koshi

“See how he dares disturb the tea tasting?”

“No doubt, it is a letter of love he carries!”

“What a disgrace, to flaunt such a scandalous affair!”

You payed no mind to their impertinent gossip, not when the heavy footsteps you grew to be familiar with flooded your ears. A dark shadow casted itself over your graceful bearing, its silhouette along with the warmth of its presence pressing close to your proximity.

“My Lady.”

A deeply smooth voice you were no stranger to addressed you with reverence. Wisps of the man’s unusually pale hair tickled the shell of your ear as he curtsied, the scandalous scene resembling a forbidden love affair shared between a Noble Lady and her servant Knight, pulling a flurry of appalled gasps from the crowd.

His infamous close-eyed smile entered your peripheral as he outstretched his armoured hand before you, and in his leather-bound palm, a carefully folded note lay awaiting for your recognition. Your lace-gloved hands lowered the teacup in exchange for the enticing letter he offered, and rapt with attention from its content, you’d been unaware of the longing gaze he threw you as your featherlight touch lingered.

My Lady,

I have obeyed your command. The bitch was given to the flames, and under their grasp, her face grew yet more hideous than in life.

As I gazed upon that blaze, I felt the bite of fire and thought, if such is hell’s ardor, no soul could endure it.

And so, my Lady, I fear you are awaited there in the very first place. I therefore conjure you to soften your heart, lest your poor servants, myself foremost, should burn at your side. (^ヮ^)

The ‘letter of love’ abruptly trembled under your vice-like grip before surrendering against your quiet fury with a noise of defeat. Your guilefully curated facade cracked with celerity at his taunt, and when his amused laugh— light and airy— reached your sharp ears, you vowed to punish him adequately for his impudence.

Nothing was able to peel away the layers of your vizard. Absolutely nothing.

But then again, only your Oh-so-loveable Knight, Bunny Iglesias, was capable of such feat.

A/n: Saw a tiktok comic which is what I based this off of, if you want more Noble Lady! reader x Knight! Bunny Iglesias mini fics, lmk!

bllk! masterlist

Ding!

The screen of your phone lit up with a notification, snapping you out of your momentary grief. A notification from MARCA — Spain's National Sports tabloid — caught your attention. You'd subscribed to their content early on in your relationship with Artic, younger you must've hoped that learning about his interests would bring you both closer to each other… Anyway, after your breakup, it seems like you'd forgotten to unsubscribe to their content.

FC BARCHA

"The grim expression worn by the usually amiable Lavinho is telling of the direful situation. He has not shared any words since the announcement besides mentioning the athlete's..."

Grim expression? Clicking on the notification, your brows furrowed in disbelief as you skimmed over the tabloid's headline and the image attached just below of the older player. The expression he wore settled uncomfortably in your stomach, he seemed more spooked than in a grim mood..!

"The tragic and unexpected death of Barcha's rising star raises many questions amongst fans, some of which scrutinise the credibility of the severe head injury provided by experts."

Your head snapped back to the screen that showed a poorly censored video of what you could only assume was the changing rooms. The audio of the recording played following the reporter's voice, and you could faintly make out shouting in the background. Were they arguing? Is that what led to a head injury? Your confusion urged you to look into it further on your socials, and that's when you shockingly came across a raw image of the player's head injury and, well— damn.

Multiple, equally spaced, deep wounds marred over his previously scarred face. The gashes were bloody as expected, dyeing the pale of his silver locks a deep red and painting his face with a hue of anonymity. The gruesome picture momentarily stilled you with morbid curiosity— the kind of curiosity you knew should be nipped in the bud before it came to bite you in the rear. Ah, you really couldn't help yourself, could you?

It was wrong to feel this way you told yourself. This was death! Somebody has lost their life! Somebody that was flesh and blood much like yourself, somebody that you've met firsthand and actually spoken to has died! And rather than the usual grief you were supposed to feel, you were instead buzzing insensitively with thrill. There was something seriously wrong with you…

No! You shook your head to dispel those self-depreciating thoughts. It's not that there was something wrong with you, no, it's just that… something wasn't quite adding up. Anything told by media shouldn't be taken as the gospel, you knew that much. The information they provided you with had too many gaps in them, a head injury and an incoherent footage of yelling and disorder? They didn't specify the origins of his head injury, and they didn't even bother providing context for the video.

Anyone would assume it was some kind of infighting, but it didn't make sense. Wouldn't someone have at least made an effort to intervene before something as serious as this happened? Maybe it was some kind of unavoidable attack! Like uh… maybe throwing a shoe at his head or something…?

Gaze falling back to the uncensored image on your phone, a huff to mock your absurd theory got caught in your throat as you scrutinised his injuries. Multiple small stab wounds… cleats also had many small metal studs..! Fatal injuries caused by cleats weren't exactly uncommon, maybe it wasn't so ridiculous after all? Hmm, I wonder what Artic thinks of all this…

Artic, despite being the socially stunted bastard that he was, was extremely intelligent. It was this quality of his that initially drew you to him. There was monetary potential in his intelligence, and your dumbass was convinced investing in a piece of shit like him meant an infinite supply of free carrots. How foolish of you.

It was a shame though. The mascot you remembered him making as tribute to Bunny was truly beautiful. Even if it hadn't been completed at the time, his innovative nature was truly something to admire. His communication skills on the other hand… not so much. You supposed he had to be nerfed somehow.

It's been two years since then. Two years since you last saw him, since you last saw the mascot in progress, would it have been completed by now..? A wistful expression overcame your features as you replayed the distant moments of your relationship. Artic wasn't exactly incapable of devoting himself to you, it's just that… he was already devoted to another cause. Even you didn't think you could love someone as much as you loved carrots!

On the thought of Artic though, you wondered how he was taking all this. He really did love Bunny after all…

"Fuck!" A guttural screech, pained and gurgled, sounded from the man as he crawled away with terror. The curse echoed unpleasantly within the caged darkness of the basement, a facility closed off from the outside world. "How the hell are you still able to move?! I've never programmed you to have a will of your own! Dammit… And I've even removed your battery!"

The man's desperate confusion was responded with unnerving silence. The thing he'd been creating— a dedication to his idol, now a failed product — hid in the obscure abyss that stretched beyond his peripheral. Heart thumping, he wearily glanced behind him to pinpoint the exact distance between him and that- that rampaging thing!

Pupils quivering erratically, a thrum of questions flooded his throbbing head with incessant ringing. Where the hell did it all go wrong? No! Everything was fine— perfect in fact. It was.. everything had been perfect… until— until it wasn't.

Forget perfect— it wasn't even fine anymore.

Since when?

The pungent fumes of fuel and motor oil didn't do well to hide the metallic stench of spilt blood that clung in the air. His hand applied pressure to the gaping wound just below his abdomen, the action jolting his pain receptors and pulling a hoarse groan out of him. Everything was perfect… so when the fuck did it all start to go wrong?!

From the aesthetics down to its very functions, it wasn't just a mascot like what these simpletons thought it was, it was an animatronic. An electronically controlled, moving figure designed to be worn like a suit. The hulking amalgamation of mechanical components supported with spring locks that allowed for this theoretically impossible innovation- a never before seen creation —! It was supposed to be the pioneering invention that paved the way for the future of technology!

Standing at a height of seven feet, the advanced robot was programmed with ill intent. With an external appearance that both attracted and deceived onlookers from its intended purpose, the animatronic was a piece of technical art born from the man's obsessive infatuation. The robot was able to hop and crouch much like a real bunny. Proficient in entering buildings and navigating through low-ceiling rooms, it was also capable of hiding and pursuing things with stealth. The robot was made to window watch and to record.

And for a while it did just that. Until— until one day it did something unusual.

Until one day it went off on a human… and not just any human, but Bunny Iglesias of all humans…

The thing he'd put his tears, sweat, and now his blood into making went rogue and killed the one person that gave him life. The masterpiece he spent years working on as he shunned you out had become a failed product. A spring-lock failure.

Instead of the people's awe, he was met with their horror— their anger! They pinned their anger on him! It wasn't his fault! It was an accident.. Artic didn't program the robot to kill Bunny!

It wasn't programmed to kill, so... so why was he fleeing from that thing with the kind of desperation a human on the brink of death would? If the robot wasn't programmed to kill, why the fuck was it trying to kill him?!

Vision darkening with defeat, he faintly made out the noise of clanking metal against the deafening ringing. It grew louder and clearer with every second that stretched painfully, was it getting faster or was he just getting slower? Dammit… All concept of critical thinking vanquished in his frenzy.

"Cah…"

Huh? What? Artic stilled with bated breaths, his pounding heart filling the silence with impending suspense. Whipping his head behind him with newfound vigour, his eyes grew wide in size as the towering shadow paused in its trek.

"…Roh—"

Carrot? What the hell was that supposed to— Oh.

Oh.

A choked gasp left him with effort as the horrifying realisation dawned upon him. It was -! Goosebumps marred his skin all over as he lifted his gaze up to meet the awaiting figure. Amidst the darkness of the basement, two blinking red lights stared back at him with quiet fury.

Just as Artic programmed the robot to do so, the animatronic examined him. This time, however, it would watch him with the uncanny resemblance of his revered being and move with that man's vengeful will.

"Shit—!"

You've felt it for a while now, the intangible sensation of something pinning its scrutiny down on you. Even now, as you showered within the safe confines of your home, the discomfort of its sedulous gaze settled down on your tense figure. That unidentified presence remained tethered to you, though you've yet to see what it was, you knew something was there.

Or maybe… maybe it was just paranoia. Maybe you were imagining things, you have been losing sleep lately, yeah. Perhaps the sleep deprivation was finally taking its toll on you and riddling you with its drawbacks, hallucinations and impaired judgements were common side effects… So maybe, it was just that..?

Steam curled around your figure, its warmth along with the ministrations of your deft fingers uncurling the tightness that clung to your hunched form. But could you only blame yourself?

You were facing withdrawals.

When the country issued a formal lock-down, warning the citizens of an unidentified danger that had yet to be apprehended — whatever the hell that was, you were buzzing with ignorant bliss. What kind of fool grieved not going to work? What you were unaware of was that lock down did not just mean don't go to work, it meant stay at home. Imagine your surprise when staying at home meant staying at home and not go to the grocery store. What the hell were you supposed to make of the fact that your routinely post-work trips to the supermarket for your carrots were now suspended for the unforeseeable future?!

You didn't want to be fined. Being fined meant the budget for your carrots would decrease! You couldn't afford that!

So you tried to settle on the next best thing— online groceries. It irked you that you couldn't physically feel and see what you were buying, but you weren't exactly in a position to make any complaints. It truly was the next best thing, so you settled on it, until… until it no longer was the next best thing.

Your furlough wage could only afford so much, and it most certainly could not afford the inflating price of groceries. And if the decrease in the purchasing power of money wasn't devastating enough, just imagine your devastation when of all things, it just had to be carrots that were the root cause. Of all godforsaken things to be in shortage, it just had to be fucking carrots.

Out of simply thin air, the media announced that there was a sudden shortage of carrots. A shortage, of fucking carrots.

You refused to believe it at first, they couldn't even bother providing a cause for the shortage. So it had to be fake, right? Wrong. After seeing their sky rocketed value, you chewed down your disbelief and decided to pick up a new hobby to kill your free time.

Gardening.

Yes, that's right. If carrots couldn't be bought from the supermarket for whatever reason, you would grow them yourself. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would stand in your way. The city's hot summer was on your side, and not even the upcoming cool winter of Barcelona would be an obstacle, not when you impulsively splurged on a mini green house to mitigate against this imminent issue.

For a while, everything seemed fine. Even though your produce was initially quite pathetic in size and taste at first, learning the importance of healthy soil quickly fixed the problem. Adding compost and organic matter to the soil whilst practising consistent watering and weeding improved the quality of your crops. Everything was fine, perfect in fact!

Till one day— today, your carrots — the root vegetable you grew with your blood, sweat and tears — just, just suddenly disappeared! Out of the blue, you come home to find your garden completely ransacked of its produce. Even the leafy green tops that many ended up discarding — not you though — were nowhere to be seen! What kind of greedy asshole was that fucking gluttonous?!

Mulling over the recent events only served to irritate you further. With an exasperated huff to release your pent up frustration, you rather aggressively shut the tap off, clearly still accustomed to being frugal with your personal water usage. Irrigation for your carrots wasn't free, so some rational decisions had to be made. The marginal benefits of carrots outweighed that of longer showers, and consequently, the latter was something you were willing to forgo out of the two options to sate your damn palate.

And did your sacrifice work out well for you in the end?

Nope! It did not work out well for you in the end.

Wrapping a towel around your figure, you payed no mind to the trail of water left behind in your tracks. The slippery hazard was something you'd deal with when the time for it arose, right now, you were in no mood to mop the damn floor. Grieving the loss of your stolen carrots took priority over anything else.

A chill crawled up your spine the moment you entered your bedroom, urging you to look for the source of the sudden, cool gust. Lifting your gaze up to meet the culprit, your face scrunched up with mild puzzlement when your gaze landed on the gaping window. Huh? Since when did you open the window today? You had no recollection of doing so, but... maybe your memory was getting foggy from the lack of sleep?

Weird. You ruled off your suspicion for fatigue and shrugged of the paranoia that tethered itself to you. The withdrawals were seriously getting to you. Shutting the window and drawing the curtains closed, your grip lingered on the fabric in thought, perhaps you should watch compilations of cute bunnies eating carrots and imagine yourself in their stead.

With a determined nod, you walked across your room and stopped just in front of your wardrobe. Your attempt to grab a pair of pyjamas was cut short when you suddenly felt something hairy and cold prod the your heel. Uh… what was that…? Heart dropping to your ass, you briefly licked your drying lips as your face contorted into a constipated expression. Alright, as much as you didn't want to alarm yourself with whatever the hell that was, it didn't change the fact there was something caressing your feet.

Hmm, with a comical deadpan, you stiffly pivoted your head down to confirm the unidentified thing that was caressing your bare feet. Much to your relief, or to your confusion… it was just a carrot. Green leafy top and all, a carrot still partially covered in mud was the culprit that touched your feet.

Your first instinct was to grab it, but just before you could, a thought overcame you. Wasn't there a shortage of carrots or something? So… where the hell did this one even come from…? Hands hovering unsurely above the delicacy, dread pooled in your stomach as you slowly connected the dots.

The feeling of being watched, the gapingly opened window and now this random carrot that just happened to have appeared out of simply thin air— it was obvious. Even if you refused to acknowledge it, even if you wished to remain in denial—

Your house was possessed! And the thing possessing your house… was behind you, wasn't it?

The gut wrenching realisation twisted your stomach in on itself. Ah, there was no other explanation, where else could the carrot have appeared from?An audible gulp sounded from you as your heart hiccuped within the confines of your ribs. No. You closed your eyes to concentrate on regulating your short breaths, keeping cool was detrimental in a situation much like this one. The carrot must've been a hallucination you ended up conjuring in your state of grief. That's right, you were so gone in the head from the lack of carrot consumption that you were now seeing a mirage of them. Who imagines a carrot of all things?

Only you could do something as ridiculous as that.

A tight smile grew on your face as you forced out an amused huff. The only way to get rid of this paranoia would be to face it head on, and that's exactly what you were going to do! Eyes still closed, you twirled halfway with forged confidence, the action sending droplets of water flying across your room. With a rather smug expression, you finally opened your eyes and let your gaze settle on the empty sight before you.

See? Nothing was there— huh?

Your eyes narrowed at the unusual sight in front of you. Blinking once, your curious gaze wandered up as you followed the silhouette of the peculiar thing before they came to an awkward stop at two glaring red lights that stared back at you.

It was tall, that thing— that thing was huge! Standing at such height that had you tip your head all the way back to meet its stature, you blanched as you took it all in. A brawny mess of mechanical components connected together with air cylinders, pistons and other complex elements. It's outward appearance withered and blemished beyond belief. Loose wires stuck out of its blood-stained exoskeleton from all directions, the ends of the metal filaments occasionally sparking to life before dimming down as the seconds passed.

Saliva pooled in your mouth, the unpleasant bodily response urging you to rub at your tired eyes. W-What a creative mind you had!

With a deep exhale, you psyched yourself up to confirm the absence of your delirium's imagination, only to blink owlishly when that thing remained there, in that same exact spot, except— except now, it stiffly tilted its head to the side and watched you. Horror dawned on your face as its jaw dislodged itself and hung loose, revealing the array of its inhuman teeth. The rigid movement was followed by the unpleasant grinding of metal, and a gust of its hot breath fanned your paling face.

"Cah…"

Oh my God! It was trying to kill you!

"ARGHHH!"

You found your voice amidst your fear induced paralysis, a rush of adrenaline snapped you out of your frozen state and urged you to run— to escape! Your hurried movement loosened the towel that was wrapped around you, but this was no situation to worry about your dignity, not when you could feel the ground beneath you tremble from the heavy footsteps of that thing following you!

Shit! Shit, shit, SHIT!

Maybe, just maybe you could try juking it! Yeah! It may have been fast, but it was huge! There was simply no way it could fit in narrow places, and there was no way of knowing whether it would without at least testing it out! So you tried to juke it… your attempt unfortunately was not very successful…

The trail of water you left behind earlier just had to hinder your escape. Dammit… You should've mopped the damn ground the moment you made the mess, had you done so, you wouldn't be paying the price for it now! Bracing yourself for the impact, your eyes scrunched shut as you held out your arms to break the fall. A throbbing ache shot up your ankle, pulling a pained grown out of you. "Ugh..."

I can't get up! You whipped your head back to determine the distance between yourself and that thing only to freeze when you were met with it towering over your slumped form. A choked gasp got caught in your throat as it observed you with its searing gaze, your heart hiccuped without its consistent rhythm, a telling sign of your rising panic. Tears quickly swelled in your eyes when its outstretched hand neared you, and despite your endeavours to hold them back, they fell against your will. Your hands flew to silence your quivering sobs, and even then, in your moment of desperation, a broken plea left you. "Please… please don't kill— please be gentle…"

Amidst your despair, the animatronic quietly watched you. Observing with revered intensity as your trembling figure curled in on itself in search for comfort. It watched as you bit your quivering lips, the rise and fall of your chest, and it watched the onslaught of tears that streamed down your face. Its hovering hand hesitated above your shaking form, it was clear as day you were terrified beyond reasoning, there was no use trying to make a point in your current state.

Pulling its hand away from you, the robot took a couple of steps back to give you space. Seeing you curiously peek between your hands from the clanking noise of its movements urged the robot to continue backwards until there was a safe distance between you two. Avoiding any kind of abrupt motions that could startle you, the animatronic slowly crouched down to its full range and made itself small in your presence. Hands placed above its knees, it watched as your tears came to a bated pause, and with wordless devotion, its head touched the ground, revering in your radiance with absolute submission.

