A/N: I tried to write head canons but this situation felt more
suited to reactions so I hope you don’t mind.
“I have an
announcement to make,” you say, voice quivering slightly. Meeting your eyes to
your boyfriend one last time, you address the board of your elders. “I have no
intention of accepting the inheritance of this business.” You raise your voice to be heard over the din of disapproval, “Because I plan on leaving with the man I love, to pursue our own path
together.”
Nijimura
Nearly bites through his lip in irritation; how could you
handle something so delicate so carelessly? He shifts in his seat, eyes closing
as he thinks of how to redeem the situation. He has no intention of leaving
you, but he also won’t allow you to walk away from the safety and stability of
your family and its business. Looking first to you and then your father he says
quietly, “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding, could we please meet in
your private office to discuss this further?”
Haizaki
Barely keeping a lid on his temper, Haizaki rushes to your
position at the head seat practically dragging you to the balcony. The second the
door is shut he snaps, “Are you fucking stupid? Do you think I’ve put up with
all their bullshit just so you could throw away everything?” He curses when you
stutter out that you thought this was what he wanted, to be free from the scrutiny,
the backstabbing, the lies and the cheating. “Do you even know me?! That’s what
I’m good at, dumbass! Now, go back in
there and claim momentary insanity or something because there’s no way in hell
we’re leaving until you’re back on the fast track to leading this dump.”
Himuro
His heart races, shock pulling up waves of adrenaline as he
lets your words settle in the room. A moment later, the expected uproar hits
like a tidal wave but he sits silent, allowing you to handle the situation as
you see fit. He really wishes you would have discussed this with him prior but
now that the damage is done, he’ll stand by you. After all, you’re doing this
for him.
Mayuzumi
Rolls his eyes and sighs as he sets down his book. “Why must
you make everything so over dramatic?” he asks with a huff. Thankfully this was
only your test run, the meeting you intended to spout this at occurring the
following day. “Besides, hadn’t you heard? Akashi-san already bought your
family’s company, so whether you wanted it or not, it’s no longer yours.”
Imayoshi
You can’t read his expression, which is nothing new despite
all the time you’ve been together. Even with you, Imayoshi is guarded,
secretive and cunning. Which is why it really shouldn’t come as surprise when
he stands up next to you, coughing a bit in seeming embarrassment but that you
can see through for the facade it is. “As much as I appreciate your…adventurous
spirit, this supposed undiscovered path has already had its foundations laid
here.” He opens his eyes wider, meeting your gaze. “Your father signed the
corporation over to me this morning, so neither of us will be going anywhere
for some time.”
Plug-ins: If you want to commission me or want to donate just as a token of appreciation for my writing on this blog ╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)╯
Work was so tiring today guys, I’m like half asleep as I write this
✿ – Sex headcanon
KUROKO
This cute little babe… you know how people normally see him as a sub? WELL HE”S A SECRET DOM (he’s a switch, really, but when he feels it he gets it going 120%), and it would probably be such an unprecedented thing, having him suddenly pin you against the wall as he passionately makes out with you, hand unabashedly roaming your body. The element of surprise makes it a lot hotter.
If you were to tell him you’d do anything for him in bed, his request would be a simple one: to never ever close your eyes or look away from him. You may think of it as easy, but it’s hard not to avert your gaze while he kisses and sucks down there…
MOMOI
Has probably played with her tits before lol she’s in high school and she’s being more curious and exploring about her sexuality and her body, and she usually gets distracted and starts to run her hands down her body to figure out what she finds the most pleasurable (her breasts turn out to be quite sensitive).
Which leads to point #2: she gets turned on really easily if it has something to do with her chest. Even a simple hug from you can rile her up if done right. When you bury your face in her chest, it’s done for, she’s going to be red and blushing while telling you she can’t take any more teasing.
