossed. The cabbage in your hand poking out like a sore thumb. "Can't someone ask questions now?"
Altan glares at you, lips pursing into a thin line. "It's my food."
Oh, you think, Maybe he's making a salad?
"No, I'm not making a salad." The glare is quickly replaced by a knowing look. Almost as if to show that it wasn't just you beginning to remember things about him, but also him to you. Though it's clear he's still snippy with his tone, "I'm eating it as is."
"Don't you know how to cook?"
He answers, "No."
"Oh. Then where are you heading now?"
Another sigh, "Somewhere."
Somewhere? What the fuck is that? It's the break, isn't it? He shouldn't even have made it past the gate in the first place.
"Are you meeting… ah, well, someone?" you ask.
Now he shakes his head. Something in his eyes feels like he's keeping his guard up, as if you're next words would decide how your friendship with him should progress.
When your eyes light up right then, he feels something in him tense even more. "Perfect! Come to my home then! We're having a traditional dinner in honor of the festival." The genuine smile on your face disarms him. It always does. Altan wonders how he still hasn't built enough walls to resist it.
Still, his pride seems to make up for the lack of walls. "No. It's too far."
"Actually it's right here," you halt your steps, extending out the arm holding the oil lamp to reveal a stone door. Your parents' indistinct conversation floating outside the bungalow thanks to the open windows at the sides. You grin at him, "No excuses now huh, Trengsin?"
Whether or not Altan found your words and invitation amusing did not show in his face. He still had his features pulled to a taut, unreadable expression. You had zero clue as to what was going on in his mind, but you're more committed than anyone to not let him spend the break alone.
He's your closest friend after all. Though you're sure he'd cringe if you call him that.
"I can't," he murmurs, "I need to head back now."
"It's just one dinner, Altan," you tell him, though your voice held no bite now. It was careful, hopeful. "C'mon, just spend the dinner with us. Mother made way too much anyway. I think she predicted your presence so she made a lot," you laugh at the end, trying to pull out even so much as a subtle sound of amusement from him. Anything to tell you that he's actually considering it.
When he doesn't budge, glancing between the lights of your home seeping through the wooden door and the light-ridden stone path leading to the dorms, you feel your palms sweat. Altan's wordlessly rejected you so many times already, now, you worry, he'd finally verbally reject you.
Fortunately, fate seems to be on your side because someone comes out from your home. You hear that familiar creeeek, then your father's voice follows, calling out your name harshly, "You've been there all this time and you didn't even come in? Your mother's going to kill me if you don't get that damn cabbage to her now."
Your lips part, stuck in your spot facing Altan.
"Please?"
"You haven't had tangyuan before? Seriously? Have you even lived before?"
Altan stifles a choked up laugh at your father's dramatic tone, with his wrinkly eyes wide open, jaw hanging as if genuinely dumbfounded. "I… I just never had the chance to try them," it was probably your first time seeing him speak so politely, look so politely.
Your father shakes his head harshly, reaching to the center of the small wooden table and personally serving two balls of rice cakes onto his bowl. Pouring the extra sauce over the two cream-colored delicacies. He looks at you, eyes confused, begging for some help with your father.
You smirk, ignoring him and paying your full attention to your plate.
The food were just simple, basic, made by the same hands that cook food for the students every day and yet Altan finds it way more delicious. Heavenly, even. When that first spring roll crunched in his mouth, small flakes flying everywhere, the explosion of flavors coating his tastebuds, he genuinely felt his stomach expand.
He wonders if such a taste was because it was made without the budgetary restrictions of the administrators, or perhaps because of the occasion. A glance at you tells him it's neither.
It was the company that made it all the more delicious.
Your parents' inquire on the peculiarity of his daily living with the same amount of curiosity you once did. They gasp whenever Altan tells them he hasn't tasted much besides what the mess hall serves, they gasp even more when Altan answers a question about his personal life.
"So you don't find anybody cute in the academy? You don't receive any gifts during Valentine's day?"
Yes, his fight or flight instincts almost took him. Even still, he answered them as truthfully as he could, ignoring the way you eye at him with guarded interest.
"I do…" he says carefully, "…but I don't really pay it any mind. I throw it away."
"That's rude," you interject.
Finally, at your voice, his shoulder eases. "I didn't ask for it in the first place," he reasons out, teasing.
The two of you lock eyes. The corner of his lip slowly rising when he notices color rising on your cheeks. You looked away, suddenly finding the steamed bok choy interesting.
He takes notice of your mother's outstretched hand in his direction, taking the big bowl of lotus root and pork soup and handing it to her, all the while keeping his eyes on your profile.
And if that wasn't the most amusing part of the entire dinner, your father personally inviting him to accompany you at the lantern festival near Jade District definitely was. You complained then, telling your father you were fine by yourself. Your father, in response, ignored your complaints. Roping in your mother as well.
Altan may have laughed at the family bickering then, but the invitation lingers in his head even now where you walk him out of the bungalow.
"Ignore them. They're insane," you tell him, rubbing at your arms.
Knowingly, he draws his own oil lamp closer to you. Your shoulders easing just as his once did.
"Coming from you?" He huffs, eyebrows raising.
"Yes," you say sassily, "They're old people, Trengsin. You really shouldn't take their word seriously."
"Huh. I didn't think you'd be the type of person to take back an invitation."
It's your turn to huff. "Excuse me?" Your tone raises, head tilting to the side. "It was my father that invited you. I didn't."
He keeps silent, watching you step around in circles.
Your head perks up. He arches an eyebrow.
"You know, if I didn't know you any better, I'd think you'd actually wanna come to the festival." A thoughtful grin grows on your lips as you search through his unreadable expression. You gasp, "Wait, do you?"
As if the entire night wasn't already entirely out of his plans, he laughs at you. A real, unrestrained laugh. Boyish and free. Something you haven't heard. Another thing to add to the mental list you kept of every new thing you discover in him.
His voice drops to a whisper, broad shoulders you know all too well facing you, a hand lifting as if to tell you to head back home.
"Thank you for the dinner, idiot."
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