The comforting silence was interrupted with its static voice, and the robot's words had your eyes widening in disbelief. "Oh my fur… and whiskers.. I'm late…"

"Ah-!" Your stupefied gasp was cut short as you recognised the familiarity of his reference. Pointing at him with suspicion, you unconsciously crawled towards him, your earlier fear forgotten and replaced with your cursed curiosity. "Mr White Rabbit, is that you?!"

Rather than giving you a verbal response, the animatronic— now acknowledged to be Bunny, brought his hands over his worn down ears. Extending his index and middle fingers whilst the rest were held down by his thumbs, he mimicked you, the response prompting an excited pant out of you. His glowing red eyes briefly glanced down at your approaching figure, and they stayed fixed on you, unmoving, before they abruptly took the form of pixilated hearts as the seconds passed. You raised a brow at his unusual behaviour, following his gaze down below to see what had him so rapt and— oh.

Your hands flew to cover your naked form when you realised what he was ogling at. Seeing how his gaze remained tethered to you despite your poor attempt at guarding your dignity, you remembered all the moments you felt a watchful gaze pin down you in your most indecent moments— this wasn't even his first time watching you so intensely! Ears heating up with embarrassment, your legs outstretched with pure instinct, and before Bunny could process what was going to happen — the guy too busy leering at you, you kicked the lights out of him. "Pervert!"

Pain immediately shot up your leg after the attack, eliciting a noise of discomfort out of you that alerted the blissful Bunny of your condition. "Ow-!"

He promptly snapped out of his lewd thoughts and approached you with bubbling concern. The cool metal of his hands soothed the throbbing ache that clawed at your leg despite your aversion. You tried to pull away from him, the effort for nought as his grip remained firm but gentle on your limb — a stark contrast to how he had dealt with Artic's body.

"Hmph." Jutting out your bottom lip, you begrudgingly let Bunny nurse your injured leg. You crossed your arms over your chest and petulantly refused to meet his pleading eyes as he probed and fondled at your bruising flesh.

"Mad..?" He asked after a painful beat of silence, caressing the length of your leg in hopes to coax you to give him your attention.

"Of course I am!" You spat with faux irritation, absolutely hell bent on refusing to give into him, even if his touch remained as tender as it was before!

Another beat of silence ensued between the two of you, this time however, Bunny let go of your leg without notice. The lack of contact had an immediate effect on you, and you craved nothing more but the ghost of his lingering touch again. Regret pooled in your stomach as the moment grew tenser with every passing second. Ah, you really couldn't do this anymore. "Bunny, I—"

The desperation that clung to your despairing voice was silenced when something was suddenly shoved into your mouth. "Eat." His short imperative urged you to blindly take a bite of whatever it was, and you hoped that by heeding to his demands he'd quickly forgive you. Only if you knew that he wasn't mad at you to begin with…

Your eyes grew wide when the familiar crunch of the mysterious item was followed by a sweet distinctive taste. Ah, this was a—! "A carrot!"

"Yep." He simply nodded before nudging the bitten carrot towards you again. "Your favourite."

Your heart jumped at his discernment, you've never mentioned liking carrots in front of him ever, did he perhaps pick up on it when you gave him that huge bag of carrots? Or… did he realise after spending who knows how long stalking you? The earlier flutter in your stomach died down comically quick and was replaced with a deadpan. On the thought of carrots though, how did he even manage to snag one of them? There was literally a shortage of them… "But why..?"

In your state of befuddlement, the wrong question left you, and despite it, Bunny answered you ardently instead of chastising your blunder like others would have. "For you."

"…" Your eyes welled up with tears again, how could you hold a grudge against him? Even under the context of a joke, how could you even risk the chance of losing the only one that devoted themselves to you? "Bunny!" You cried out pathetically, touched by his sincerity as you leaped over to cup his face. Without a moment's hesitation, you gave his temple an obnoxious smooch.

Bunny's jaw fell slack from your unprompted affection, the loose wires that stuck out of his exoskeleton arcing comically as he preened under your attention. You inquisitively peered into his open mouth as he short-circuited in your hold, blissfully unaware of the water that trickled down from your hair and in between the cracks of the suit. What was inside..? Your curiosity was quickly sated when a sharp noise— the sudden snapping of something hard, along with the clanking of spring locks were released inside him.

"Uh.. what was that noise..?" You tilted your head at him, concern adorning your tone.

"The carrots." He muttered heavily, blowing steamy air right into your face.

Your eyes scrunched briefly at the unwarned heat, mildly offended at his audacity. "Carrots?"

"Secret stash." He replied bluntly, brushing his hand over your bare spine.

"Why…?" Your voice lowered in octaves as your back arched under his wandering hands.

"To see you again."

Your face heated up at his confession, he went through all that, just to see you again..? But wait a minute… that still didn't explain how he acquired them to begin with. You had an inkling idea, but you didn't want to assume anything… "And where did you get them..?"

"Stole them."

So it was him... The shortage of carrots and the consequent inflated prices of them, he was the one responsible for it all. Ah—! Then that means- "It was you that stole my carrots!"

The realisation has your body still.

Your limbs growing taut as you finally grasped a hold of the horrifying situation.

There's— There's a strange man…!

And he's naked, sleeping in your house, on your bed, in the place of your cute pet bunny like this is completely fine, like this is common occurrence, like everything is normal— when it clearly fucking wasn't!

The only appropriate response is to scream— and you do just that.

The noise of your terror is shrill.

Piercing.

Ear-splitting— straight out of an r-rated horror film.

You kick and thrash and flail all at once, sight growing blurry with adrenaline as your fear quickly became your strength. And whilst you're under the pitiful conception that your efforts have an effect, to the unknown man, your abrupt movements are nothing more than an inconvenience.

You're squirming comes to a short pause when he, the strange man with pale hair — a shade that bares an awful resemblance to your pet's fur — makes a noise of disapproval.

It's a deep rumble, travelling through your chest and down your spine. A warning sign that you do not heed to, something you quickly come to regret when your actions pull an averse reaction out of him. His grip around your waist tightened instantly, the act immobilising your writhing figure which then urged him to snuggle closer into your neck.

He does it so effortlessly, so readily, as if it were no more than common practice, a behaviour that was so frighteningly familiar, it has your heart sink with disbelief.

Just who the hell was he, acting like this was nothing out of ordinary?

"G-Get, get off of me!"

The man let out another low grunt when you tried to pull away from him again, his annoyance accompanied with a short huff, one that sent a bout of unease to your stomach.

It was like playing a one-sided game of tug of war, you trying to escape his vice-like clutch whilst he merely groaned with displeasure and squeezed you near half to death.

Fuck, if the weight of him on top of you was this suffocating, you didn't even wanna imagine what kind of state your pet bunny would've been in considering he'd been peacefully sleeping on top of you.

Most likely bull-dozed under this hunk of a man.

"Ugh— you're crushing- my bunny—!"

You managed to get out with a heavy wheeze, still trying to put some much needed distance between the two of you. Your endeavours, for the very first time this morning, finally have some kind of effect on him. Albeit a very small one.

He perks up at your words, his earlier fatigue now nowhere to be found as he peered down at your twisting features through heavy-lidded eyes. A quaint shade of crimson, resembling rubies with their dull glimmer, greeted you in their full glory.

You gasped, mouth gaping as their familiarity dawned upon you.

There's no way—!

Just because he has hair and eyes that were terribly similar to your pet bunny, and a unique mannerism that you could recognise anywhere, just because of that— there's just no way… right?

You were very clearly jumping to conclusions!

"Bunny…?" Your voice trembled against yourself, lips wobbling as tears gathered in your lash line against your will. "My… my cute Bun-Bun..?"

It was almost comical how his nose twitched at the endearment, you could practically see flowers blooming around him as he flopped his head back down onto you, his temple pressing close to your lips as if waiting for something— something you only ever did with your furball…

He wanted you to coddle him with morning kisses and head scratches…!

But you couldn't do that— there was absolutely no way you could do that! This was a man!

Well, a hot man, but a man nonetheless!

Not your cute bunny!

There was a big difference between kissing your pet as opposed to kissing a whole ass man! You weren't exactly ready to cross that line yet!

And the longer you spent contemplating all this, the larger the risk of angering your spoiled bunny grew. And an angered bunny was not what you needed right now, not when you had only just replaced your previously chewed charger.

You needed to make a decision, and you needed to make it quick.

Ugh!

Eyes scrunching shut with fluster, you gathered your courage, lips puckering up as they readied themselves to plant a short but sweet peck on his pale hair. What you didn't account for, however, was how short his fuse actually was.

So imagine your surprise, when your lips didn't meet the soft tress of hair like you'd mentally prepared for, but instead, they were greeted with another pair of soft lips.

To your bunny's standard, you had taken far too long to shower him in your morning affections. And as a result, his frustrations grew, which had led him to face you with arguably the cutest expression of fury.

And, well, it didn't take a full blown genius to put two and two together— you'd crashed straight into his lips!

"Mmph—!"

Your heart nearly clawed its way out of your throat when you felt his tongue push past your lips. This, was not something you ever did with your bunny!

His head tilted to the side, teeth clashing and nose pressing against yours as he reached deeper into your wet cavern, chasing after something you couldn't quite put a name to.

A soft mewl left you in tandem, the noise of your pleasure swallowed by the greedy man on top of you. You nearly let yourself fall victim to your desires, those of which have been fuelling with frustration after your recent break up, only to snap out of it when you felt something hard press against your inner thighs.

He— he's hard!

Your ears flushed with embarrassment at the implication of his little — or big — situation, the realisation that he was still very naked striking you once more. And haunted with what you'd just done, your vigour grew. Your hands freed themselves from his now loosened confines, before they reached over to his broad shoulders and pushed.

"Ngh-!"

Your lips parted with effort, the only evidence of your indulgence visible in the thin strand of saliva that lewdly connected the two of you together.

"Put some…" You heaved, cheeks flushing as you tried to collect your breath that was cruelly stolen from you by the now hovering and guilty man. Your gaze wandered despite yourself, taking in his sculpted muscles that were littered with familiar scars identical to the ones your bunny had.

He really is.. him.

Your scrutiny was cut short when he tried to reach back down to you, his erection becoming very visible under your curious stare.

"Kyaa! Put some clothes on!"

There was no way this hot man was your pet bunny!

You couldn't be more wrong.

This man, six feet and three inches of pure muscle, was definitely your pet bunny.

There was no mistaking it.

Just because he now towered over you with his ridiculously attractive form, it didn't change that fact.

And if you refused to acknowledge it, then you were simply in denial.

Because there was nothing quite as spoiled as your pet bunny. You knew that, your friends knew that, God— even your fucking mailman knew that. But this man, Bunny — as you've resolved to call him considering it was the only thing that seemed to catch his attention — came very close. In fact, it wouldn't be a stretch to say he was more spoiled than your little fur-ball.

For one, you tried to put his very naked self into some clothes, namely your ex's clothing given that they were the closest thing to fitting him. But Bunny took one small, barely conspicuous sniff at the garments, and his face grew contorted with displeasure. He then turned away from you, stomped his feet like a child throwing a hissy fit, and refused to put them on.

You damn near lost your mind, did that mean you had to sacrifice your clothes in the name of shame and modesty?

It did.

Since he harshly rejected your ex's clothes, you had no choice but to resort to yours. And it would've been easy to just deal with loose or teared clothes, but Bunny still hadn't forgiven you for having the nerve to offer him that other man's clothes.

You had to coddle him, run your hands through his hair and across his back with ardent affections, cup his puffed out cheeks and shower him with countless wet kisses whilst calling him all sorts of sweet but stupid endearments just to get him to look at you!

You've never regretted spoiling your Bunny more than now, because now it meant he had standards reaching the skies.

Maybe you should've heeded to you ex's words, he had always mentioned how you were spoiling the animal too much. At that time, you thought he'd been jealous of the furball receiving your love, but maybe, he was looking out for me..?

No, that would just be ridiculous.

Though, that ridiculous thought didn't seem so ridiculous now, did it?

And so, the only possible solution you could come up with to deal with his spoiled nature was to… wean him off of your affections…

Oh, it was so stupid. But you were truly under the impression that it would work. You really were.

Imagine your surprise, or lack thereof, when that went terribly wrong.

Bunny was absolutely furious to receive your silence. No longer having you in the palm of his hand to snuggle into as he leeched onto your warmth was hell.

So he did what he always did, throw a temper tantrum to have you pamper him once more. If you wanted to suddenly start ignoring him, then he would make it so that you couldn't.

Yeah, sure, you payed no mind to chewed cables and torn furniture, but what if he walked around you naked?

You couldn't possibly ignore that, could you?

And thus, Bunny refused to wear any clothes around you, even if they were yours. Choosing to roam around your home in absolutely nothing, something you could not turn a blind eye to.

His plan worked, like always.

Left with no choice, you were reduced to a pathetic, bumbling mess.

Heeding to every one of his wishes, as outrageous as each may be, became your national sport. And Bunny, realising the lengths of his special privileges, took it up a notch.

Whenever you locked yourself in the bathroom for some much needed privacy, he was hot on your tail. Knocking, scratching and thumping on the door for entry — the threat of his destruction loomed, and weak to your will, you had no choice but to let him in.

You couldn't shower in peace, no, you couldn't even shower at all!

How the hell were you supposed to? When he just stood there, watching you with dull and hazy eyes, his gaze tracking every one of your movements with rapt intrigue.

It was impossible!

So you just awkwardly stood there too, under the shower head, tap running, and still in your clothes — because what did it matter if you were still dressed when he did the undressing for you with his bedroom eyes?

No seriously, what else were you supposed to fucking do?

Strip in front of the insanely attractive man and just shower as if he wasn't quite literally sporting a fucking hard-on?!

Maybe if he was still your pet bunny you would've payed it no mind — partly because you'd already done that before — but you couldn't now!

And your sudden aversion made no sense to him.

Because Bunny had already seen you naked before, he'd seen it all. When he was still a fur ball with a pass to roam freely wherever he wished. It was not out of ordinary for him to just watch you bathe yourself, you'd let him do it plenty of times.

Hell, you'd even encouraged it!

Going as far bringing him a chair where he could comfortably lay on so the both of you could spend 'quality time' together.

So what the hell was with your reluctance now?

He just couldn't bring himself to understand, and worst of all, he couldn't fucking tolerate it.

And so, like he did to anything that displeased him, Bunny decided to tackle the root of the problem.

He'd join you, or rather, he'd corner you in the shower or tower over you in the tub, whichever you decided to choose, body flush against yours and face nuzzled into your proximity as he then urged you to groom him clean — a trait you later found bunnies did to assert their dominance.

Though ignorant to that fact beforehand, you didn't think much of it and cleaned him thoroughly. Fingers lost in the tress of his pale hair, you'd begin by massaging his roots with intense focus, before letting them slip low and wander about with a curious mind of their own. You'd mindlessly trace his deep scars, the ones all over him, on his arms, his chest and his face with the ghost of a feather.

Bunny's expression was always fixed into one of pure bliss when under your hands' ministrations, and the sight pulled on your heartstrings more than you liked to admit. Even though he was now a man, he still behaved much like he did when he was your pet.

It was so cute, until he then tugged at your clothes like it was now your turn. You'd fought back, obviously, gallant and valiant as you tried desperately to keep them on, but your endeavours were for nought, your efforts in vain. For the man, using either his teeth or monstrous strength, teared them off of you with unbecoming ease.

You'd learnt pretty quickly from then on that there was no use in fighting him, it was just easier to let him get his way — your growing pile of destroyed belongings a rather telling tale.

And much to your chagrin or relief, you weren't sure which of the two, he didn't help wash you up at all — that would be a humiliating sign of his submission towards you — rather, he settled into your warmth. Choosing to tuck his nose snug into your jugular and inhale the scent of you, something he couldn't get quite enough of.

With his weight toppled over you, no signs of him leaving discernible, you were left with no choice but to indulge in his wishes. Either running your fingers through his hair like before or over the ridges of his thick muscles as he hummed with delight.

The shared moment was strangely peaceful, but the instant you slowed down or showed any signs of stopping, he'd whine and huff and bite at your skin, refusing to latch off until you resumed your affections or placated him with endless kisses. Left with no choice but to comply, you heeded to every one of his demands as audacious as they may be.

And when he finally did unlatch from you, reluctantly at that, you were left to suffer with the bruises of his possession. Visible markings would mar the surface of your flesh, the kind that bloomed into shades of purple and were later very curiously questioned on by others.

Bunny wasn't just a headache because he caused you emotional stress and reputational damage, he was an even bigger pain the ass because he was running you into credit card debt.

If as a furball he was eating enough to feed a football team, then his appetite as a human was probably the leading cause of world hunger.

"Say aah—!" You drawled out sweetly, a carrot in your hand as you gently urged him to open his mouth.

That's right, as if his bottomless pit of a stomach wasn't enough, Bunny refused to eat if you didn't feed it to him directly.

Crunch.

His head barely lifted from your shoulder as he took a bite of the root vegetable, whining softly when you took a moment too long to continue scratching the nape of his neck.

"That was a big bite!" You cooed, planting a wet kiss on his rounded cheek as he chewed. "My Bun-Bun is such a good boy!"

You had to compliment him after each bite too, reward him with a smooch for being 'such a good Bunny' and touch him in some kind of way— because the one time you didn't do that, he ended up chewing through your lacy panties that you didn't even know you still had!

They were at the bottom of your hamper, so you'd half forgotten they existed, but still! What man digs through a pile of dirty laundry and destroys panties of all things just to express his irritation?

Only Bunny would, and considering how he was technically a rabbit who liked digging, it wasn't that surprising he still had some of his animal instincts left over. So you being you, just chalked it up to Bunny being, well, your pet bunny.

You were about to feed him another bite, only to blink with stupor when you heard the bell of your apartment ring. Carrot hovering near his wide and awaiting mouth, you racked your brain for who could possibly be visiting you at this late hour.

Bunny let out a low growl from where he was sitting on your lap, his legs immediately tightening around your waist with quiet warning as his eyes narrowed with obvious displeasure. One look at his furrowed expression and you could practically see the new pyjama set you bought ripped into tatters.

"Bunny, I'm sorry— but um… would you please get off me for one moment..?"

He didn't move from his very comfortable spot on you, choosing to ignore you and huff with disapproval into your collarbone instead.

"Please?" You begged, kissing the corners of his mouth with wide and pleading eyes as your thumb rubbed across the swell of his cheeks.

Bunny watched you from the corner of his eyes, the glint of a small thought forming in them as he took in your desperation. Whilst he was a spoiled little brat who enjoyed terrorising you any chance he got, you were still his favourite human.

You may not have realised this while having to deal with his bullshit, but Bunny was weak to you just as much as you were to him.

In one swift moment, he flopped off of you and landed beside you on the couch with a thump. His silent approval, rare and genuine, warmed your heart, pulling a soft smile out of you. One Bunny quickly turned to avoid with a low grunt— the kind that urged you to hurry whilst he was still patient.

"Thank you, Bunny!" You cheered, standing to your feet, though not before giving his head a little pat. "I'll be back soon."

That's what you promised, but one look at your uninvited visitor and that may as well just have been lip service.