AOMINE
A lot of people headcanon him as a sex god, and I agree and disagree at the same time. Aomine’s first time will be dorky, awkward, and vanilla af lemme tell you this boy is going to be blushing a lot and frequently asking if you’re okay. After the first few times, though, that’s when he starts to develop his skill in bed, and we all know he’s a fast learner.
At one point after he’s used to being intimate with you, he somewhat becomes addicted to sex?? Like he would sometimes wonder what kind of a pervert he is to be constantly aroused around you?? You probably don’t always give in to his invitations, so he masturbates sometimes when he can’t take it, purposefully being loud if he knows you’re going to be back home soon so you can catch him.
♡ – romantic headcanon
KUROKO
This guy is all about stuff that are labeled domestic fluff. Cuddling together in front of the TV? Yes. Cooking together? Yes. Reading books next to each other? Fuck. Yes. Kuroko basks in tender moments with you and he treasures them in his memory (and the occasional candid photos of you that he takes), though he doesn’t forget the importance of excitement in the relationship and will take you out if he senses your boredom.
NIGOU? IS THE ULTIMATE WINGMAN??? Seriously Kuroko owes the pup a heck lot because relationships usually start because of him, and even if he’s already in a relationship Nigou will always bring them closer. You better treat the pup right, too, because Kuroko won’t take it if you disrespect his dog.
MOMOI
CHICK FLICK DATES LOL she’s going to drag you down into a movie marathon full of cheesy, cliched stuff (although once in a while you find a movie you enjoy instead of criticize together). Most of the time you will be playing around and making jokes about the movie, but sometimes when the two of you are particularly lazy it’s just cuddling on the couch.
It’s sort of sad how Momoi will try her best to cook for people she’s close to, because her stuff is hor r i B L Eso it would be great if you can teach her the basics of cooking. It would turn out to be a fun time in the kitchen! unless she force-feeds you black goo, because you don’t want to turn her down and break her heart
AOMINE
Imagine going on chill dates to the cafe with this guy. He just likes hearing you talk about what is going on in your life in general, listens attentively, chimes in when appropriate. He loves your voice. Plus, you always dress up so nicely for these dates, sometimes he feels insecure about how plain he looks. Nevertheless, he tries to make it so that you have a good time together.
Whoever is romantically involved with Aomine, especially in the long term, needs to understand and support his career in basketball. It’s the one thing that takes up most of his time, and he does it because of his love for the sport. If his partner ends up making him choose between them or basketball, he’d pick basketball because obviously his partner doesn’t love him enough to be considerate of his passion.
Kuroko’s are my favorite in this, well done on all!
this is the last of the all karasuno requests we have left and i’m glad because “karasuno cuties” means ALL OF THEM. let 👏 me 👏 write 👏 the 👏 girls!!!!
if you like what i do and want to show your support, consider supporting me on ko-fi!
– admin rachel lauren
Their Favorite Way to Show Affection:
Daichi: He’s a cheeseball and will probably buy you one of those Hallmark cards that says something like, “Thinking of you…” along with a big bouquet of your favorite flowers (assuming you’re not allergic).
Suga: He likes to trace his fingers along your skin. Sometimes it’s mindless: you’ll be watching a movie together on the couch and suddenly his fingers are trailing up and down your arm while his eyes are still glued to the screen.
Asahi: He loves hugs so much. Asahi loves the warmth and closeness they provide. Sometimes he’ll get overwhelmed with emotions and lose what he was going to say, but a big hug will say everything he intended to and more.
A/N: I tried to write head canons but this situation felt more
suited to reactions so I hope you don’t mind.
“I have an
announcement to make,” you say, voice quivering slightly. Meeting your eyes to
your boyfriend one last time, you address the board of your elders. “I have no
intention of accepting the inheritance of this business.” You raise your voice to be heard over the din of disapproval, “Because I plan on leaving with the man I love, to pursue our own path
together.”