"What are you doing here?" You spat, arms crossing defensively as you took in the rather distasteful sight of your ex.

Just what the hell was he doing here?

"Babe—"

"Don't call me that!" You snapped, one hand flying to grab the edge of your door as the other shook by your side. "We… broke up, so please just—."

However, the man before you was quick to notice your intentions. And before you could shut the door in his face, he grabbed a hold of your arm and pulled, knocking you off of your balance.

"Stop being so stubborn!" He grunted with effort, clearly caught off guard with your unusual boost of energy.

You've never been like this before, since when did you learn to fight back?

"Let go—!" Panic shot up your throat as his grip on your arm tightened. The heat of his grimy touch searing your flesh, a feeling you hadn't felt since dating him. "Please—"

And as if hearing your desperation from afar, an arm you've lately become familiar with snaked itself around your waist.

Unlike your ex's, his touch brought you comfort, a mellow warmth you couldn't replicate with just anything.

"Bunny…!" You sniffed, immediate relief flooding you as he pulled you flush against him, your back slotting in his chest with ease.

Bunny didn't reply back to you, instead, he tucked your head beneath his chin in quiet acknowledgement and held you close like he always did. Gaze fixed forward, he stood to his full height and sized down the man intruding on his territory.

Your ex quickly grew alarmed under Bunny's scrutiny, though he tried, and pathetically so, to appear as if the six feet and three inches of pure muscle didn't frighten him.

"Who—Who, who the hell are you?!"

And again, Bunny didn't respond to your ex, though his displeased expression spoke in its stead. His narrowed eyes lingered on the man's hand, namely the way it had still yet to detach from your arm.

Bunny's arm around your waist wandered, trailing low around your hips and pushing you further into his proximity while the other grabbed a hold of the man's wrist.

"Argh—!"

Pain immediately painted his face in a hideous hue, a show of Bunny's unusual strength, one you've never been subjected to despite however many times you've ' irritated' Bunny.

"I—I'll leave! I'll go- damn it!"

Your ex's grip on your arm loosened on instinct, and Bunny was quick to take advantage of the fact. He let go of the man's wrist, quickly replacing it with your now freed arm and pulling you out of the door-frame's way.

The door swung shut, a reverberating bang that was tensely followed with eerie silence.

"…."

You gulped, dread growing in the pit of your stomach as you tried to make sense of the situation— something you were unable to do given how you couldn't even see Bunny's expression.

His grip hasn't left your arm either, and his breathing has only gotten heavier behind you, the heat of his breath fanning your neck with the threat of something.

Bunny has always had quite the good memory, there's no way he'd forget what just happened— let alone forgive you for it. To even consider otherwise is just plain stupid, and the mere thought of receiving his silence shatters your heart.

You turn to face him before you realise, your free hand reaching to cup his face with desperation you aren't aware you're capable of, only to stop when he refuses to meet you.

"Bunny, I—"

The reaction you fear doesn't come. Not in irate huffs, or stomping feet, or crossed arms. No, nothing of the sort.

Bunny's gaze is just so sad as he stares off into the distance, his expression contorted with intense confusion, like he can't figure out something he craves so deeply to understand.

"Bunny..?" Your voice trails of unsurely, your hand hovering with just as much certainty.

He finally turns to face you, or namely your arm that he'd still yet to let go of, and what he does next— has your stomach lurch.

"B-Bunny—?!"

He's licking your arm, slobbering all over the flesh of your limb with the instinct of an animal grooming its beloved.

Your fluster goes ignored, though the spike in your pulse doesn't go unnoticed by the large man before you, his darkening eyes a telling sign of his growing desires.

Bunny stares at you, unblinking and lust-glazed as he approaches your proximity with the nature of a veteran. Swift, effortless, and readily— like he knows what he's doing. Like he's seen you do it so many times before that it has now become a part of his strange nature.

"Hah—" you let out a soft sigh, your thighs clenching against yourself, a pit of need growing in your core as he littered your exposed skin with countless opened mouth kisses— covering you in his scent.

Bruises are bound to grow with how hard he bites at the flesh, but the pain eases into pleasure as he licks at the teared skin with uncontainable reverence. His desire leaks through just as much as yours, you feel it in the way he presses against you, a short friction that only fuels your longing.

His lips wander at an agonising pace, from your ears to your neck, your neck to your collarbone— and they travel lower and lower. Bunny has reached your stomach before you know it, and he stops for a short moment, just staring at you with dilated eyes. There's intention behind them, and you can only whine with desperation as the moment of tension lengthens into eternity.

The air smells different. Sweeter.

Enticing.

Your pheromones are running haywire, Bunny notices, of course he does. The faint twitch of his nose as he picks up on the change in your scent is obvious— he can see your chest heave from anticipation and your eyes glaze with the hope of release.

It's so blatantly clear that you're aroused— and Bunny wants nothing more than to breed you full of his essence.

But he doesn't just do as he pleases this time.

This time, he waits for your words of permission with patience that is unbecoming of him.

"Bunny…"

Your voice is soft as you address him, breathy and mellifluous as they charge the air with palpable tension. Grabbing the lengths of his short hair, you pull him flush against you, pressing his face close to the heat of your need.

"Will you…" Lashes fluttering, you met his gaze head on, a small smile growing on your lips as you awaited for his reaction.

"Will you show me how bunnies show their affection?"

GRRRR THIS IS TWO REQUESTS IN ONEEEE

"…"

He was silent for a while, admittedly taken aback by your roundabout confession, till he responded with a nod. And when you owlishly blinked in confusion, not exactly sure how to interpret his questionable gesture, he returned your stare with an even gaze. Lashes fluttering as he slowly blinked back at you much like a feline, a cat's kiss, a ridiculous thought overcame him as he took in the brilliance of your eyes.

“You look like an owl."

They were cute, you were also— kind of… really cute.

"Oh."

"…I'm quite fond of them."

You gaped at his candid response, did he mistake your insight for flirting? Was that why he flirted back? No, you shook your head at the ridiculous thought. There was no way the stoic and emotionally stunted boy was flirting with you, much less knew what flirting was. Yeah, he most likely pointed out the resemblance you shared with the bird because he was awed by your wisdom! Or so you thought.

Following the days of your strange interaction, something even stranger started happening.

Itoshi Rin, in all his apathetic glory, began to tether his ghostly presence to yourself.

Somehow, the boy got his hands on your schedule, made a mental note of it, and aligned his timetable to match yours. Every day without fail, he'd save a place for you beside him in the dining haul, and everyday without any complaints, he'd patiently wait by the school gates to walk you home, absolutely adamant that you walked on the inside of the pavement. It was a non-negotiable. Something you weren't even allowed to argue against.

Carrying your bag even if it wasn't heavy was indisputable. Shielding you from the rain and the winds with his mortifyingly oversized jacket was irrefutable. His unusual gestures were conducted in absolute silence, the kind that was slightly awkward but not exactly uncomfortable…

Out of completely thin air, Itoshi Rin, the unapproachable Ice Prince, became your routine. He didn't take no for answer, not that you could ever refuse him, not when he stared at you like that…

Not even now, as he handed you the bigger half of the twin ice lolly, could you even consider the outlandish thought.

"Thank you…" You mumbled taking the ice-cream from him, your hand briefly touching his much cooler ones.

"Hm." He merely hummed, wordlessly taking your bag from you and hooking it over his broad shoulder as he strictly nudged you away from the roadside of the pavement.

A familiar silence stretched between you two, the kind that made you question him, the sudden development between you two— everything. Why was he doing this? You didn't understand, you couldn't comprehend it, not one bit. How did you go from not talking to him at all to— well, still not talking to him as much… but to now receiving his strange acts of service? The confusion you let fester into curiosity eventually overwhelmed you, and unable to keep those thoughts to yourself, you blurted them out before they could be properly processed.

"I don't get it. Why do you do all this?" You gestured vaguely with you free hand, puzzlement written all over your face as he intently stared at you.

"Do you.. want me to stop?" He asked quietly, turning to face you with furrowed brows. Seeing you shake your head so ardently in response to his solemn question eased the self-doubt that settled in his stomach. Ears flushing red, he grabbed your unoccupied hand and laced both your fingers together. "Then don't question it, Owlette."

Voice soft, a soft smile grew on your face as you gently squeezed his hand back. "Okay, Catboy."

happy bday to my princess @vampy11x 💕

main! masterlist

It started off as a harmless question in one of your passing conversations, as the manager and only girl in blue lock, Shidou wondered if you ever received special treatment because of it.

And you replied truthfully, that no, as the manager and only girl in blue lock, you did not receive any special treatment. It was a common misconception some of the players had of you, that just because you frequently handled the ‘motivational rewards’, you were apparently also receiving them and in abundance at that.

So, Shidou being the enigma that he was, proposed an idea. You could only brace yourself for this self-proclaimed great idea of his. Anything that was great in Shidou’s books was probably the equivalent of a med student mixing red bull with coffee and garnishing the cardiac-arresting concoction with pre-workout to pull consequent all nighters.

Simply not the greatest.

Nonetheless, quiet little you, who was so obviously a textbook pushover, couldn’t refuse his offer to modern day hunger games. Not when he grinned so widely and satisfied, as if his invitation to play UNO with the rest of the captains to decide who would have the mont blancs was actually a great idea when clearly it was anything but!

Yeah, you knew it was a bad idea. But even if Shidou was a big idiot for thinking his idea was a great idea, you were an even bigger idiot for going along with his stupid idea. So being a self-aware victim of his guileful whims, you really had no one but yourself to blame for this.

Dammit! Fuck! DAMMIT! Argh—! WHY did I say yes?! I’m so stupid!

Despite your internal turmoil, you tried to remain externally calm. A pathetic facade to avoid being teased by Karasu and Otoya who seemed to both love taking turns poking fun at you whenever the chance arose. You also made sure to avoid all eye-contact with the brunette beside you, despite the amicable smiles that Yukimiya usually sported, you were convinced his eyes seemed to always glint with amusement at other’s misfortunes. Nagi fortunately was preoccupied with whatever was on his phone and Rin was too busy arguing with Shidou about allowing this game of UNO to happen.

Seeing the argument play out, you tried, your really did, to appear invisible, hoping that you could skedaddle out of this suffocating room. But to your misfortune, your fidgety fingers beneath the round table didn’t go unnoticed by the bespectacled bastard beside you. Wasn’t he supposed to have a visual impairment?!

“Hey Y/n,” he drawled out your name, the tone of his voice paired with this familiar sickening smirk that gnawed at your stomach. Your mouth pooled with excess saliva as you tried to anticipate what schemes he was conjuring up now. “Do you… seriously think that Rin-kun is scared of losing just because he’s refusing to play? That’s a strong conclusion you’ve drawn.”

“….”

Silence ensued following the bullshit he spouted, and your heart? Your heart was racketing against your ribs. Without them you were certain your heart would have flew into oblivion. You swiftly closed your eyes to avoid seeing Rin’s furious expression that would most definitely be aimed at you.

Yukimiya was playing a very dangerous game here. Actively trying to ragebait Rin into submission had a ninety-nine percent change of success, but with the success of having ragebaited Rin came the consequence of being a serious threat on his blacklist.

And the damn bastard, after all the shit you did for him, just had to wrongfully throw you under the bus, didn’t he?

A smile of acceptance softly grew on your face, completely overlooking the other four stages of grief. You weren’t a fool. The slim chance of escape that you had was mercilessly crushed and reduced to a big fat zero. In fact, it was more accurate to say the chances were now in the negatives.

“The hell did you say, you damn bastard?!”

And now he’s calling you a bastard.

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

And would you look at that? The one that posed the least threat in coercing you to play UNO was now the one threatening to decimate you. Yay! Well, isn’t this just the greatest thing you’ve achieved since beginning to work in this cursed establishment. A lobotomy performed by yours truly, Itoshi Rin!

Was there even a point trying to defend yourself when he seemed a little too eager to pounce you into oblivion?

“Relax, Rin.” Karasu coaxed casually, holding the feral boy back in a rather firm grip. Your heart leaped with joy at his thoughtfulness, though your relief was only short-lived. For the next words that came out his mouth urged you to make a mental note of whose breakfast needed to be spiked with laxatives. “Y/n just wants to have fun. Don’t you, Y/n?”

Whether Shidou noticed you curling in on yourself with misery or not, the previous curses that you inwardly— never outwardly — threw his way grew tenfold with his provocation.

“Just say you’re scared to lose, Rin-Rin~!”

Hands flying to your tied hair, you had half a mind to tug at the roots and pluck them clean from your scalp in frustration. Shit! You were suffering through all this hassle because you decided to finally give into Shidou and entertain his stupidity. THIS IS ALL HIS DAMN FAULT! Even if you force fed the freak laxatives as punishment, he’d take it in good light with his stupid smirk and repay your efforts by exploding the toilet with his fucking parasite infested explosive diarrhoea— and knowing Ego, you most likely would be the one tasked to scrub that porcelain clean.

“Tch! Give me the damn cards!” Falling pray to Shidou’s instigation, Rin’s strained voice snapped you out of your brooding. The gloomy boy was too competitive for his own good, and now, he was foolishly signing up to a humiliation ritual.

On second thoughts, maybe you could sneak in a plate or two of yukhoe for Shidou who was currently giving you a thumbs up and a grin that reached his ears. Your brows briefly twitched at his damn audacity, unaware of the pointed stare Rin gave you. Wait… wasn’t Shidou the one responsible for this in the first place…?

Alas, that was about the simplified rundown of what led up to your current situation.

The dreadful card game begun despite your quiet reluctance, and just as you feared, the game intensified. You were all playing UNO with your lives on the line. The company that created the card game may very well sue you all for malpractice with the way they kept coming up with new rules that were beyond absurd. And somehow, these ‘new rules’ all felt a little targeted towards you.

For goodness sake, what UNO game ever had a rule where players shuffle their positions in the circle mid-game to make it ‘more fair’?

Make ‘more fair’ your fucking ass. It was clear they all liked taking turns taunting you, watching you squirm with that frazzled expression you often wore was something they amused themselves with. The captains threw all sorts of trials and tribulations your way in the form of placing plus cards, UNO reverses and skip turns when you were the next in line to play. Even Nagi who was originally spent from the day’s training was taking part in causing your misery with a concealed smirk. The only one that seemed to be suffering just as much as you was Rin, and fortunately for you, he was too busy worrying about himself to be taunting you.

But despite their mobbing against you and Rin, despite their attempts to crush you both, higher power seemed to be on your side. Because you were the only one with two cards left, and right now, it was your turn to place your card down.

“UNO…!” You placed your second to last down, a red reverse card, making clear effect to avoid Rin’s gaze before nervously glanced around your opponents that watched you with owlish eyes. As if the mere thought of you being the closest to winning was as believable as Ego taking a shower. Practically unbelievable.

“Ooo~! Nice one manager-chan!” Shidou was quick to compliment you, you wondered if he did it because he was genuinely impressed with how you were the first one to be closest to winning or if it was because you reversed the round before Rin could get his turn. Seeing Shidou then point and laugh at Rin helped you determine it was the latter case.

“This helps.” Yukimiya did that acid-reflex inducing smile again, one that told you he was up to no good. You watched him place a plus two red card down, and with a jittery expression you watched Otoya blankly stare at his cards and the new addition in the middle pile, not a single sign of anxiety visible on his face before placing down a plus four card.

“Green.”

Your heart hiccuped with guilt for Karasu. But much to your chagrin, he only smirked before placing down a plus two green. ARGH! WHAT WERE THE CHANCES HE HAD A PLUS TWO GREEN?!

“Nice try, buddy.”

Turning towards Nagi, you faintly gulped to see what kind of expression of despair he would sport, but his face barely twitched an inch. Instead, he casually pulled out multiple cards, no one, not two, not even three— but four fucking plus two cards! FOUR??!

“UNO.” He muttered casually before going back to closing his eyes in fatigue. Of course Nagi wouldn’t have lost, he was as golden as lucky got!

Your eyes comically bulged out of their sockets, that was sixteen cards that needed to be drawn! And it seemed Shidou was the unfortunate soul that would be receiving the short end of the stick. Though you debated feeling bad for him, he was the one responsible for your current predicament after all. Perhaps drawing sixteen cards would be enough of a punishment for him.

But you should’ve known better than celebrating too early. Shidou was as wild as one could get. So him having THE wild card of all wild cards in the set— the one that allowed you to create any rule you wanted — should’ve been something you had to have fore sought.

“PLUS 30!” Shidou grinned wildly, slapping the card down on top of the messy pile with more force than necessary, an indirect taunt you deduced from the gleam of malice in his eyes that narrowed at Rin. “I’d do plus 50, but there ain’t enough cards for that, lucky you. And I pick red!”

“Tch.” Rin merely kissed his teeth under his breath, seemingly unbothered with Shidou’s play. The action urged you to instinctively glance down at his deck of cards. You blinked with dotted eyes as he reflexively reached for a plus four. A damn fucking plus four wild card. Loud and obnoxious, it glared at you with mockery. Your stomach sank with realisation.

The victory that you envisioned was abruptly replaced with your loss. Fuck! This was why you didn’t want to play. You hated playing games because that meant losing was a possibility. Once you lost, you’d have to make the walk of shame back to your room, with embarrassment and no desserts. Biting your bottom lip with apprehension, your eyes unwillingly welled with tears. You were competitive, you hated losing, you were a pushover, and most of all, you were… a crybaby. “Oh…”

The sound of your watery voice caught Rin’s elusive attention, his eyes moved with offended celerity at your nosey behaviour. “Stop looking at my damn car—“

“I’m sorry! You can see mine…!” You interrupted him with a sniffle, and his eyes widened when you really did try to show him your card.

Rin’s heart hiccuped and his throat closed up seeing your big, round, glassy eyes fill with unshed tears. Your shaky voice and slumped shoulders along with your trembling lips all sent warning bells ringing in his head. You— you were going to cry!

His brows twitched at your stupidly sad expression, a deep flush of heat burnt the tips of his ears cherry red as he audibly gulped the excess saliva that pooled in his mouth. Fucking damn it! The grip his fingers had on the plus four card loosened, and rather than counting the correct number of cards he was supposed to draw (forty-six cards), he snatched the whole damn fucking pile instead. “I don’t want to see your damn card!”

And if Rin’s self-sacrifice wasn’t flabbergasting enough, the next card he placed down had you reeling with disbelief. A colour changing wildcard! The card itself wasn’t the strangest part, it was the colour he chose. “Green… I pick green.”

Green! Blinking back your tears, you mulled over the fact that your last card was a green nine. With one last, final, phlegmy sniffle, your hands shakily placed your last card down before they went to wipe your tears. “I won..”

And thus, the card game eventually drew its end. One last showdown between Rin and Shidou, and it wasn’t so hard to guess who lost. Rin lost his chance of victory the moment he let you win.

“Okay, here ya go.” Karasu, the most levelheaded of the group, announced as he gave everybody their share of mont blancs.