Nijimura
Nearly bites through his lip in irritation; how could you
handle something so delicate so carelessly? He shifts in his seat, eyes closing
as he thinks of how to redeem the situation. He has no intention of leaving
you, but he also won’t allow you to walk away from the safety and stability of
your family and its business. Looking first to you and then your father he says
quietly, “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding, could we please meet in
your private office to discuss this further?”
Haizaki
Barely keeping a lid on his temper, Haizaki rushes to your
position at the head seat practically dragging you to the balcony. The second the
door is shut he snaps, “Are you fucking stupid? Do you think I’ve put up with
all their bullshit just so you could throw away everything?” He curses when you
stutter out that you thought this was what he wanted, to be free from the scrutiny,
the backstabbing, the lies and the cheating. “Do you even know me?! That’s what
I’m good at, dumbass! Now, go back in
there and claim momentary insanity or something because there’s no way in hell
we’re leaving until you’re back on the fast track to leading this dump.”
Himuro
His heart races, shock pulling up waves of adrenaline as he
lets your words settle in the room. A moment later, the expected uproar hits
like a tidal wave but he sits silent, allowing you to handle the situation as
you see fit. He really wishes you would have discussed this with him prior but
now that the damage is done, he’ll stand by you. After all, you’re doing this
for him.
Mayuzumi
Rolls his eyes and sighs as he sets down his book. “Why must
you make everything so over dramatic?” he asks with a huff. Thankfully this was
only your test run, the meeting you intended to spout this at occurring the
following day. “Besides, hadn’t you heard? Akashi-san already bought your
family’s company, so whether you wanted it or not, it’s no longer yours.”
Imayoshi
You can’t read his expression, which is nothing new despite
all the time you’ve been together. Even with you, Imayoshi is guarded,
secretive and cunning. Which is why it really shouldn’t come as surprise when
he stands up next to you, coughing a bit in seeming embarrassment but that you
can see through for the facade it is. “As much as I appreciate your…adventurous
spirit, this supposed undiscovered path has already had its foundations laid
here.” He opens his eyes wider, meeting your gaze. “Your father signed the
corporation over to me this morning, so neither of us will be going anywhere
for some time.”
“_______.” The sound of her name moaned more than spoken draws her attention to the semi-closed door. It’s late, or early depending on one’s interpretation of 2AM, so her bleary mind is not coherent enough to conclude it’s probably best she not investigate; the terms curiosity and cat come to mind.
Walking quietly forward, her hands presses the door further ajar, the vision before her sending torrents of water to her mouth.
Wakatoshi, her roommate of over a year, sits with his legs astride the toilet, seat down for more comfortable sitting she supposes. Why he’s doing this here and not in the concealment of his own room she doesn’t know but now that she’s watching she can’t turn away.
His boxers are around his ankles, chiseled chest heaving as his large hand grasps his equally large cock, precum oozing in rivulets down his shaft. His breath is labored, eyes closed and head cast back.
“________,” he groans again and she starts thinking maybe he’s seen her but his next words dispel that fear. “You’re taking my cock so well.”
Her eyes widen further, chest tightening with the effort to keep her own breath quiet.
“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he pants, fist clenching to add truth of feeling to the image in his mind. “I love watching your breasts bounce,” he admits, voice rough and raw.
The slick and squelch of his hand makes her thighs rub together, heat pooling and burning away slowly at her inhibitions. Should she announce herself? Walk in and offer to give him the real deal since nothing would please her more than to feel him shoving all that power into her?
But no, watching someone so composed and seemingly unworldly come undone and all because he’s imagining her, she can’t stop him, not now.
Not when he’s groaning her name like a mantra, not when he pinches a nipple and shudders under the effects of his own ministrations reaching capitulation that spills upon his stomach and thighs. Her tongue shoots out to moisten dry lips, body retreating as quickly and quietly as possible to her room.
Moments later, as she hears him pass her door, she releases a moan of her own, “Wakatoshi.”
OKay first of all, ExCuSe YoU?!?!?!?!
This did not scratch an itch, it made the itch worse!