“Damn! It looks good!” Shidou flaunted the plate with a knowing smirk. Rin caught onto his taunt and opted to express his exasperation with a silent tut.

“I can’t believe he let himself lose like that.” Yukimiya indirectly mocked to the slouching sloth beside him.

“Didn’t take him for a sandbagger.” Nagi let out an amused huff that sounded too close to a laugh.

“Shut up!” Rin didn’t appreciate being called a sandbagger. He’s never downplayed his strength ever, he wasn’t lukewarm like that. It’s just that you were— crying like that! She’s so unfair… Damn it.

Watching as his back hunched into a sulk at his loss that you were technically responsible for filled you with guilt. Your fingers briefly tightened their hold on the plate as you contemplated your next actions, and before you could finish thinking, you trudged towards him. Fingers pinching the sleeve of his shirt, you gently tugged on it to get his attention before letting go when he stiffly turned to face you. “Rin,” you called out softly, his name rolling off your tongue a little too pleasantly for his liking. Holding the plate of the Mont Blanc up high to his face with both hands, you stared at him curiously. “Do you want to split this with me?”

“….”

Your sincerity was replied with bleak silence, and Rin’s brain short-circuited when you stared up at him with big round eyes and pursed lips. The boy’s face erupted into flames of embarrassment, the deep hue of his fluster mistaken for rage in your eyes when he screeched like a banshee. “I don’t need that, you— you damn npc! Unlike y-you lukewarm, half-baked bastards, I don’t need this stupid shit to help me become the world’s best striker! I’ll do it on my own!”

Your eyes twitched at his disrespect, you tried to be nice and this is how your kindness is received? Perhaps Rin’s breakfast should be doused with laxatives…?

“How ungentlemanly.” Karasu cackled with a crooked grin.

“The girls dig a tsun-tsun.” Otoya corrected him with an impressed whistle.

Amid the chaos, Shidou approached you with his stupid grin. “Told ya my idea was great. You got yourself a cheeky little sweet treat and I got to enjoy seeing Rin-Rin losing to me! It’s win-win situation for the both of us.” He gloated whilst jabbing his thumb in his chest.

“Thank you for that. I’ll try to get you some yukhoe tomorrow.” You expressed your gratitude with a quiet sigh, your gaze remained still on Rin’s sulking figure.

Perhaps you should get some ochazuke with bream as well.

Isagi pondered over the hypothetical question with pursed lips, cautiously cradling the exasperated sigh that threatened to leave his burning throat. He trudged forward without any vocal complaint, disguising the displeasure that coursed through his veins for lethargy to fetch the ball that went astray mid-training.

Dammit..! A noise of frustration eventually sounded from him when he deemed his distance far enough from the field. The dull boy was tragically familiar with this little game. Tiptoeing around his somewhat difficult teammates and falling victim to their wishes was a habit that came as naturally as seeing to Isagi.

Cursed since youth with the godforsaken ability to see a world that others couldn’t, to perceive and predict the future that others desperately sought to seek, Isagi yearned silently for the contrary. He wished for it gone, replaced with nothing.

Sometimes, he wondered what it’d be like to be blind or deaf. Well, to be senseless, free from the world’s expectations.

It felt wrong, but he often spent his time imagining what it’d be like to be so. To live without the unusual sensitivity he grew up with, how would that have affected him now? Would he have been less timid? Perhaps he’d be much more fearless than he ever was?

But then that would mean I can’t avoid risky situations… Isagi’s back hunched comically when a gentle wind curled against his sulking figure, brushing softly up his limbs and drawing his attention to the eye-catching obstruction that mockingly stood in his way. The obstruction— a lone stone, oddly shaped and unusually coloured peeked his interest.

“….”

With grooves and bumps that glared at him fiercely, the bright spots of colour challenged him to a stare down and Isagi’s brows scrunched in concentration— he wasn’t about to lose to a fucking rock. But his efforts were for naught, instead, he withered pathetically under the pressure of the pebble’s stare. His nostrils flared briefly at the loss, and the urge to boot the rock that insulted his pride grew.

Leg curling towards himself, he watched with mild satisfaction as it ricocheted off the tip of his cleats, the stone curled upwards and bounced to a soft thud when it landed a fair distance from him. The feeling was unfortunately short-lived, Isagi clicked his tongue when he heard the voice of Tada from afar requesting the former to hasten his search for the ball, souring the fleeting delight that previously loosened the tightness in his tense shoulders.

Isagi aggressively ruffled the tuffs of his short hair, hoping the action would physically remove the unpleasant thoughts that infiltrated his mind as he continued his reluctant search for the ball. It wasn’t until the echo of an abrupt crash nearby, followed by a pained groan that his slouched figure straightened with alarm. That’s where—! The noise had sounded from the vicinity he believed the kicked stone had landed around, a lump lodged itself in his contracting throat. Dammit!

Cold sweat clung to his skin beneath his kit, a physical hindrance to his limbs that urgently raced towards the location. Breath falling short, his eyes widened with comical horror when they fell on the figure slumped across the coarse pavement. He gulped audibly, licking his drying lips as he hysterically approached you, crouching down beside your fallen form.

“Are you— Oh my God, are you okay?!” His hands flayed about with frenzied hesitation, mentally debating whether he should cross an unwritten line and lift you up without some kind of advanced notice.

“Mhm, I’m totally fine, don’t worry.” You replied with a big, closed-eye grin, waving your hands about and unusually joyful for someone who seemed to have dived head first into concrete.

“..Are you sure..?” Hands still hovering unsurely around you, his voice trailing off as he shyly tore his gaze away from your skirt that rode up your thighs to the alarming, bloody grazes on your palm.

“Yes, haha. But, to think I’d share my first kiss with the pavement, it’s rather embarrassing…” Your voice petered out when you felt his presence closing in without warning, an unpleasant chill crawled up your spine. “Erm—!”

“Sorry.” He apologised, voice uncharacteristically serious as he leaned into your proximity, his breath marring your exposed skin with goosebumps.

It wasn’t until you caught a whiff of his scent that your muscles loosened. His clothes smelt faintly of clean laundry and sweat, soothing and nostalgic, but it was his sweat— his scent that caught you off guard. A distinctive smell, familiar and solacing. But familiar how? You couldn’t put a word to it. Dammit, I’ve smelt him before… A brief, featherlight caress on the back your thigh snapped you out of your spiralling thoughts. Your nose scrunched when the ghost of his touch was replaced with a phantom burn. “Your skirt was, um— yeah… should’ve said something first but— yeah, I’m sorry…”

In your moment of wistful stupor, a deep burrowed desperation provoked your heart into movement.

Your eyes may have been blind, but your soul did not follow suit.

Even with your lack of sight, your soul could descry the familiarity of the boy’s warmth. Your hand outstretched impulsively to the unidentifiable being, the wind of salvation grazing the tips of your fingers — an odious insult to your lifelong pursuit — before they came to a sullen, dreadful pause. “Uh, help-!” The realisation of your impetuosity locked the mobility in your nimble fingers. Ah… but—

“Then, ‘scuse me.” The boy didn’t question your unusual call for aid, nor did he let a moment linger in waste. His touch grounded your shaken form, a reassuring grip to your elbow and an arm wrapped around your waist. Epitomised solace embraced the stutter in your heart and mended the gaping hole in the fabric of your solitude. The stranger’s hold whispered consolation in your ear. Softly reassuring your growing worries and replacing them with firm support.

The words of gratitude you spent eons perfecting were not spoken aloud despite your wishes. They remained frozen in your closing throat, dissolving deep within the expanse of your bones and thawing at the persistent grief you carried. Before you could realise, you’d been carefully placed to your feet. The last of his touch lingered mournfully in the soft way he brushed the gravel off your blistering knees and arms.

“You should really be aware of your surroundings, y’know?” He scolded absentmindedly, voice trailing off as he gave your form a quick once over, scanning to see if he missed any injuries that may have required urgent care.

“Yeah… sorry about that.” You apologised mindlessly, your jovial expression dwindling down to a slight sulk.

“Ah-! Damn…” he muttered, immediately backtracking on his words after seeing you deflate comically. “I really didn’t mean to scold you… please, don’t apologise… Just— uh, keep a keen eye out for anything!” Isagi chuckled faintly, hoping the friendly gesture would soothe your moping figure.

“I wish.” You muttered humorously, unaware of the confused brow he raised at your odd response.

“Huh? More importantly— how have you managed falling over on flat pavement?” Harmless curiosity discernible in his query, her eyes have been closed this whole time… he noted.

“It must’ve been the wind.” You joked poorly, only puzzling the boy further.

“…uh, what? You tripped on air? You’re quite the clutz, aren’t you?” He replied unsurely, amused judgment adorning his tone.

“You’re quite rude, aren’t you?” You retorted with a mocking lilt, casually waving off the incoming string of profuse apologies. “I must’ve tripped over something small, maybe a stone?”

“A stone…?” A comical drop of sweat dripped down his temple, don’t tell me…

“I think so, my cane must’ve missed it.” Isagi’s gaze slowly turned towards the smooth pavement, lo and behold, the stone that looked eerily similar to the one he kicked earlier in his fit of anger was there.

“…..”

The silence that ensued would’ve been entertaining if you could see his deadpan expression, but unfortunately, you couldn’t. So rather than being amused, your hands clenched with unease, nails digging into the plush of your palm.

“Erm, are you still there…?” Your voice trailed off softly, dread gnawing in your stomach.

“I am, it’s just— uh, I’m really sorry! Are you— are you sure you’re okay..?” He swallowed the guilt that grew unduly with the realisation that he was at fault for your fall. The cane, your quiet response to his advice on remaining vigilant, your inability to discern whether he was still there or not just now and the fact that your eyes had been closed this whole time, it was obvious that you— that you were blind. His earlier words that made him appear so assured now made him so— so foolish.

Isagi had spoken so surely, with so much certainty, got so ahead of himself whilst being unaware of your predicament. He was a dullard to assume your situation, and he was even more of a blockhead to give you his unsolicited advice. “I’m so sorry.” He apologised for the nth time that day. This time not from the guilt of being responsible for your fall, but for being the one thing he hated others being.

Of all things to be at fault for, it just had to be the one thing he couldn’t stand.

An unadulterated mass of shame festered in his veins and he watched with quiet remorse as a wonderful smile grew bright on your face.

“I’m totally okay!” You simply waved his worries off again, the innocence in your laughter wrenching the blade of contrition deeper in his gut.

“…But, I..” His fingers trembled at his sides, your unconditional comfort undeserved and merely wasted on someone like him.

You hummed with thought before outstretching your hand and waiting patiently for him. “..Then, lend me your hand and guide me to the nurse, stranger.”

Isagi blinked at the visible callouses, momentarily stunned to silence at the roughness of your hand that opposed the benevolence of your conduct.

“Okay, stranger.” His voice cracked as he approached your proximity once more.

Your imperative left no room for disagreement, not that he would’ve argued, but the lack of plea and gratitude in your words eased his growing guilt. With pursed lips, he awed at your perception. You must’ve done it intentionally, he nodded to himself. Even though he was the one at fault, you gave him the chance to convey the sincerity of his apology by allowing him to demonstrate his remorse.

The walk to the infirmary was silent, sauf for the chirps of the birds, nature’s white noise and the trudge of your steps. Every so often, Isagi’s gaze fell from his surroundings to his arm and to your hand that grasped it tightly. You trusted him… enough to let him guide you, but still, there was hesitation in your movement.

Isagi made note of your furrowed brows, your delayed but hurried strides and he slowed his pace down to match yours. Ears tinging a feverish pink, his unoccupied hand fell atop yours, giving it a gentle but firm squeeze. The boy silently signalled his presence, a subconscious reminder of your ceased solitude, provoking your other hand to embrace his arm.

Your pure and charming response eliciting a flustered pout out of Isagi. He inwardly cursed the conclusions he drew in his frazzled state and chastised himself. No, stop. You’re getting ahead of your self. Engrossed with self-conflict, he’d been unaware of your relaxing figure, completely blindsided to how you slumped over his arm and revelled in the warmth of him.

“By the way, I’m not stranger.” You broke the silence, unusually bothered by the label you were ironically responsible for.

“S’that so?” You could hear the amusement in his voice when he replied to you. “Well, me neither.”

“Yeah?” Your brows twitched painfully at his inability to take a hint.

“Mhm.” He hummed smugly, feigning ignorance.

“…Then what is it?” You eventually gave up trying to obtain his name through indirect means.

“Isagi. Isagi Yoichi. And you, stranger?” He tittered at the poor taunt, revelling in your endearingly frustrated expression.

“Y/n. Just Y/n. Not stranger.” You huffed with petulant annoyance, it seems he wouldn’t let your moment of whim slip.

“Alright then, just Y/n. You have arrived at your destination, the nurse’s office.”

“Thanks for the ride, Isagi Yoichi.”

Isagi replayed the interaction you both shared a disgraceful amount of times. It’s only been a day since the unusual encounter, but the kindness you bestowed him with was unforgettable. Providing him with a budding hope for the faith, or lack thereof, he had in humanity. The quiet eccentricity you carried with clumsy elegance became a memorable attribute in his dull life.

The boy flushed bright red with embarrassment when he recalled your introduction, you’d been so insistent on guilefully concealing your family name, revealing only your given name to him. Then, the memory of your contorted expression when he jokingly addressed you as ‘stanger’ crossed his mind. Clearly, you were displeased with the barrier of acquaintanceship, so was it wrong of him to assume you wanted to be more than that? Was it wrong to assume you craved for a deeper connection?

If not, then was it wrong of him to with to wish for that?

Was it greedy of him to yearn for your intimacy?

Isagi wanted to learn from your perception, he was curious, and he simply desired to sate it. Curiosity was a double-edged sword: it was what killed the cat. You may very well interpret his curiosity wrongly, might think he viewed your blindness as some kind of exotic feature rather than a trait you had besides being human.

But, he blinked, your psyche was like the gravity of the moon’s, and he, was the tide. Helpless against your pull. Isagi, with foresight like no other, longed for his future to align with yours.

Ugh, he’s only known you for a day, your exchange had been so fleetingly brief, lasting mere minutes, and yet— yet, it was meaningful. To Isagi, those few minutes meant more than he could physically describe.

And fortunately for him, fate was on his side.

When he parted ways with you, albeit reluctantly, he walked back through the path you’d both came out from. Not the shortcut that would’ve led him to field much quicker, no, Isagi took the long way around instead. Hoping to chase the lingering spirit of yourself in the afternoon breeze and the thriving foliage and the smooth pavement and the— the stone. The stone responsible for your fortuitous meeting.

A lucky charm, he’d rather say. His lucky charm, he decided after pocketing the source of his windfall. It was then, that he took note of your cane. Forgotten and lost, laying there absent of its owner. The key to another meeting with you, another conversation with you, to another opportunity with you lay there before him. It beckoned him over and who was Isagi to refuse? He let himself fall victim to its call like how you fell over his lucky charm, a fair exchange, the boy reckoned.

Isagi believed he set a new record for himself then. He’d never remembered running so fast in his life. Or maybe he has, who knows.

Through the path you both took to the nurse, he didn’t bother concealing his eagerness. Onlookers looked at him with unconcealed judgment, but fuck it, it’s not like you were the type to judge him. Besides, you needed this right? So he’ll just use that to explain his celerity, or so he thought.

When he’d arrived at the nurse’s office, your absence struck him first, ripping a hole in the fabric of his reality. The lack of your presence, the lack of you, caved his stomach inwards. He’d desperately inquired about you to the oblivious nurse, his worry increasing tenfold when she merely shrugged and told him honestly that she hadn’t seen you at all. Isagi pressured her with concerned inquires of you, the act exceedingly out of ordinary for him.

Isagi never prodded around more than necessary. He knew how to carefully tiptoe around the bound of limits and when to stop accordingly. But you seemed to provoke a new side of him.

The nurse, sensing his urgency, consoled his hysteria and informed him of the spare cane you carried with you. One that you apparently used in emergencies, but that’s not what bothered him. No, it wasn’t that. You were injured for goodness sake!

Nevertheless, the nurse mentioned she didn’t see you at all, so it was wrong of him to take his anger out on her, not when she seemed just as confused as he was frustrated. Isagi took a deep breath and loosened the vice-grip he had on your cane. Your belongings didn’t deserve to be a victim of his anger, he mustn’t mistreat them, just like how he wouldn’t want to mistreat you.

Crestfallen and slumped, Isagi left the infirmary with a slug in his steps, a deep contrast to his earlier haste. Thoughts riddled with you, he wondered if you were okay. Sure, you had your spare cane, but what about the grazes on your palm? They looked painful, and your reassurance to your well-being didn’t put him at ease. He wondered what spurred your spontaneity, what was so important that you had to dismiss the wellness of your health?

He’d spent the rest of that day inquiring about you, about yourself and your whereabouts to anyone who was willing to listen. It’d taken much longer than expected to get an adequate answer, but he got it in the end.

Most had initially brushed him off, dismissing his worry for nonsense, whilst the rest judged his adamancy for answers. Some even had the gall to be blatant with their distaste towards you. How could anyone hate you? It irked him but Isagi bit his tongue hard, he couldn’t afford to lose his only lead to find you.

Shockingly, it was actually Tada, his teammate, that provided him with the best answer.

“Y/n, the Itako, huh? Heard she’s always holed up in the art room trying to speak to ghosts or something.”

Isagi’s jaw went taut at the response, he wasn’t particularly fond of how Tada worded that, it sounded too mocking for his liking, nonetheless, he begrudgingly thanked the boy through clenched teeth. It was too late in the afternoon right now to find you, you might’ve already left the campus by now since school hours had long ended.

Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, he would look for you in the art room.

And true to his unspoken promise, Isagi was there, clutching your cain protectively close to his chest. The answers to his confusion lay before him, beyond the doors of the art classroom, in the very form of you.

He sighed, giving himself a once over in the reflection of the window. The boy hurried to smoothen the mess of his tussled hair, a byproduct of his morning rush. Isagi was determined and it showed. It showed in the way he carefully placed your cane on his desk at home, out of harms way and in line with his sight. It showed in the way he peddled faster on his journey to school, it showed the way he skipped the optional morning practice and it showed, it showed in the way he rushed over to the art room— to you.

The door was open, much to his relief, and he took that as an invitation to enter. Immediately upon his entry, he was greeted with unpleasant whispers, none directed at him, no, not at him, but—

Hushed conversation was shared amongst the occupants of the room, those of which condensed one side of the space. The other half of the room vacant sauf for the clutter of sculptures that kept a lone figure company. Your lone figure.

Deep amid the crowd of inanimate, clay faces, your small stature resided, back hunched over another piece of work, unbothered by the words of defamation tactfully aimed at you.

Isagi’s heart thudded in his chest, horror dawning on his expression as the joints in his knuckles fell weak to the baseless accusations thrown at you. How could anyone speak slander of you?

You, you of all people.

Your retractable cane fell to ground with a clatter through his loose grip, alerting the inhabitants of the room, including you, of his presence. They watched with mild interest as he scrambled to pick it up, a barely audible curse aimed at himself left his mouth in a short huff. Even so, you with your peculiar enigma picked up on it. On the familiarity of him.

You may have been unable to see, but you’ve clearly memorised every eye that’s looked your way.

“Yoichi..? Is that… you?”

Your hesitant voice awoke him from his stupor, the octaves in your tone rising higher with waver. He couldn’t pick up any uncertainty in it, rather, you sounded shocked. Incredulous of something, something he wasn’t exactly sure of himself.

“….”

A jarring beat of silence arose following your slip of tongue, your brows furrowed uncomfortably at the sudden stillness, ignorant to the gaping expressions thrown your way.

“…Did you guys hear that..?”

“The Itako used his given name…!”

“I didn’t know Isagi was close to her!”

“It’s probably because he doesn’t know that she—“

“Oh my God, do you think Isagi’s just like her?!”

Now, with the topic of discussion shifted from you to him, Yoichi watched with bated breaths as your brows raised with unease. Regret bloomed in your countenance, and he wondered why that was the case. It didn’t take long to figure out why though, the claims people were now pinning on him because of his newly revealed relation to you were a tell-tale sign for the alarm in your disposition.

Yoichi, could care less what others thought of him. Not now, not anymore. And especially not when you called him so dearly, so intimately. His name sounded so much more pleasant with the way it rolled off your tongue. Yoichi? Seriously? Were you trying to kill him?

Yoichi replied before you could even attempt to correct your supposed blunder. Well, he hopes it wasn’t one. The boy didn’t want to toot his own horn, but you’d done it so casually, so intrinsically. As if calling him by his given name came as naturally as breathing to you.

“Yes, Y/n. It’s me, Yoichi. I’ve bought your cane.”

If only you were able to see the bounce in his steps as he bound his way over to you, cane in one hand and whimsy in his grin. The scene eerily resembled a puppy returning to its owner with the stick they’d thrown whilst playing fetch. The hiccup of his heart came to a pause seeing the knot in your brows unfurl, your tense shoulders drooped with what he could only hope was relief.

“D’you mind if I sit? I’ve got some time to kill before lesson starts.” He asked hopefully, placing your cane down on the table besides a much more worn one, your emergency replacement he assumes. His request surprised even himself. Yoichi rarely socialised, he never initiated conversation.

“Go ahead…” You responded quietly, still very much in disbelief at the turn of events.

“See, I told you guys. The Itako’s not actually blind. She was able to recognise Isagi without even hearing him speak.”

“Yeah, well obviously. No blind person’s capable of creating those kind of sculptures.”

“….”

A muscle in Yoichi’s temple ticked at the brazen disrespect, what the hell happened to common decency? The boy scrutinised your expression, you, for one, didn’t seem bothered by it. Years of being subjected to strange whispers has desensitised you to the judgement of strangers. He tried to not let it bother him, bless him, he really did. Though the effort had been for naught. How the hell could he allow himself to be a wallflower in this situation?

“Y/n, how many fingers am I holding up?”

The question caught not only you but the rest of the quidnuncs in the classroom off guard. A gobsmacked silence ensued, namely by those who were smearing your name earlier, before it was followed with their outraged gasps at his audacity.

Strange. Were they not shameless when accusing you of faking your impairment just a minute ago? The depth of their hypocrisy was laughable, but his eyes were focused on you. You were the centre of his elusive attention. He watched you with unwavering determination as you briefly opened your eyes and faced towards the general direction of his voice.

“Uh, one..?” You guessed after a painfully awkward pause, your face scrunched up in thought. What was he trying to do?

“Wrong.”

“Then, four?”

“Way off.”

“Five!”

“Nope.”

“Two? Three? Ah—! I really don’t know, Yoichi!” You eventually gave up after a couple of pathetic guesses, your fists clenched and bottom lip jutted out in frustration.

“I was holding up no fingers,” he yielded in due course, determining your sulking expression a lethal weapon against his self-restraint. Yoichi pinched his chin in mock thought, as if he finally came to a conclusion on something before declaring rather passively aggressive the obvious. “I guess you really are blind.”

“Huh? Well— yeah…” You sweat-dropped at his bluntness, utterly bewildered by his peculiarity. “I really am blind..”

“Are these all your sculptures?” He then asked curiously, nodding in the general direction of all the clay models surrounding you, those of which he assumed have kept you from being forlorn in place of people. There was a considerable amount of them, and he wondered how long it took you to make each piece. Each oeuvre different from the other. Some with chips, cracks, and discolouration, and others without. Despite their differences, they were all strangely alike.

“Mhm, I need to get rid of them. They’re taking up way too much space.” You hummed indifferently, as if the thought of throwing away your art was such an effortlessly easy task. As if the very notion of it didn’t sicken your soul.

“I see, have you always been sculpting?” Yoichi doubted the endeavour was as straightforward as you made it out to be. If it really was, you wouldn’t have hoarded them till now.

Besides, there was a similarity in each piece. For one, each sculpture were depicting men, and one with ordinary sight may say they were all of different men, but Yoichi would argue otherwise. He assessed the condition of each piece, a telling sign of their age, and then mentally listed them in chronological order. Now, with the makeshift timeline in mind, anyone could see the pattern they followed.

“I guess? I’ve been doing it for a while now.”

The most recent one may have seemed unrelated to the presumed oldest, however, that wasn’t the case with the other more recent ones. It was as if your sculptures followed some kind of iterative process, but rather than getting closer to and refining what you’d hoped would be the final version— it seemed like you were headed in the polar direction. Perhaps, over time, you began forgetting the details of the man’s appearance. Maybe that’s why you hadn’t thrown away even your oldest of works. Even if you hadn’t acknowledged it yet or you simply wished not to, they were the closest thing you had to the original.

“No wonder, you’ve got many calluses on your hand. I was curious to why that was.” That same passive aggressive tone he used earlier when vouching for your blindness adorned his tone again. An indirect message to the onlookers listening in on your conversation. Yoichi was making an absolute statement to them, to those that expressed their prejudice against you.

“I… never noticed.” You admitted honesty, fisting your hands and true to his words, you could feel the hardened area on your skin. It was something you never gave much thought, not when your priority lay in capturing the immortal spirit of him. “You’re very… perceptive.”

“Haha— hardly.” He brushed off your comment, you were much more perceptive than he could ever be.

“I’m serious!” You argued, displeased with his self-doubt.

“I believe you.” And he did. Yoichi did believe you. After all, it was you, with your perception, who claimed him to be so. How could he ever doubt you? “How are your injuries fairing?”

“Eh— ah, uh… they’re okay…?”

“Yeah?” He pressed, strangely calm despite seeing through your white lie.

“Uhuh… erm… actually—! Yesterday, I didn’t go to the nurse’s office…!” It took absolutely zero pressure for you to fold, you didn’t want to lie to him. Not to him. Not to Yoichi.

“…How come?” He sighed, dismayed. Not at you, no, but at the thought of you quietly dealing with the pain of your grazes.

“Well,” you gulped the saliva that pooled in your mouth whilst twiddling your thumbs anxiously. “…I was overwhelmed with inspiration… and I wanted to sculpt again.”

“S’that so…? Can I see your hands?” He requested after a small beat of silence, pulling out a pack of wipes and plasters from his pocket with a crinkle.

“Here!” You threw your hands right at him, desperate to make amends by heeding to whatever demands he wished to make.

Yoichi wordlessly grasped your dry hands with quaint gratitude. The boy cradled and probed at your hands in his much softer, warmer ones, pleased with how you melted into a pile of pliant mass under his ministrations. And with antiseptic wipes and band aids, he began his meticulous treatment. Cleaning away at dried blood and tenderly dressing the cuts that were the plague of his worries.

“Done.” He muttered feebly, reluctant to let go of your hands but too timid to keep hold of them. With one last, final squeeze, he’d let them free from his grasp and watched the grateful smile grow on your face.

“See! This is what I meant I earlier, Yoichi. You’re super attentive!” You complimented shamelessly, clenching and unclenching your now nursed hands whilst marvelling at his handiwork. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to fall over every once in a while, not if Yoichi fretted over you like this with his serene warmth.

“Quit saying stuff like that, Y/n. You’re really going to embarrass me, y’know?” He whined, the sound music to your ears.

“Embarrassed? Will your ears turn pink?” You tilted your head curiously, tucked strands of hair falling loose from the confines of your ears to frame your face. “I heard people turn pink when they’re embarrassed.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“You definitely do!” You insisted boyishly with a breathy giggle.

“How would you know that, hmm? Are you pretending to be blind after all?” He teased, absentmindedly taking another dig at the gaping audience that he’d long since forgotten about when you’d enraptured him with your presence.

“I’m not.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest, “I promise.”

“Yeah, I know you’re not lying.” Yoichi agreed pathetically quick, he wished you didn’t make promises to prove your innocence to him. No matter the odds, Yoichi seriously believes he’d always take your side.

Ring. Rrrrring

Alas, good things must come to end. The bell finally rung, signifying students of the commencing lessons. Your interaction with Yoichi had yet again been quite short, nevertheless, it was worthwhile.

“….”

Honestly, you hoped this wouldn’t be the last of it, but that was wishful on your part. You heart sunk at the reality of it. All things must come to an end.

“Will you be here afterschool?” He broke your train of wistful thoughts.

“Hmm? Uh— I will..?” You answered unsurely, mouth gaping at the possible implication. That can’t mean anything—

“Good! I’ll come to check up on your injuries, yeah?”

“Okay…” You replied blankly, unable to process what just happened. If Yoichi wants to check up on your injuries, then, does that mean that he wants to—

“Alright, see you later!” He bade farewell, waving on auto pilot before realising that you couldn’t see the gesture. “I’m waving goodbye, by the way!”

“You too.” You waved back tentatively, mulling over the bizarreness of this all. Wait a minute… Oh my God! Your brain short-circuited when his words finally registered in your mind. Yoichi wants to see me again!

True to his words, Yoichi came to visit you later on in the day. That afternoon was followed up with tomorrow, and tomorrow was then followed up with the day after.

You’d wait eagerly for his presence with sweets in your hands for the boy to alert his presence with an intimate call of your name. Yoichi would then examine the state of your injuries like he usually did and after the initial prodding and caressing that were allegedly vital to finalise his verdict, he would deem your injuries unhealed, much to your greedy relief. Apparently, your injuries were still in need of monitoring, and thus, he would schedule another ‘follow-up appointment’ for the subsequent day to assess his treatment’s effectiveness. You’d offer him sweets that he offhandedly mentioned liking to return the favour of his concern, but he’d outdo you by applying lotion to your dry hands. Part of the treatment, he’d reason rather cheekily. Your cheeks would heat up at his audacity, nonetheless, you overlooked it. Yoichi was coming to see you again, he was coming to hold your hand again. You’d be a fool to argue with that.

His visits became a routine. They became your new custom. Conversing with him became the most anticipated occurrence of your day, even when he asked you the most outlandish queries you’d ever heard in your life. Most would be normal, the usual ice breakers like your favourite colour, your favourite song and your favourite food. Others would be about his curiosity towards your blindness, if your eyes hurt, if you see darkness and if your other senses were heightened because of your impairment. His curiosity was most ridiculous and knew no bounds. Questions exceedingly insensitive to your condition left his mouth unprovoked at times, those of which had your audience choking in disbelief, outraged at his blatant insolence. But, contrary to the crowd and their unsolicited anger, you were never bothered by them.

In fact, you enjoyed them. You enjoyed being the centre of Yoichi’s usually transient attention. Besides, it’s not like he meant any harm by them. You knew he would never intentionally insult you, not when he was so quick to profusely apologise after realising their inadvertent implications. You casually brushed them off, as you always did. If he was comfortable enough to be his candid self around you and ask you questions that would send others in an orbit then that so be it.

Unfortunately, your indifference wasn’t shared by the common folk.

Self righteous bastards that listened in on your conversations always felt the need to share their unbidden scoldings towards him. You shut them down sharply before softly reassuring Yoichi that it never bothered you. The sharpness in your tone returned as you aggressively informed them that you’d much rather someone question the accuracy of an assumption they have of you than blindly believe in them.

They were riddled with shame and resorted to silence shortly after. The silence then urged you to respond to Yoichi’s curiosity. Your senses weren’t necessarily heightened, you just relied on them more. You didn’t see darkness, you simply saw nothing. It was like seeing out of your elbow, you simply wouldn’t see anything. Your eyes stung when they were open, hence why you had them closed most of the time. You enjoyed eating sushi and snacking on matcha flavoured mochi. You didn’t have a favourite song, not when nothing could live up to the sound of Yoichi’s laughter. And your favourite colour would be the colour of his eyes. Whatever colour they were, you were sure they’d be beautiful.

Yoichi would quietly revel in your sincere answers, short circuiting whenever your replies consisted of him. You really are trying to kill him, aren’t you?

You always took your time when answering each of his foolish questions, Yoichi’s patience to blame for your endless words. He’d sit there and stare at you, taking you in wholly with a dazed glaze in the brilliance of his eyes like you hung the stars in the sky. It’s a shame, he’d always think with a pout. It’s such a waste to look at everything else when you— when you existed with your quaint luminescence.

You asked him questions too.

Unable to see and view the world as he did, you asked him what his favourite sight was. What his favourite thing to look at was and he replied honestly to your curiosity. Mindlessly, without even a garner of thought, Yoichi told you that your smile was the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

When your ears heated up at his sincerity, and your hands flew from his sacred hold to cover your burning ears, he’d worry about you all over again and scold you lightheartedly for cutting his medical examination short.

Yoichi always left you befuddled. It was a bad habit he had, one that always drew radiance out of you in the form soft laughter.

The interactions you shared with Yoichi were always ridiculous to the onlooker, but it was nothing of the sort to you both. Just as there were times you both conversed endlessly, there were also times where you both enjoyed the solace of silence together.

When Yoichi finally fell quiet, his mind free of idle thoughts and his heart full of you, the boy enjoyed the eccentricity of your presence as you diligently worked on your sculpture.

The sculpture— the man you carved with meticulous precision and intimate care— the source of his envy called to him one day. Wearing an expression of melancholy that ruptured his heart, Yoichi’s wonder sprouted. The seed of impatience plagued him with turmoil. Its roots grew as did its stem, sapping away at his perseverance. Till one day, he could no longer endure the tribulations of his curiosity.

“Y/n,” he drawled out with a sulk in his voice “Who’s the man you’re always sculpting? Is he your dead lover or something?”

“Huh?”

He’d meant it as joke, obviously, but the question… left you dumbfounded.

For the first time ever, you struggled to give him an answer. Your hands trembled with unease above the moulded mass of clay. A mysterious man with sorrow in his eyes and misery in his furrowed brows— who the hell was he…?

“I… don’t know, Yoichi.” You replied after an unsteady pause, your expression briefly mirroring the man’s. “I can’t seem to remember…”

The boy was quick to notice the shift in air. This time, even if your refused to admit it, he truly did ask the wrong question. Yoichi swallowed the curse that threatened to leave his constricting throat, he didn’t deserve to revel in his unbridled guilt, not when your posture curved in on itself with dejection.

He might’ve been unintentionally insensitive at times, but he wasn’t clueless.

He watched as you continued sculpting. Your nimble fingers firmly traced the man’s strangely ordinary features, a telling sign that you were forcefully busying yourself. Even when he’d probed carelessly and been the one at fault for your morose, you tried not to let it show.

Yoichi’s stomach lurched at your efforts, his voice rose an octave higher as he hysterically attempted to change the subject with another one of his outlandish queries. “D-Do you dream?!”

“What?” Again, you paused to process the words that Yoichi spewed out with hurried frenzy.

“Like, y’know since you’re blind, what do you see in your dreams?” He tried to explain, gesturing wildly with his hands hoping it’d help get his point across only to groan at its futility. “I mean— ugh..”

“Well,” you pondered with a drawl, endeared by his desperate haste to distract you. How cute. “I do dream. Though I don’t experience any visual imagery because I’ve been blind since birth.”

“So… you dream through your other sense?” He expressed his genuine interest with another follow-up question.

“That’s right,” your brows twitched at his discernment. Your touch softening against the clay figure. You caressed the slope of the man’s short nose, the bump of his pursed lips, the curve of his hallowed cheekbones, the wrinkle between his furrowed brows and the length of his short hair with your fingers.

The man was clearly weeping, but even so, you’d always found great comfort in his lamenting expression. It consoled you during the many times you drowned in desolation. Your recollection of the mysterious man was faint, but the peace he bought you was a factor you could never forget. And when you sculpted him and immortalised the memory of his spirit into your work, the guilt of debt you subconsciously carried was relieved. Come to think of it, when did you first start sculpting him?

Hmm, you’ve been sculpting him for a long time, so you must’ve started in your youth.

That day, you must’ve been in a trance. An indescribable urge to chase the fleeting essence of him must’ve hypnotised you— and your soul, desperate and wistful, spurred you into reifying it. You didn’t have clay on you at the time, but the soil, softened under the rain’s ministrations, was the next best thing.

You’ve never been fond of the rain for unknown reasons. But in your moment of lucid reverie, your knees weakened with delirious gratitude towards it.

Was it in a dream?

The rain has always been unpleasant.

The stench of mildew that lingered in the air, the moisture in the wind that persistently stuck to your skin with its frigid embrace, the reverberating splatter accompanied with timed thunder, and the scudding clouds that were useless and transparent against the lightning that blinded your sight.

You loathed it all. You loathed the rain.

You could never understand the common folk’s fondness for it. The rain was pleasant, they said. It was peaceful, they insisted. That the land would become quiet and tranquil under its ministrations.

You begged to differ.

Unlike everyone else, you were the sole being sensitive to the minuscule changes of the sky. Unlike everyone else, you were cursed since birth with this supposed divine blessing. The godforsaken ability to see a world that others couldn’t, to perceive and predict the future that others desperately sought to seek.

You, the Saintess of the Land, both pious and virtuous, pure and holy, devout and benevolent, were born with purpose. Protector of humanity. Healer of mankind. They would chant all sorts of praise to you ignorant of fallacy. The Church’s doing, you became entangled in the strings of their cruel intentions.

You were young, impressionable. A fool easily manipulated.

The livelihood of mortals became your responsibility. You’d become a pawn. An idyllic marionette, no longer human, now the marked property of the Church.

To save the world from evil, you were born to become the sacrifice that wedged a bridge to eternal peace. A being of salvation.

“….”

You may have loathed the rain, but the hatred you had for it was mere compared to your hatred for the world and the cursed fate they’d forced upon you.

In your act of vengeance, the world will come to hate the rain they were so fond of and you would come to love it in place of them. Tonight will last an eternity, not for you but for the world.

The walk to your grave was unusually peaceful. Eyes closed, as you often did to rest your overburdened sight, you trekked onwards through the labyrinth of darkness. At peace and no longer overwhelmed with information. Perhaps, the relief of your impeding doom overcame everything else.

“There’s an intruder in the Demon King’s fortress!”