For the amazingly talented @haikyuusmiles as “payment”
(really this feels like I’m jiping you) for the amazing Bokuto avatar she’s
allowed me the privilege to use during my Bad Boy AU September event.
I’ve aged him up to college, so I hope you don’t mind!
I hope
this is to your liking!
“How are you even in advanced art? Your stuff is so…childish!”
The harsh words spoken with such vitriol stop Yahaba in his tracks. Incredulous
eyes land on the scene before him of you trembling with hands wrapped so tight
around your sketch book it bends, reaction to the two males and female who
are taunting you. Initially he’d been irritated to find himself in the art
building (this school is just so damn big and every building looks the same),
but that quickly morphs into ire for someone in trouble.
He frowns…this ends now.
Yahaba stalks up, your tormenters ignorant of his approach
but very aware of his presence when he side slams into one of the males sending
him cannoning into the other two leaving room for him to assume a protective position
in front of you, hands clenched into fists. “Just what the hell is your
problem!” he snaps. It’s a rhetorical question he’s not interested in hearing
the answer to because when the female of the trio opens her mouth he fills the
void of sound with his own voice once more. “Do you really have nothing better
to do that torment other people? And what are you, twelve? Didn’t you get this
crap out of your system in junior high and high school? Or are you really so
shallow, insecure and pathetic that
you have to prey on others?”
Behind him you stand, eyes wide and pulse racing. Though you’re
thankful for someone stepping in, this gallant male’s loud voice and
threatening posture are only adding to your anxiety. You don’t want anyone to
get in a fight, least of all over you! But you remain quiet, knees knocking as a
tense silence falls. There’s a mix of reaction around you, people either
blatantly staring in curiosity or pleasure (there are those who just love drama) or others who pass right on
by intent on their own thoughts.
Finally, the second male, less aggressive but no less
involved in the occurrence, grunts out, “Let’s go,” and the other two follow.
As they retreat, Yahaba calls, “And don’t let me catch you bothering her again!”
Turning around, he almost gasps in surprise at how cute you
are. He’d not time to notice before now, only having seen the top of your head
and reacting to the situation. He’s so lost in the warmth of your brown eyes
that he almost misses the tears standing in them. “Hey,” he says, voice falling
to a gentle octave, “it’s ok, you’re safe now.” He reaches out, intent on
placing a comforting hand upon your shoulder.
You work hard to meet his eyes, he deserves that much, but
the intensity of the entire situation and all the painful memories it brings up
is overwhelming you quickly. With a hurried, “Thank you,” you skirt around him,
rushing down the hall and out the double doors into sunlight and fresh air and
safety. Behind you, Yahaba’s hand remains outstretched, his eyes full of confusion.
You seem just as scared of him as the people he saved you from and this thought
does not sit well with him. It doesn’t sit well at all.
“Just go back and talk to her, you know she’s in advanced
art so it’s not like it would be hard to find her again,” Watari comments after
Yahaba tells him the story that evening over pizza and soda.
“Yeah, I guess,” shrugs the setter, “I just…I don’t want her
to think I’m a creeper or something.”
“But you are a creeper,” Kindaichi comments around a bite of
pepperoni. “And you haven’t lost your touch of being a show-off.”
“You know, sometimes I wonder why I let you come around,”
snaps Yahaba to his former kohai, now a third year.
Kindaichi shrugs. “’Cause you miss me.”
“Tch.” But Yahaba smiles ever so slightly. Sighing he rubs
his head. He can’t get you out of his mind. He should just move on, count it a
blessing he was there to help someone in need and get on with his life but he
can’t. Not when your fear-filled eyes keep flashing before him.
“Just go talk to her,” Watari sighs, “otherwise you’ll keep
driving yourself, and me, crazy with your indecision.”
It takes him two days to track you down because he didn’t
know what day you actually take
advanced art (turns out there are three sessions of it throughout the week).