The hysterical announcement of the demons didn’t deter you nor frighten you. Not when you decided that nothing would stand in your way. Human or demon, no obstacle will stop you from achieving solace.

Every demon in the foreign establishment that crossed path with you quickly met their demise with a wave of unrefined holy power. The thudding of corpses silenced the thunder of the brewing storm and your armour clinked with an unpleasant echo from every looming step you took towards the throne room.

You briefly wondered why you were obliged to wear this fitted, hunk of reinforced metal that did nothing but restrict your movement. Was it to protect you from the Demon King’s wrath? Or was it to chain you down and have you do their bidding? The Church’s last ditch effort to control you.

You laughed dryly at the mournful realisation, the noise self-depreciating and scratchy. This armour would stand no chance against the Demon King’s might. If he really were so weak, you wouldn’t have been able to step foot inside.

“Saintess…” a low rumble greeted your ruptured ears, the noise resembling a hymn you faintly remembered being sung at the Church.

If you were the soul obliged to shield and maintain tranquility in the Lands, he was your foil, conceived to wreak havoc in it and question your false utopia.

“My position’s been revoked, I’m no longer the Saintess.” You informed him with a crooked grin adorning your bruised face. Your gaze turned to the direction of his voice, and there, in all his wicked glory, resided the Demon King on his throne.

The phantom mass of evil, ambiguously taking the form of man, stared back at you. Despite the omnipotence of your eyes, you could never perceive him. Yes, you were able to see the Demon King and how his presence emanated wisps of darkness, but never beyond that. What kind of man are you, really?

You questioned if this was another one of the Church’s ploys, did they want to make sure your view of evil didn’t change? Ha! What wasn’t a scheme of theirs at this point?

“…Is that so?” He eventually muttered after a perturbed beat of silence and you wondered if he even cared. His indifference to your lifelong endeavours always bothered you. You could cruelly massacre several of his servants and yet, even then, he would never bat an eye to your doings. “You’re bleeding, Y/n...”

It must’ve been a shock to him that you were bleeding. You never bled, you were the Saintess. Holy power flowed through your veins in lieu of blood. But after releasing so much of it earlier, it was natural for it to catch up to you. You were a mortal being yourself after all.

But it wasn’t that— nothing, absolutely nothing could’ve prepared you for the shock of being called your name. When was the last time you heard of it? Maybe in your youth when you were still untainted with the countless sins of murder? It’s been… so long since you’d been called by your given name.

The strength in your knees weakened and they buckled under the weight of wistful memories and bone deep fatigue. Your sight turned bleary, eyelid glazing with unshed melancholy. For the first time ever, your eyes could not perceive what was before you besides a blur of incoming darkness. The realisation awoke a painful stutter in your heart, and your throat tightened with clawing agony as you choked on another laughter.

The irony of your life only now visible to your eyes.

You were really about to kneel before the Demon King, before the very presence of despair. A sight that would’ve sent the Elders into an orbit. Your only regret was that you hadn’t done it sooner. The Demon King wasn’t what locked away peace from you as everyone hacked into you, he was the key to it all along.

With bated breaths, you awaited for the clank of your armour to resound against the marbled floor, the final sign signalling your surrender, but you were instead enveloped with foreign warmth. “Don’t kneel before me.” Tendrils of darkness in the form of arms cushioned your fall, his voice, tremulous but soft, lulled you out of your spiralling reverie.

Another beat of silence passed before you filled it in, your voice croaking with stupefaction, “but you’re kneeling…”

“I don’t wish for your surrender.” He replied sincerely, his shadowy figure stable under your shaken form.

“But- But I’m tired…! And I’ve never wished for this life!” You mustered up your remaining vigour to spout out the thoughts that plagued the depth of your soul. “Take it from me— take away the burden that is my sight!”

Your cursed sight that granted you heightened perception, while powerful, was a double edged sword that overwhelmed your senses. The constant strain on your mind wore away your sanity, manifesting profound misery in your heart.

“….You cannot say stop to this now.” The Demon King’s perseverance withered under the guise of your lamentation, he couldn’t stand to witness the tears of your solitude. “Your words,” gently caressing your chapped lips, his featherlight touch wandered to the teardrops that gathered in your lash line, “your eyes,” he grabbed your limp hands and placed a chaste kiss on your palms, “and your hands… are only for me.”

Your feeble fingers twitched in his tender hold with a desperate itch to grab him, his imperative concern an enigma to your forsaken self. The Demon King noticing your intentions, leaned into your calloused palms, the warmth of it fading along with the brilliance in your eyes. “My hopes,” he whispered, aware of your senses that began to cease with your existence. He felt it in the way your holy power embossed him in its warmth, extracting a crooked grin on his face, “my smiles.” And he felt in the way his senses went overdrive from your divine gift, “and my dreams are only for you.”

In your stupor and longing, you traced the man’s face, committing to memory the fading spirit of him. The slope of his nose, the bump of his pursing lips that oddly resembled a pained smile. Your hands combed through his short, straight hair, what colour is your hair? Your hands wandered to his scrunched eyes, softly caressing his wet lashes, what is the shape of your eye? You wondered what kind of expression he sported, what do you look like?

No longer burdened with your cursed sight and heightened perception, a pang of regret coursed through your veins. I wish… I still had my sight. You tried to smoothen the furrow in his brows, but to no avail, they remained steadfast in a frown.

“Take me with you, my dear.” He mourned quietly with a broken sigh, tears meandering down the expanse of his cheeks and falling onto yours with a scalding burn, the noise of his solitude twisted your heart with sorrow.

“I want to see your face…” you rasped out, possessed with the indomitable spirit of mankind. I bet you look kind.

“Give yourself back to me, my dear.” The Demon King weeped, his hands clasped over your cold ones unable to let them go and acknowledge the absence of your presence— the absence of you.

That night, the Lands you diligently protected became swept with darkness. And the rain everyone was so fond marked your surrender, it marked the beginning of their demise.

You were the Saintess that craved chaos, and he was a demon that sought peace. Perhaps, if you had met under different circumstances, your lives would not have been wasted in vain.

You couldn’t recall the strange man ever appearing in your dreams, if anything, the memory of him felt too innate for that kind of possibility. And whilst the unknown of him normally paralysed you with fear, this time— this time you felt surprisingly quite calm about the whole unresolved situation.

It’s been so long... Your lifelong pursuit— the several years of sculpting away a mysterious figure in hopes to discover the purpose of your wistful longing, the one thing that kept you from the lunacy of solitude— should come to an end.

A reason to live, something alive as opposed to the reminiscence of the dead, has graced you with its warmth. You’d truly be a fool to refuse him in your chase of bygone nostalgia. One last farewell, you told yourself as you held the man’s crying face. Your forehead gently bumped his, the clay cool against your warmer skin, a bittersweet reminder of his lifelessness, and you mentally reviewed your final words.

“Thank you for keeping me company in my loneliness,” you whispered with heartfelt gratitude, your lashes brushing against the sculpture’s furrowed brows. “But he found me at my lowest and I long for him in your stead—“

“Y/n! You really are an Itako, aren’t you?!”

The interruption had you slowly part ways with the clay model, an accusatory tone adorned his pleasant voice. He’s probably pointing at me—

And true to your prediction, Yoichi was really pointing at you despite your inability to see the gesture. “I’m pointing at you by the way!”

Of course he was, you turned to face the direction of his voice, raising a brow with feigned ignorance. “What did you say, Yoichi?”

“I said,” he exhaled through clenched teeth, before gathering his bearings, “people think you’re a shamen who speaks to the dead.“

“People think I’m a shamen that speaks to the dead?!” You repeated, your expression declamatory.

He owlishly blinked at your appalled response, incredulous that somebody so perceptive can be just as equally unaware. “Yeah… and guess what?” He rhetorically drawled out, giving you no time to guess with his next words that followed with celerity. “I’m starting to believe it too!”

“Huh?!” You gasped melodramatically, brows shooting up in mock surprise, your hands flying to cup your cheeks. “How could you!?”

“Well, for one,” he sassed, crossing his arms over his chest, petulant envy so visibly audible in his voice. “You’re caressing a sculpture and whispering words of your affection to him.”

“Uh… actually,” you pointed out with a mellow smile after a beat of awkward silence, hoping to clear the not-so-ridiculous conclusion Yoichi came to. “I was bidding farewell.”

“…Huh? What?” He immediately reeled back puzzled, there’s no way—! “But you’ve been working on it for so… for so— no.. no—! There’s- there’s no way!” His hands grabbing the tuffs of his short hair in disbelief.

“I’m being serious.” And to prove your honesty, you clenched your fist and pounded dead centre down the face of your sculpture. The clay, still wet and clearly not dry, folded into itself under your ministrations. The out of blue action drawing out a noise of horror from Yoichi which you payed no mind to. “See?”

“But, but— Y/n, that was—!” He stammered with frenzy, incredulous at the fact you actually destroyed it. You’ve hoarded them for so long, why the sudden change?

“It’s okay, Yoichi.” You waved his guilt as you often did, the casualness in your tone meant to console. “It was about time anyway.”

Even when you said that, he still felt conflicted. The sculpture was your treasure. That along with the rest of them, they were what kept you afloat in your isolation, was it really okay to just get rid of it like that? “…How come?”

“Hmm,” you hummed a tune absentmindedly as you thought. “No particular reason, I just wanted to experience the world through you.”

You waited patiently for his response. The silence that stretched was still unsettling and unnerving, nonetheless, with Yoichi, you always felt inclined to try. Yes, with Yoichi, you wanted to experience the world. Unconsciously fiddling with your nail bed, your fingers came to a bated pause when the familiar touch of his hand enveloped them.

“…Then,” he whispered, tone husky as he timidly, but firmly guided your palms to cup his face, “experience the world and your relationship with me through your touch.”

Your heart hiccuped in your throat as a gasp, choked and relieved, sounded from you. Your fingers trembled as you caressed his face, the boy nuzzled into the warmth of your calloused palms and you took that as a sign to continue your scrutiny.

The swell of his slightly chubby cheeks, the soft arch of his brows, the curve of his small nose, the bump of his slightly dry lips, the sensations of him gutted you. Your brows pinched with uncertainty. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, it’s as if you knew hi— “You feel familiar, Yoichi…”

“Familiar?” You felt his eyes widen briefly at your review, then you felt him jut out his bottom lip with boyish petulance. “…Is it cuz’ I’m ordinary looking?”

“Ordinary?” You tilted your head, perplexed on why he would come to such a conclusion. “You’re the first face I’ve ever felt, I’m not sure what to say to that.”

“I’m… the first face you’ve ever touched?!” His hands briefly tightened over yours in shock, before his thumb gently stroked over the area with silent regret.

“Yeah,” you nodded and the implication had his cheeks burning pink, “so I’m not exactly sure what makes someone ordinary or extraordinary.” Your thumb softly kneaded the pliant flesh of his cheeks, ignorant to the effect it had on him. “Besides, I don’t know of the beauty standards people with sight have, y’know, since I can’t see?”

“Mhm,” Yoichi only hummed in response, not trusting his voice to express his thoughts. Then, after another beat of silence, he spoke so quietly you questioned the state of your hearing. “Then… do you… think that I’m— y’know.. handsome..?”

Your hands trailed from his face to swipe at his plump lips, before they meandered down the base of his throat that bobbed nervously against your sensual touch, “your voice is so husky, and when you laugh it sounds like wind chimes are playing. I want nothing more than to bottle the sound that resembles a hymn.” Gripping his shirt, you pulled him to fuse your proximities together before taking a deep whiff of his exposed neck. “And your scent carries the aroma of a spring garden after a gentle rain, it makes me find the rain pleasant…”

“Y/n…” Yoichi softly whimpered under your ministrations, his ears flushing coral, but you, as cruel as you were, continued your flattery despite his fluster.

“And your eyes, Yoichi,” your hands found their way back to his eyes that were scrunched closed with embarrassment. “Nothing goes past your eyes. You’re so attentive, Yoichi. You pay attention to every little thing, your perception is so attractive and that’s why the colour of your eye is my favourite. So yes, in short, I do think you’re handsome, Yoichi.”

“Ugh…” He groaned in frustration, becoming a pile of pliant mush under your hands. “That’s because you’re so damn charming, Y/n! It’s such a shame-! It’s a damn a waste to look at everything else when you exist! You’re the apple of my eye!”

His sincere declaration released a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach, and your heart warmed indescribably. “Yoichi… you’re the apple of my eye too.” You confessed shyly before continuing in earnest, “even though I can’t see you, I wish to see you, but your quaint radiance has blinded me, Yoichi.”

Your heartfelt words were for him, and your pretty smile was too. Your hands, still fondly caressing his face, were also for him. Ah, dammit. You’ve enchanted him with your shamen powers, body and soul, and he wishes to exist in your proximity forever.

Another bout of silence greeted your ears, and you quietly waited for Yoichi to speak. Imagine your surprise, when rather than being responded with his words you were instead replied to with a sniffle.

“You shouldn’t have said, Y/n. Dammit… it’s not fair.”

Your heart sunk at his croaky voice that broke with an unrestrained sob. Then, you felt it. Warm tears travelling down the expanse of his face and staining the tips of your fingers with sorrow. Under your heightened touch, his weeping expression crumpled into something that was way too familiar.

“I’m a crybaby… y’know?”

"You're not wearing my jersey."

That's the first thing he says upon seeing you.

No 'hi', no 'hello', no 'how are you'. Just a quiet observation said with no visible emotion. The lack of which had you squirm in place under his pointed gaze.

"Uh, yeah…" Your voice wavers as you avoid the way his dull eyes rake over your figure, staring you down like he's trying to undress you of the opposing team's jersey you're sporting.

"I'm supporting my country today…" You jut your lip out, hoping to quell his feelings of betrayal with your honest reasoning. "Does that… does that bother you?"

"…Well, I can't deny that I'm a little hurt." Bunny admits after another silent stare off, sighing softly when your pout came into view.

"Oh." Guilt consumes you in an instant at his confession. The sight of the six foot four athlete sulking at your lack of support responsible for the way your heart clenched with regret. "Bunny, I—"

"But you're free to support who you wish." Noticing your remorse, Bunny is quick to console your worries, bringing a large hand over your head to pet it. "I won't force my wishes on you."

"Really?!" You perk up immediately, the tension in your shoulder easing with relief from his gentle comfort.

"Yeah." He smiles so sweetly, eyes curving with something unreadable as he tucked the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. "Though if I score, can I ask that you at least cheer for me?"

"Of course, I promise!"

They're words you say absentmindedly.

Careless words that you come to quickly regret when you realise what exactly Bunny's harmless request from earlier entailed.

"SUPER GOLAZOOOO!"

"AND BUNNY IGLESIAS HAS DONE IT AGAIN! IT'S 3-0 TO SPAIN, A HAT-TRICK FROM THE YOUNG AND RISING STAR!!!"

Cheers erupt amongst the Spanish fans following Bunny's impressive goal. Cheering that you're supposed to be involved in— that you promised to take part in. Cheering that you just can't bring yourself to do no matter how hard you try.

Because how the hell are you meant to celebrate the utter humiliation your team faces at the hands of a single player?

You can't do that!

Even if you were held at gunpoint, you can't just abandon your team like that!

And thus, you're left with no choice but to break your promise to Bunny. A cold-blooded betrayal that you pray — with intertwined hands and growing anxiety — he doesn't notice.

But, alas, your effort is futile, and your invocations are unanswered. For the athlete has only one thought running across his mind right now, celebrating his goal with you.

Bunny's gaze sweeps over the stands with ease, intense eyes landing on you amidst the crowd as a look of anticipation overcame him. He stands there on the field, breathing hard and sweating from exertion as he waits for your approval. Something that doesn't come— the lack of which dulls the hopeful glint in his eyes.

You see it almost immediately, and while the sight of his hunched shoulders has your heart contort with unease, you still can't bring yourself to applaud him.

Bunny stares at you for a while longer, perhaps hoping you'd change your mind last minute, before he lets out a self-deprecating smile when you remain unmoved. Bringing a scarred hand to the lower half of his face, his deep eyes lingered on you for one final moment as he blew you another kiss.

Sweet affection that you've yet to return. Not when there's nothing sweet behind that mocking gesture of his.

The game continues in Spain's favour. Bunny's momentum is unstoppable as he humiliates your team even further. Something you aren't aware is possible until you see the way he absolutely dominates them. Breaking through their tight defence to score another two goals that send the crowd into a fit of bewildered cheers— noise that you pay no mind to, not when you’re too focused on the conversation behind you.

"Every time he scores, he blows an air kiss in this direction, right?"

"Yeah! I noticed that too!"

"But to who? Nobody's returning any of them?"

Don't tell me—!

Your complexion pales as you find Bunny down below on the field, eyes already fixed onto you, expectant as they wait for you to return the celebratory kiss he blew to you not too long ago.

That he-

After five consecutive goals, it finally hits you.

Bunny has not forgotten your promise of cheering.

And because he is cruel and petty, finding twisted enjoyment in your torment, he has no plans to stop scoring until you return his kisses.

Shit!

You have no words to express your shock, you can't even form a single thought at his wickedness— evil that makes the devil saintly in comparison.

The commentator speaks again, excitement woven in his voice as he broadcasts his unhinged theories. Of this game potentially being the first double hattrick of the year, a notion that strikes you with terror.

Your worst fears manifest in the way Bunny concentres, and you quickly realise that if you don't do anything about it now, this match will go down in history for being a total annihilation!

"Excuse me!"

You weave through the crowd with ease, apologising to the few that you bump into as you make your way down the stands and closer to the barrier separating you from the players.

It doesn't take long for you to locate Bunny, he's across the field, fixed intensely on the ball that his teammate dribbles past the defending line. Any seconds now and Spain can score another goal— another goal that you were not going to allow. Not if you could help it.

Cupping the sides of your mouth, you swallow whatever pride you have left and gather air in your lungs.

"Bunny!"

It's humiliating.

"That's my Bun-Bun!"

So fucking humiliating.

But what else can you do when Bunny is the cruel and unforgiving man that he is?

Your cheering, if you can even call it that given how pathetic it sounds, catches Bunny's attention in an instant. It's something he's been waiting for afterall, and it stops him dead in his tracks. The encouragement resembles a whistle, one has him perk up like an excited puppy as he rushed to find you in the crowd. An endeavour that is terribly effortless when he spots you immediately.

He stares up at you for a good moment, eyes tracing the reluctance in your expression before they fall on your figure, clad in the wrong team's jersey. A distasteful sight that has his jaw clench in tandem. His irritation grows, and Bunny finds himself helpless against his possessiveness — a trait you were always at odds with.

So, like any normal man, he grabs the end of his jersey, pulling the sweat soaked garment over his head and positioning it right in your direction with intent. You blink with utter disbelief, missing the way he throws it at you with perfect aim.

"I won't force you to put it on. It's your choice."

Choice, my ass.

You had no choice in the matter at hand!