But he finally strikes lucky (or persistent) on Wednesday, because here you
come, eyes cast down, a hustle in your step.
“Hey,” he says stopping you in your tracks. When you look at
him, he’s beginning to think you have two expressions: neutral and nervous. But
you surprise him by blinking once then smiling, albeit shyly, a delicate blush
on your cheeks as you advance to his seated position on the bench just outside
the art department.
“Hello,” you offer then bow low. “I’m so sorry for my
rudeness the other day. Th…thank you for helping me.”
“It’s no big deal, anyone would have done it,” he remarks,
his own cheeks heating up a bit.
When you rise, he swallows thickly; you’re just too cute for
words. “But no one else did.” Then you shrug, gaze falling to the ground once
more. “It…it’s ok really, I’m…I’m used to it.”
A smoldering anger rises quickly in Yahaba’s chest. He doesn’t
understand it, doesn’t question it, he just knows he wants to protect you.
But that’s not all.
With renewed confidence he extends his hand, smiling when
this time you take it instead of running way. “I’m Yahaba Shigeru, by the way,
it’s nice to officially meet you…”
“_______,” you supply.
“Well, ______, since we’ve got the awkward first greetings
out of the way, would you like to…get some lunch or something?” Yahaba asks,
nerves flaring a bit but he gets the words out almost as smoothly as they
sounded in his head.
You look surprised but nod nonetheless, falling into stride
next to him as the two of you head to a local bistro off campus, both deciding
that cafeteria food is not what you want. The impromptu date leads to more
official ones, each time drawing Yahaba closer and closer to cloud nine.
Finally, tonight, after what he doesn’t know is which date
number, you lean up and kiss him gently. Eager for more, his hands slide around
your waist, loving the feel of your soft curves and warmth against his body. “I’ve
been waiting for this,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss you this time.
He doesn’t even care that he has to hold you up as your
knees go weak because he knows that, for as long as you’ll have him, he’ll
never stop holding you.
Characters are adults here, think late twenties. I also think this is longer than the other stories in Cantabile, because *inspiration*!
Maybe everything happened because of fate.
The recital hall is packed, and you’re not exaggerating when you say it literally looks like a sea of people. The traffic was hectic, which lead to your almost late arrival. You regret not being able to meet your student to give her encouragement, but thankfully her mobile was reachable just a couple of minutes ago, so you were able to cheer her on through a simple phone call.
You’re struggling to find an empty seat—the lights are dim, making it harder for you to look for one. Eventually you see one empty seat right beside the aisle, a man sitting on the seat next to it. You walk over in a slightly faster pace than you’re used to, not wanting the seat to be taken by someone else.
“Excuse me,” you say, grabbing his attention, “is this seat taken?”
Shocking scarlet eyes look back at you in mild surprise. He looks your age, somewhere between mid- and late-twenties, though his face might pass for early-twenties instead. He’s dressed formally, like most of the people attending the recital, including you. When he speaks, his tone is professional and dignified:
“No, please.”
You smile, relieved and thankful, as you shuffle into your seat, fixing your clothes as you’re seated. You murmur your gratitude, while he replies with a simple “you’re welcome”. Realizing that there’s still at least five more minutes until the show starts, you glance at him, pondering if you should make small talk.
Before you can decide, he beats you to it.
“What brings you here today?”
“Oh,” you blink, surprised at the initiative, “it’s my student, actually. She’s performing.”
His eyes shines with interest, that much is plain to see. A small smile graces his lips.
“Really. Instrument?”
“Piano. She’s playing Schumann today.”
He hums and nods, seemingly pleased with your answer.
“And what about you?” You ask.
“My friend’s daughter is playing,” he replies, “though I came here rather late, and I couldn’t seem to find him.”
“Wow, that’s unfortunate,” you say sympathetically, “did you get caught in the traffic or something?”
“Yes,” the redhead answers, shaking his head slightly at the memory of the traffic jam he experienced earlier. Owning a luxury sedan doesn’t make life easier in Tokyo. “I didn’t expect it to be that bad.”