The jersey smacks you right across the face, snapping you into immediate motion. You fumble with it at first, arms going in the wrong holes in your haste as you struggle pathetically to pull it over your head. But somehow, at mercy of a miracle, you've managed to put it on.

The collar's crooked and it clings to you uncomfortably. Drenched with sweat that you have no choice but to dismiss, and as if that isn't bad enough, the shirt's on backwards. His name is displayed over your chest like a label of possession, an honest mistake that does you more good than you realise.

The referee's whistle blows in the back, and a yellow card is administered for nudity. But Bunny decides, after taking one long look at your figure engulfed in his large jersey, that it's worth it.

He tests his luck once more, repeatedly pressing his finger against his bare chest, as if conveying a message only you would understand. And to his utter delight, you, weak to his cruelty, are quick on the uptake.

Your ears grow flushed with unbearable heat, but there's no time to revel in your embarrassment, not when the pride of your national team is on line here.

So with trembling fingers, you grab the wrong front of his jersey, pulling it close to your lips as you press a chaste kiss on the fabric bearing his name in bold.

Your eyes are shut close as you send him your indirect affections, utterly humiliated with the sudden turn of events that has you squirm at the mercy of your opponent. The moment you open them, it's no better either. If anything, you come to regret your existence entirely.

Bunny's amused expression enters your vision first, followed by a sickening gesture that has your stomach twist with shame. He holds both hands to his temple, extending his middle and index fingers up while the rest remained down, mimicking the appearance of bunny.

And while the sight of it is barely anything to blink at, with the way his simper grows as he curls his fingers encouragingly, you know better than turn a blind eye to it.

This is just— cruel..!

Fluster glows across your cheeks as you bring your hands over your temple to mirror the awful gesture. It travels across every sensitive nerve, weakening the strength in your knees as your heart stuttered to a flatline.

And just when you think the humiliation ritual has come to an end, laughter greets your ears at once — mirthful and completely entertained at the sight of your torment, one that could only belong to the cruel man that loved to play in your face — shattering whatever blissful delusion you've conjured up in your despair.

Bunny motions with his hands again, bringing one over his face like he'd done the previous other times, a telling movement that had your heart claw at your throat. His fingers lingered above his lips longer than usual, and after a thoughtful pause spent staring you down, Bunny blows you another kiss.

Your brain short circuits, and while your pride wants to resist his love, your arm extends towards him against your will. Hand sprawling out, you made a melodramatic show of catching the air kiss.

Bunny's eyes are wide when they find yours, bright and glittering with elation as he stands there, very clearly awaiting for more. And you give him exactly that. Even if the mortification kills you, you have no choice but to humour him. Who knows what he'll do if you remain stubborn in your refusal.

You heave a shaky sigh, lifting a trembling palm to your face as you press his non-tangible kiss against your lips, finally returning the affection he craved desperately for.

His coach yells something from afar, perhaps telling him to stop messing about and play the last few minutes of the game seriously, but Bunny only waves him off with a crooked grin, too focused on the precious sight of his jersey engulfing you with his name.

"If I exert myself more than I have already…" He can hardly face the man as he comes up with another pathetic excuse, unreasonably enamoured with the way your eyes scrunched shut in fluster after blowing him a kiss of your own.

"I won't have any stamina left to celebrate with my cute cheerleader."

got this idea from dembele-kun scoring on his wife's team and blowing her a kiss, and then i couldn't even mourn france's loss against spain bc i discovered i might have a humiliation kink (only works with bunny tho if ygm) 😂😂😂✌️✌️😔

"You're not wearing my jersey."

That's the first thing he says upon seeing you.

No 'hi', no 'hello', no 'how are you'. Just a quiet observation said with no visible emotion. The lack of which had you squirm in place under his pointed gaze.

"Uh, yeah…" Your voice wavers as you avoid the way his dull eyes rake over your figure, staring you down like he's trying to undress you of the opposing team's jersey you're sporting.

"I'm supporting my country today…" You jut your lip out, hoping to quell his feelings of betrayal with your honest reasoning. "Does that… does that bother you?"

"…Well, I can't deny that I'm a little hurt." Bunny admits after another silent stare off, sighing softly when your pout came into view.

"Oh." Guilt consumes you in an instant at his confession. The sight of the six foot four athlete sulking at your lack of support responsible for the way your heart clenched with regret. "Bunny, I—"

"But you're free to support who you wish." Noticing your remorse, Bunny is quick to console your worries, bringing a large hand over your head to pet it. "I won't force my wishes on you."

"Really?!" You perk up immediately, the tension in your shoulder easing with relief from his gentle comfort.

"Yeah." He smiles so sweetly, eyes curving with something unreadable as he tucked the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. "Though if I score, can I ask that you at least cheer for me?"

"Of course, I promise!"

They're words you say absentmindedly.

Careless words that you come to quickly regret when you realise what exactly Bunny's harmless request from earlier entailed.

"SUPER GOLAZOOOO!"

"AND BUNNY IGLESIAS HAS DONE IT AGAIN! IT'S 3-0 TO SPAIN, A HAT-TRICK FROM THE YOUNG AND RISING STAR!!!"

Cheers erupt amongst the Spanish fans following Bunny's impressive goal. Cheering that you're supposed to be involved in— that you promised to take part in. Cheering that you just can't bring yourself to do no matter how hard you try.

Because how the hell are you meant to celebrate the utter humiliation your team faces at the hands of a single player?

You can't do that!

Even if you were held at gunpoint, you can't just abandon your team like that!

And thus, you're left with no choice but to break your promise to Bunny. A cold-blooded betrayal that you pray — with intertwined hands and growing anxiety — he doesn't notice.

But, alas, your effort is futile, and your invocations are unanswered. For the athlete has only one thought running across his mind right now, celebrating his goal with you.

Bunny's gaze sweeps over the stands with ease, intense eyes landing on you amidst the crowd as a look of anticipation overcame him. He stands there on the field, breathing hard and sweating from exertion as he waits for your approval. Something that doesn't come— the lack of which dulls the hopeful glint in his eyes.

You see it almost immediately, and while the sight of his hunched shoulders has your heart contort with unease, you still can't bring yourself to applaud him.

Bunny stares at you for a while longer, perhaps hoping you'd change your mind last minute, before he lets out a self-deprecating smile when you remain unmoved. Bringing a scarred hand to the lower half of his face, his deep eyes lingered on you for one final moment as he blew you another kiss.

Sweet affection that you've yet to return. Not when there's nothing sweet behind that mocking gesture of his.

The game continues in Spain's favour. Bunny's momentum is unstoppable as he humiliates your team even further. Something you aren't aware is possible until you see the way he absolutely dominates them. Breaking through their tight defence to score another two goals that send the crowd into a fit of bewildered cheers— noise that you pay no mind to, not when you’re too focused on the conversation behind you.

"Every time he scores, he blows an air kiss in this direction, right?"

"Yeah! I noticed that too!"

"But to who? Nobody's returning any of them?"

Don't tell me—!

Your complexion pales as you find Bunny down below on the field, eyes already fixed onto you, expectant as they wait for you to return the celebratory kiss he blew to you not too long ago.

That he-

After five consecutive goals, it finally hits you.

Bunny has not forgotten your promise of cheering.

And because he is cruel and petty, finding twisted enjoyment in your torment, he has no plans to stop scoring until you return his kisses.

Shit!

You have no words to express your shock, you can't even form a single thought at his wickedness— evil that makes the devil saintly in comparison.

The commentator speaks again, excitement woven in his voice as he broadcasts his unhinged theories. Of this game potentially being the first double hattrick of the year, a notion that strikes you with terror.

Your worst fears manifest in the way Bunny concentres, and you quickly realise that if you don't do anything about it now, this match will go down in history for being a total annihilation!

"Excuse me!"

You weave through the crowd with ease, apologising to the few that you bump into as you make your way down the stands and closer to the barrier separating you from the players.

It doesn't take long for you to locate Bunny, he's across the field, fixed intensely on the ball that his teammate dribbles past the defending line. Any seconds now and Spain can score another goal— another goal that you were not going to allow. Not if you could help it.

Cupping the sides of your mouth, you swallow whatever pride you have left and gather air in your lungs.

"Bunny!"

It's humiliating.

"That's my Bun-Bun!"

So fucking humiliating.

But what else can you do when Bunny is the cruel and unforgiving man that he is?

Your cheering, if you can even call it that given how pathetic it sounds, catches Bunny's attention in an instant. It's something he's been waiting for afterall, and it stops him dead in his tracks. The encouragement resembles a whistle, one has him perk up like an excited puppy as he rushed to find you in the crowd. An endeavour that is terribly effortless when he spots you immediately.

He stares up at you for a good moment, eyes tracing the reluctance in your expression before they fall on your figure, clad in the wrong team's jersey. A distasteful sight that has his jaw clench in tandem. His irritation grows, and Bunny finds himself helpless against his possessiveness — a trait you were always at odds with.

So, like any normal man, he grabs the end of his jersey, pulling the sweat soaked garment over his head and positioning it right in your direction with intent. You blink with utter disbelief, missing the way he throws it at you with perfect aim.

"I won't force you to put it on. It's your choice."

Choice, my ass.

You had no choice in the matter at hand!

The jersey smacks you right across the face, snapping you into immediate motion. You fumble with it at first, arms going in the wrong holes in your haste as you struggle pathetically to pull it over your head. But somehow, at mercy of a miracle, you've managed to put it on.

The collar's crooked and it clings to you uncomfortably. Drenched with sweat that you have no choice but to dismiss, and as if that isn't bad enough, the shirt's on backwards. His name is displayed over your chest like a label of possession, an honest mistake that does you more good than you realise.

The referee's whistle blows in the back, and a yellow card is administered for nudity. But Bunny decides, after taking one long look at your figure engulfed in his large jersey, that it's worth it.

He tests his luck once more, repeatedly pressing his finger against his bare chest, as if conveying a message only you would understand. And to his utter delight, you, weak to his cruelty, are quick on the uptake.

Your ears grow flushed with unbearable heat, but there's no time to revel in your embarrassment, not when the pride of your national team is on line here.

So with trembling fingers, you grab the wrong front of his jersey, pulling it close to your lips as you press a chaste kiss on the fabric bearing his name in bold.

Your eyes are shut close as you send him your indirect affections, utterly humiliated with the sudden turn of events that has you squirm at the mercy of your opponent. The moment you open them, it's no better either. If anything, you come to regret your existence entirely.

Bunny's amused expression enters your vision first, followed by a sickening gesture that has your stomach twist with shame. He holds both hands to his temple, extending his middle and index fingers up while the rest remained down, mimicking the appearance of bunny.

And while the sight of it is barely anything to blink at, with the way his simper grows as he curls his fingers encouragingly, you know better than turn a blind eye to it.

This is just— cruel..!

Fluster glows across your cheeks as you bring your hands over your temple to mirror the awful gesture. It travels across every sensitive nerve, weakening the strength in your knees as your heart stuttered to a flatline.

And just when you think the humiliation ritual has come to an end, laughter greets your ears at once — mirthful and completely entertained at the sight of your torment, one that could only belong to the cruel man that loved to play in your face — shattering whatever blissful delusion you've conjured up in your despair.

Bunny motions with his hands again, bringing one over his face like he'd done the previous other times, a telling movement that had your heart claw at your throat. His fingers lingered above his lips longer than usual, and after a thoughtful pause spent staring you down, Bunny blows you another kiss.

Your brain short circuits, and while your pride wants to resist his love, your arm extends towards him against your will. Hand sprawling out, you made a melodramatic show of catching the air kiss.

Bunny's eyes are wide when they find yours, bright and glittering with elation as he stands there, very clearly awaiting for more. And you give him exactly that. Even if the mortification kills you, you have no choice but to humour him. Who knows what he'll do if you remain stubborn in your refusal.

You heave a shaky sigh, lifting a trembling palm to your face as you press his non-tangible kiss against your lips, finally returning the affection he craved desperately for.

His coach yells something from afar, perhaps telling him to stop messing about and play the last few minutes of the game seriously, but Bunny only waves him off with a crooked grin, too focused on the precious sight of his jersey engulfing you with his name.

"If I exert myself more than I have already…" He can hardly face the man as he comes up with another pathetic excuse, unreasonably enamoured with the way your eyes scrunched shut in fluster after blowing him a kiss of your own.

"I won't have any stamina left to celebrate with my cute cheerleader."

got this idea from dembele-kun scoring on his wife's team and blowing her a kiss, and then i couldn't even mourn france's loss against spain bc i discovered i might have a humiliation kink (only works with bunny tho if ygm) 😂😂😂✌️✌️😔

you had snuck up behind nagi, moving the headset off his ear slightly, before resting your chin on his shoulder. you claimed you just wanted a ‘closer look at the game’, but nagi doesn’t remember dirty talk and moaning being a marvel rivals combo.

“i need you so bad , nagi . .” you whined, your tender hands reaching around his gaming chair and lifting up his shirt as they began to glide along his abs, making their way up to his sensitive chest. though his eyes were on the screen, there was no mistaking the way his teeth pulled at his bottom lip, the way his adam’s apple bobbed slowly, how his body tensed: you had him right where you wanted him.

“m’so wet for you already. don’t you want to get off the game and pay attention to me instead . . ?” you sighed into his ear, your fingers finding his hard nipples and starting to pinch and roll softly. you caught the way his breath hitched, how he glanced towards you for a split second. a few more minutes of this and you had this in the bag!

. . that was until nagi had had enough. as soon as reo went afk to use the bathroom, nagi tore off his headset and was on you like a dog. he turned in his chair, his large hands finding your waist and setting you down on his lap as he kissed you hungrily, aggressively even. his hands found their way to your ass, groping and squeezing— your moans were like music to his ears. your hands roamed up and down beneath his shirt, going down, down, down, finding the waistband of his sweats and tugging.

pulling his hands off you, he lifted his hips off the seat just enough to tug his sweats down to his knees. you reached down and pulled his straining cock out of his boxers, sliding your hand up and down his straining length. he tore away from the kiss, his head lolling forwards against your shoulder to muffle his whines as you worked his aching dick, squelching sounds of precum loud in the dead silent room.

it was dead silent until there was a faint hissing from the headset. a reo-sounding hissing from the headset. he had comeback from the bathroom and was ready for another game. much to your disappointment, nagi reached over to grab the headset and put it back over his ears. you moved to get up from his lap, but he stopped you. “stay.” he mumbled, reaching a hand under your skirt and pulling your soaked panties to the side.

he pulled you up and lined his tip with your hole, biting his lip harder when he felt how wet you were. your face contorted in pleasure as you sunk down, your hands set on his shoulders as you started moving up and down an-

“no. that’s too distracting. . just sit. you wanted attention, right?”

and that’s how you ended up in this position. your gummy walls pulsed around his thick length, trying to resist the urge to just say ‘fuck it” and start moving, desperate for something. anything. but he wouldn’t budge. this wasn’t enough.

“nagi, please. can’t- hnngh-! can’t take it. .” you whined into his ear, your pussy clenching around him once more.

“you’re gonna have to.” he huffed. “game’s almost over.”

you spent another two minutes in agony and need, your whines barely affecting him as much as you’d like them to. you glance back at the screen in desperation, letting out a relieved sigh at the sight of the victory and mvp sequence (nagi, of course). you let out a particularly loud moan, turning back to nagi with a pout on your face. for some unknown reason, reo had to go afk yet again. strange. nagi didn’t bother muting his headset, since he knew reo likely wouldn’t be back before you two were done. his hands moved to your ass once more, his lips finding your neck as he started moving you up and down his cock, sucking at your neck harder at the loud moans of relief.

reo sat silent as a mouse at the other end of the line, listening, a hand sliding down his shirt and towards his waistband. what, you hardly thought those whines of desperation were quiet, did you ?

from the bus ride back to the hotel to the moment he pulled his keycard out of his pocket, all he could think about was talking to you again, seeing your face albeit through the small screen of his phone. his shorts tightened at the thought. he kicked his shoes off, not even bothering to take off his kit as he flopped face down onto the soft mattress (would’ve been ten times more appealing with you on it, but we ball). rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling, he let out a loud sigh before pulling out his phone, opening it to a picture of the two of you in a photobooth as his lockscreen. god how he missed that smile. he unlocked his phone and scrolled until he saw your contact, clicking the call button and waiting.

you normally picked up after what, two rings? four maximum? . . it’s been seven. hm. weird. okay. he hung up before trying again. . . and again. after what, ten tries, his brows furrowed. why weren’t you picking up the phone? the match ended around 2, what could you possibly-

shit. it was that day already? the day of your race? you were probably dead asleep. plus, the timezone difference was crazy, you couldn’t possibly be awake at midnight after a competition. shiittt. his cock was throbbing so bad it hurt. he needed your voice, he needed your face, he needed you, you, you.

he swiped out of his contacts and went into his gallery, his phone lighting up with two folders: ‘football’ and ‘her’. he clicked into the latter, watching the screen fill with pictures of you — intimate ones, ones where you weren’t looking, even your promotional track photos. he swiped through the gallery, his fingers hesitating over a video that he took of you before clicking into it. immediately the quiet room filled with the sound of wanton moans and squelching — your wanton moans and squelching.

isagi bit back a groan at the videos, the way your ass slapped against his hips, the way you glanced back at the camera — at him — with tears streaming down your face and a weak smile, mouthing the words ‘i love you’.

his free hand undid the tie of his shorts, tugging down his shorts. there was a wet, sticky patch at the front his length twitching at the sounds from the phone speaker. slowly peeled his boxers off, hissing at the feeling of the cold air against his contrastingly warm body, wincing at the obscene slap! of his cock against his abs. he lifted up his jersey and help the fabric between his teeth to muffle his groans of pleasure as he started working his aching cock, stroking in tandem with the loud plap! plap! plap! of skin against skin.

“oh ffuckk— ‘sagi-! ‘sagi, m’gonna cum again,” you whined, your breath speeding up. he could almost feel your puffy pussy around his cock, his hand fisting his aching length with fervour. his head lolled forwards, biting down into the fabric harder as he grunted, his hips bucking upwards into his fist. “you’re so pretty- mngh, fuck. mmph-! come f’me pretty. . come all over f’me.” his low groans turned to higher whimpers as he felt his heavy balls tighten.

“need you isagi. . ngh! i need you so bad- ffuucck-! m’gonna cum, isagi! m’gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna- hnmgh—!” loads of sticky, pearlescent come coated his abs at the sound of you reaching your climax, his hand working his spurting cock until he couldn’t take the overstimulation. he flopped backwards onto the mattress, an arm covering his eyes as he caught his breath.

reaching for his phone, he opened up his messages to send to you a goodnight text when he noticed four unread messages. seriously? how is he able to observe every player’s move on the pitch but he couldn’t even notice missed messages from his own girlfriend?

ik ur phone is on dnd and ur probably getting ready for your match rn, js wanted to tell you i’m probably gonna be wrecked after this race and won’t be able to call you tonight :(( sorry!!

my apology + compensation for your troubles

i love you, wish me luck!! 😋

along with a six minute long voice note underneath? you recorded a voice note on how your day went just for him? how cute! isagi clicked play and held the phone up to his ear, closing his eyes with a soft sigh.