“Same,” you sigh, “but at least we’re here now.”
The lights are dimmed down, and the two of you gather that the recital is about to start. Amongst the minimally lit room, however, you can see that the man has extended a hand.
“Akashi,” he says, “Akashi Seijuurou.”
It takes you two seconds into the handshake to offer you your own full name upon realizing that the person next to you is the CEO to an extremely successful company.
“How did you enjoy the performance?” Akashi asks you in the middle of the applause at the closing performance. You need to lean in a little bit to hear him, and your shoulder unintentionally touches his. He doesn’t seem to notice—if he does, he doesn’t look like he minds. You, on the other hand, have to mutter a simple apology, moving away before answering his question.
“It was intriguing,” you reply, slowly stopping your own applause, “some of the pieces were interpreted differently by their respective performers. I feel refreshed.” You smile, standing up the same time as he does. It seems like Akashi is going to at least walk out of the hall with you before parting ways, and with that in mind, you tread up the stairs with him by your side, exchanging banter mostly about the recital that just ended.
The light outside is almost blinding, since it is only 4 p.m. and the sun is still shining in the desaturated blue of the winter sky. You have to squint slightly a few moments upon exiting the dim hall to adjust your eyes. Akashi, on the other hand, doesn’t seem too bothered, and you notice just how he looks three times more captivating under the late afternoon sunlight.
“Your student performed brilliantly,” he compliments, “her teacher must be excellent, as well.” When he says that, he looks at you with mirth in his eyes. Is he teasing you? You can only chuckle and bashfully look down to the ground.
“Ah, speaking of which, I need to congratulate her,” you say, looking around outside the auditorium entrance to spot your student. She must be with her parents here somewhere.
“I suppose I should also say hello to my friend,” he replies. “But before you go, ___________-san…”
You turn to look at him writing something on what looks like a business card, before he hands it to you.
“I hope you don’t mind me giving you my personal number,” Akashi says with a smile. It is somehow different compared to the other smiles he’s sent you during the short period of time you’ve got to know each other—ever enigmatic, but somehow this time it’s more… gallant.
“I’d like to get to know you more, perhaps over coffee or lunch. Call me if you’re free,” he says, before spotting someone from afar—green hair and tall stature makes someone much easier to find in a crowd.
“And that would be my friend. Until next time,
___________-san.”
You’re in a standstill, his card still in your hand as you watch him walk away to greet his friend. Until next time, huh… he’s that confident that you’re going to call him.
You can’t say he’s wrong.
‘Getting to know each other’ ends up happening over lunch dates instead—he picks you up at 12.30 sharp every time, drives you to a restaurant that he recommends, and you’d talk and eat for an hour. From the four lunch dates that he’s taken you to, you now know several things about him: that he knows how to play the violin, and his favorites are Bach and Brahms, and that he also knows how to play the piano (unsurprising, in your opinion). He used to play basketball in high school—you know the whole story—and you know of his family. You know that he likes tofu soup, and a bunch of other things that would take a whole day to describe.
When you see him through the window of the classroom you’re teaching in, you can’t be any more surprised.
“Can you complete number 5 and 7, too? I will check your answers when you’re done with everything,” you tell your student, who replies with a simple “okay” before you walk to get the door, closing it once you’re out of the room. The look on Akashi’s face tells you that he’s entertained by your shocked expression.
“Akashi-san, what are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too,” Akashi says, holding out a small, simple bouquet of red tulips. Knowing him, who likes things of extravagance and class, he probably doesn’t want you to look unprofessional in your work place.
“I thought I could pay you a surprise visit,” he continues.
“Well, you succeeded on that,” you reply, holding the flowers in your hands, “and you shouldn’t have, really.”
“I wanted to,” he smiles. You have to hold in the urge to blush.