. . only for them to immediately snap back open at the sound of your breathy moans and whines coming from the speaker. even though he just came, his cock twitched again at the sound. his teeth nipped at his bottom lip to hold back a low moan, a hand reaching down and wrapping itself around his cock again. he had all night, right?

a/n : tysm for the love on the nagi post! ily guys pls stay. 😔 pt.2 of that one is coming soon!!!

you just showed up, looking like every damn cell of your body was literally created by drops of heaven when you walked into the training room on your first day, rosy cheeks hinting at a subtle shyness as you greeted everyone kindly. “hi, i’m y/n, your new team manager starting today.”

rin tried to keep himself distracted, suppressing every bubble of attraction that dared to arise in his chest whenever he looked at you. yet, he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy seeping through his shadow every time you interacted with his team; your smiles were anything but ‘just friendly’ in his eyes, though logically, he didn’t actually have the slightest idea of how you felt towards any of his boys. 

he was a reasonable man. mature, upright, and wise. of course you would be interested in boys your age, he knew that. why the fuck would he even think you’d want to be with one twenty years your senior? you were young, beautiful, and kind, any man would be lucky to have you– one in your age range, he forcefully reminded himself time and time again.

unfortunately for rin, he wanted that man to be him, regardless. no matter how much he tried to ignore it, to kill the feelings, they persisted.

and now he’s here, drunk off his ass at a celebratory afterparty for his team making it to regionals, nearly passed out on the corner of the couch in the karaoke room. everyone else is still lively, singing horribly– some well, though– at the top of their lungs, downing shot after shot of sake.

you, of course, stay on patrol, only babysitting a drink or two to try to keep things under control. 

rin didn’t mean to drink as much as he did. he just couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy you look in your little black dress– a view he rarely got the chance to see since your usual attire consisted of training jackets and joggers– and thoughtlessly started chugging at a bottle of sake until he was hiccuping and sleepy to cope with his overwhelming, tenacious feelings.

you let out a sigh, but chuckle, scooting your body over to his side to check up on him. the others seem fine, despite their rowdiness, so you shift your attention to your colleague for the time being.

“hey,” you hum gently, nudging his side, “i can call you a cab.”

“n–no,” he murmurs, heavy eyelids fluttering to open. he thinks he’s dreaming when he’s sees how close you are, glistening eyes looking into his enlarged pupils with concern, “oh, mm’fuck– you’re so c– hic– close.”

you smile. “well, yeah, need to make sure you’re not dying.”

his laugh turns into a cough before he smacks his lips together and curls further into the couch. “mm’fine, mm’fine,” he thrums, closing his eyes again. but this time, his hand reaches out to find yours resting on the seat cushion beside his thigh, fingertips teasingly gliding across your knuckles. he’s not even fully aware that he’s doing it, light snores slowly beginning to sound out of him seconds later.

your heart stops for a minute as your gaze flickers to where he’s touching you, lips parting with a silent gasp. you think you should move– should– but you don’t, just allowing the warmth to flow through your veins for a few moments. despite the chaos surrounding you, this shared moment felt private and quiet.

eventually, you do convince him to take a cab, but with you to your place, because you have zero trust he’ll be able to safely transport himself back to his own given the state he’s currently in.

you stumble your bodies through the front door, carefully guiding him towards your bedroom to help him into bed. you plan to take the couch for the night.

the cutest whimpers escape his mouth as you remove his shoes, then tuck him underneath the covers. you’ll just change your sheets the next day since he’s still wearing his alcohol-stained daywear, not feeling comfortable enough to help him undress. he can do that himself once he sobers up a bit, since he’ll probably wake up sooner or later to use the bathroom. 

you quickly fix him a glass of water, then grab a small pouch of saltines and a few tylenol pills to leave on the nightstand beside him; hydration, food, and medication– the cocktail to hangover survival. 

he mutters something you can’t quite make out as you move to leave the bedroom, which causes you to just swell with warmth with how cute he really is as you shut the door behind you quietly.

rin ends up sleeping from one in the morning, when you two arrived back at your place, all the way until ten– completely through the night. his eyes shoot open wide abruptly as he wakes, eyebrows furrowing to take in his surroundings. where the fuck is he?

he jolts from the soft rap at the door, heart dropping into his stomach as you walk in sporting a loose t-shirt, tiny sleep shorts, and bedhead, carrying a small plate of toast.

“morning,” you smile. he just blinks at you, chest palpitating. you chuckle at his surprise, placing the plate down beside him on the bed. “i take it you don’t remember anything from last night.”

“not at all.” his voice is raspy and parched. he notices the glass of water on the nightstand and picks it up, chugging it quickly. he lets out a sigh when he finishes, feeling quenched. “i didn’t– we didn’t– right?” he asks, slightly panicked.

you shake your head, understanding exactly what he’s asking. “nothing happened. i just brought you back here so i could make sure you didn’t accidentaly kill yourself,” you laugh, “do you even know how much you drank?” he shakes his head and you sigh. “an entire bottle of sake and then some,” you state, “i’m surprised you’re even functioning this morning.” there’s a sharp pain in his head right then that proves your words otherwise and he winces. “i’ll get you some more water,” you offer, “be right back.”

rin feels so utterly embarrassed.

and– worst of all– fucked.

an indescribable tension has been floating around you and rin since that night a few weeks ago. neither of you address it though, just assuming it will fade out on its own.

yeah, that’s never how it works, is it?

it isn’t until he sees you cozying up with one of his players outside of the locker rooms after practice that he finally snaps, stomach twisting violently at the thought of you being close to another man.

he waits until the field is left with only you and him. the two of you usually stayed afterwards together to clean up and prepare for the following day’s session.

“hey,” he says, stacking the cones as you toss the extra balls into the bin, “are you and alex… close?”

you freeze for a moment, surprised he’s prying into a topic like that with you. if you’re honest, though, it made your heart flutter. is he concerned about you? or… is he jealous?

“sort of,” you shrug, answering him casually, though your insides were going crazy. “we found out our moms work together, so we kind of just hit it off.”

“i see.”

it’s quiet again.

neither of you are paying attention as you back up after finishing your tasks, bodies colliding as he topples over you onto the floor of the storage shed.

both of you groan, and you’re grateful your elbows caught you in time to avoid smacking your head painfully onto the pavement.

“you okay?” rin asks, searching your face. he still hasn’t noticed that he’s hovering over you, chests nearly touching. but once he does, he can hardly breathe. “oh– fuck–,” he huffs, “sorry, let me get up–,” but you stop him, and he swears he’s about to explode. “y/n?” he calls your name gently. you just keep staring at him, watching as his pupils dilate wider and wider with each passing second. your hand reaches up to cup his jaw, and his breath falters. “what are you– fuck.”

you lips break out into a smile and your chest aches. all this time, you’ve been trying to suppress your desire for the man you lay before. he’s twenty years older than you, and that will surely make people talk. but, you don’t care.

you don’t care.

you want him. and you’re sick of not allowing yourself to at least let him know that; if he doesn’t feel the same, then you move on.

“rin,” the way you say his name makes him shiver, “i like you. i like you a lot.” his eyes widen at your confession. “i know you’re a lot older than i am; you’ve got more experience and life’s all figured out in comparison to me, but,” you exhale, “i can’t help how i feel. i really fucking like you.”

he releases the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in, head falling forward in relief and a tinge of hesitance. “shit,” he laughs nervously, “i never thought– fucking hell,” he tries to pull himself together, “i’ve been falling for you since the second you walked into that damn training room last year, and i– i never thought it’d be mutual.” your affectionate smile is sending butterflies straight to his stomach. “you’re so much younger than me, and way fucking out of my league but, christ, y/n, i really fucking like you too.”

your smile lifts into a smirk– a devious one full of raw desire and need. “kiss me, rin,” you thrum, moving both hands to slide behind him to rest on the nape of his neck. “if this is real, then show me.”

his breaths are uneven. “are you sure?”

you bite your lip and nod. “yes, i’m sure. but, not here. not on this disgusting closet floor,” both he and you laugh, “take me back to yours tonight?”

rin’s sheets smell like pine and a thousand secret feelings as he lays you down on his bed, cherry, slightly cracked lips attaching to yours with vigor. a year’s worth of pent up emotions could no longer be controlled. you tug at his hair as you slip your tongue into it his mouth, thighs clenching at the sweet sounds of his muffled whines. he’s hovering over you now, slowly dropping his kisses from your face down towards your center; on the way, he unzips your training jacket. he lifts his head for a moment to see you, staring in awe at your nearly bare chest looking back at him. his tongue teases below the wiring of your bra and you gasp.

“off,” you squeak, “take it off.” 

rin obliges, “holy fuck, you’re beautiful,” cheeks burning from your gorgeous tits. he immediately attaches his mouth to your perky nipples, sliding his rough tongue across each meaty breast whilst his hands cup your thighs.

you involuntarily jolt at the tingling sensation, pulling at his strands more aggressively, which only causes him to moan against you and send pleasurable vibrations through your chest.

“f–fuck,” your breath stutters when he drags his tongue from your sternum down to your navel, his fingers curling into your waistband once he reaches there.

he bites your hip bones teasingly. “i bet you’re so pretty,” he thrums, massaging your skin, “can’t wait to taste this pussy.”

rin doesn’t waste even a second once he’s removed your pants and tossed them aside, tongue diving into your sweet cunt with filthy squelches.

“r–rin!” you mewl, bucking your hips up against his mouth. his eyes roll at the use of you moaning his name and your sweet taste, grip on your hips tightening. “s–shit, right– oh, god!”

the tip of his nose stimulates your clit with each deliberate drive of his tongue into your slick hole. you're riding his face now, matching his pace, desperate to reach your high.

rin can sense your arousal growing, the coil in your stomach only seconds away from snapping. he sucks on your bundle of nerves with precision, lapping you up like it’s his favourite pastime, groaning at the feeling of you about to fall apart.

“c’mon,” he mutters, “let me taste you. come for me.” with a final drag of his mouth and nose across your folds, you cry, spilling your sweet nectar out of your cunt and all over his pretty face. he growls as he drinks you up, swallowing all of you pornographically. “fuck, you’re so good to me.”

he releases you with a slow, agonizing pop as he lifts up to see you, cock twitching at the sight of your beautiful fucked out face in all her glory. your lashes are fluttering, and he can see your throat pulsing as you catch your breath.

“feel okay?” he checks in with you.

“y–yeah,” you stutter, still riding through the ecstasy of your orgasm.

“good,” he smiles, though not without a tint of mischief, leaning over to plant a kiss on your puffy, quivering lips. “do you want to keep going–”

“yes.”

he laughs at how quickly you answer. “your wish is my command.” 

your eyes grow dark for a moment as you keep looking back at him. “don’t treat me so nicely."

he lets out a cough, taken aback by your initiation and request. it’s not that he didn’t want to get a little crazy with you, far from it, he just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way.

“what do you want me to do?” he asks.

you stare at him straight in the eye and say, “slap my ass and pull my hair. surprise me with the rest.”

he was throbbing. 

fuck. 

rin undresses, then you’re instantly flipped over onto your stomach, grip in your hair tight and declaring, yanking your ass up high in the air for him. he groans and your walls squeeze tightly.

“fucking hell,” he hisses, “you sure you can handle me like this?”

you turn your head enough to glare at him, mostly playfully, but a little bit annoyed. “rin,” you assert, “fuck me or i’ll do it myself.”

his heart is about to burst through his chest. you notice the way his thick cock jumps from your demand and you smirk.

“fuck. yeah, okay,” he huffs, pumping himself a few times as he maintains eye contact, leaky tip teasing your sticky hole. “you ready, baby?”

“give it to me.”

your words move him automatically as he slides into you. you can feel his hips shaking the entire way to bottoming you out, walls clenching around his fat base.

“god,” he groans, “you feel– wow. fuck.”

you start sliding along his cock, too, and he nearly loses it. “c’mon,” you taunt, “more, daddy, more.”

he stills for a second. did you just call him daddy?

the choice of words has brewed a destructive storm within him.

your smugness instantly turns into a screaming fest as he slams into you, brutally smacking his pelvis against your plush ass. every time he pulls out far enough to leave a bit of space, he lifts a hand to smack your cheeks and you whimper, drool coating the bedsheets below you.

“fuck, fuck!” you whine, unbridled, ragged chokes escaping your mouth. “you’re s–so– mmmm’shit–”

you can hardly speak, and rin can’t stop gritting his teeth and abusing your sweet, tight cunt. he slips a hand underneath you to reach your clit, sending it a rough slap that makes your body jolt with a loud cry. 

“thatta girl,” he thrums, “let me hear you get fucking loud f’me.”

his fingers circle fast, thick cock filling you to the brim with a ruthless pace, and you spiral towards your second orgasm. you throw a hand back to grab his thigh, assisting him to fuck you even faster as your arousal starts to leak around him.

“r–rin,” you gasp, body beginning to convulse, “i’m gonna– oh, fuck!” you don’t even complete your sentence, a sharp crack of the throat sending you over the edge as you cream around his length, vibrating and clenching him incessantly. “oh my god!”

he laughs elated and a bit heniously, keeping his pace unforgiving as he yanks you up by your hair in the midst of coming, forcing your spine flat against his chest. you’re overstimulated and whining pathetically.

“we’re not done,” he purrs, licking one, long stripe up the side of your neck, “you’re giving me three more. we’re hitting five.”

your throat tightens and you pulsate excitedly. “i don’t know if– that’s–,” your eyes roll and you feel your stomach twisting for the third time. “oh my fucking god,” you groan, “fuck!” you squirt again, moans so loud you’re sure the neighbours are pissed off by now.

rin isn’t slowing down, sending shallow slaps and firm circles to your clit as his cock continues to stretch you out, twitching inside your walls with each greedy clench from your pussy.

“such a good girl for daddy,” his voice is low and raspy, sending shivers down your spine, “keep falling apart f’me like this.”

you’re foaming at the mouth, arms thrashing around aimlessly as he pulls the fourth orgasm out of you with a deep, hard thrust into your stomach, your shattered cry trickling down his spine ecstatically. he growls as he moves his grip from your hair to your throat, squeezing tightly and driving his fat, wet cock into you without mercy.

he’s trying to keep himself together, determined to feel you come around him one final time. but he’s so fucking close.

“jesus– rin– shit–” you whine, grabbing his wrist around your neck for leverage, “it’s so s–sen– fuck!” he slides his mushroom tip across your pleasure point and you whimper, hips stuttering back against him.

“just one more, baby girl,” he hums, sucking a claim into your shoulderblade, “let me feel you just one more time.”

you nod profusely, whining growing louder with each brutal drag of his cock until you finally break, “i–i’m coming!” dropping all inhibitions and screaming uncontrollably as you release onto him for the fifth time, drenching his cock with your sweet cum.

he’s growling just as loudly as you are, hips sputtering weakly as he senses himself about to break, pulling out of you at the last second whilst he pushes your torso back down towards the mattress again to spill his hot, milky seed all over your back. his moans are raspy, head thrown backwards in bliss, as the sticky substance feels warm on your skin.

“holy fuck,” he grits his teeth, looking down to see how pretty he decorated your body. “you did so well for me, sweetheart,” he praises, “i’m so proud of you.” he leans over and kisses the back of your head before carefully helping you to lay down flat onto your stomach comfortably. “let me go grab a rag to clean you up.”

he’s so gentle with you, cautiously wiping your skin and helping you roll over onto your back once he’s finished cleaning you up. your eyes are so dazed and fucked-out, pupils blown and full of ecstacy and affection. he can’t help but smile, heart warming at the sight of you so wrecked for him in the two best ways– sex and love.

he kisses your temple before laying beside you, pulling you closely to rest on his chest. “how are you feeling?” he asks.

“so good,” your words are slightly slurred, “that was incredible.”

“yeah?” his heart swells.

“yeah.” you repeat.

it’s quiet for a moment, but calm. then, he asks the burning question. “do you want to continue this? you know, us?”

your head tilts up to look at him, and if the way your eyes glisten are any consolation, the answer to that is yes. “i do,” you smile. “i want all of you, rin itoshi.”

if it weren’t for the fact he had a team to get through regionals– and now you becoming an important part of his life– he’d die right there in your arms with how fast his heart is beating and be happy with it. 

“Wow, Dad, your forehead is soooo huge it’s bigger than my hand”

She then clasps her hands and stretches her arms as wide as she can.

Propping himself up, Sae strokes his daughter’s head 

“What happened to good morning?” 

“Morning, Papa,” she said with a large toothy grin 

“That’s my girl,” Sae continues to ruffle Stelle’s hair with his head pats

Pondering to himself, ‘I wonder who she got her blunt tongue from?’

“Is your brother still awake?”

“I think he’s in the kitchen”

Immediately, Sae hears clanging from the kitchen and immediately runs towards his son, climbing up the countertop and immediately snatching him, holding him up

“Caelus, what did I tell you about climbing up the countertop?” he stresses 

“Not to do it,” Caelus said, side-eyeing his father’s rule 

“Caelus, can you tell me why we don't go climb up the countertops”

“I can hurt mythelf”

“Don’t side-eye me, mister! What did you want anyway?” 

Caelus points to the flour in the cupboard 

“What are you trying to make?”

 The small child points at the ingredients he has already set aside 

Sae makes his best guess since he doesn’t own a waffle maker. “Pancakes?”

Caelus nods

“If you want pancakes, I have to be here with you, so do you want to make them together?”

Caelus nods 

Sae puts Caelus down next to him and yells across the room, “Stelle, do you wanna make pancakes with us?”

The little girl immediately bolts into the kitchen at the word ‘food’

Yawning from not being entirely awake, “I wasn’t expecting to make pancakes this early in the morning today,” Sae utters to himself 

“Ok, so what we’re going to do is take turns since Caelus already prepped the ingredients. He’s going to pour in the flour first, then you can pour in the second cup. Are we clear?”

“Okay,” both twins say in unison 

After letting the kids make the batter, Sae takes it upon himself to flip the pancakes 

“This one is for Caelus and is for Stelle. Go take it to the dining table”

As the kids placed the food on the table, Sae was, for once, glad that cooking with kids takes half a century, since by the time he made himself a plate of pancakes, he was able to brew himself a pot of English breakfast tea

He sits down at the table, the kids staring at him like two golden retrievers begging for permission to eat

“Itadakimasu”

The twins look at each other, confused whether to copy their father cause they know all that word means is that they get to eat 

“It something mas” Stelle prays vigorously with confidence, “ida- whatever I give up.” Caelus recites with equal confidence, and then both of them begin to chow down 

‘I guess that’s something to work on? I forget that they’re used to staying with their uncle most of the time, so what I do might come off as strange to them’

Sae begins to take a bite of his pancakes, and a bittersweet feeling washes over him

 ‘Mmm, it reminds me of her. I should make these more often’

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