“Thank you, they’re lovely.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence sets in the two of you for a few seconds, and you certainly aren’t able to gauge the look on Akashi’s face while your eyes keep looking anywhere but him.
“I was wondering if you’re free for dinner tomorrow night?” Akashi asks, a casual hand in his pocket.
“Yes, I am,” you say, “are you picking me up?”
“Of course,” he replies smoothly as he flashes one of those dangerously charming smiles to you. You thought that seeing it more often for the past three weeks would make you somewhat immune to it, but his charm, if anything, gets even stronger. Or is it you who is getting weaker? “Is seven alright?”
“Yes, that works just fine,” you say, smiling back at him. He takes your hand and kisses the back of it, like he always does before and after a date with you—you told him you thought only people in the olden days did that, and he laughed. This time, however, you don’t comment. The pink on your cheeks tell him everything he needs to know.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
You wave him goodbye as he walks away from the classroom towards the exit—the front desk must’ve told him you’re almost done with this class and let him in. You hope the other teachers weren’t around to see that… Opening the door to your classroom with the bouquet in your hands, you see your student still twirling the pencil in his hand, and when he looks up at you, he’s mildly surprised at the bunch of flowers you’ve got.
“How are we going along?”
“Sensei, was that your boyfriend?” The boy teases, grinning mischievously with curiosity in his eyes. You burst out laughing.
“He’s… someone I’ve known for a while. Now, if the question asks you to identify the tempo in
Mälzel’s Metronome—”
The dinner was splendid, even Akashi has to admit at least that. He told you beforehand that the restaurant isn’t really one you can enter without complying to a certain dresscode, which took you by surprise, but he must say that you look gorgeous with that outfit on. He just has to examine you from head to toe another time, you sitting quietly in the passenger seat of his Aston Martin, looking out the night lights of the city.
Akashi is never one to quickly jump into things that is uncertain. He does make swift decisions, but all of them are accurate, precise, calculated, and always right.
So when he thinks meeting you is love in first sight, that might as well be the truth.
It wasn’t all flowers and pink auras in your first meeting, that’s for sure, but he remembers exactly how it felt when his eyes met yours. There’s something different, and a voice inside him (his conscience, or his demons?) telling him that you’re different. Of course he included the possibility of being physically attracted to you, which is a very natural thing considering how appealing you are, but he’s never one to be simply allured by looks.
After various processes in his mind, he concluded that the butterflies in his stomach can only be the product of the so-called love at first sight.
“Akashi-san, are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?” You ask, a small smile on your face. Trying to guess where he’s taking you makes it all the more exhilarating—you haven’t felt this way in a very long while.
“My home,” he answers, and before you can retaliate or question him, or think of other more suggestive possibilities, he continues.
“I want to show you something.”
When he brings back a violin case to the living room where you’re sat, you gasp. He can only smile back, taking extreme delight in your shock.
He’s going to play for you.
And it’s not like you’ve never heard someone play the violin. You’ve been to many violin performances, the recital where the two of you met counts as one, but to have someone that is a romantic interest to perform in front of you, just the two of you—
It has to be a serenade.
He elegantly holds the instrument up, his fingers delicately hovering over the strings, and as his right hand starts to move the bow across the instrument, you find yourself surprised yet again.
Liebestraum.
“Love’s Dream”, so it is called, by Liszt. It is a classic piano piece, you’ve never heard it on the violin before, but the melody sounds so enchanting when Akashi plays it. The room is quiet, and the sound of the instrument resonates so beautifully in the midst of the silence, letting you hear each and every note clearly.
It’s his confession of love.
Akashi is deep in concentration as he plays, so when his scarlet eyes look up at you from the violin, you can’t find it in you to look away. He’ll only gaze at you for so long before returning back to playing, eyelids fluttering once in a while as his fingers dance to the theme of the song. He said that he hasn’t played for a while… did he practice for this? Visions of him playing the violin somewhere in his mansion, alone, spending an hour or two for this piece—it grips your heart so strongly.
When the main melody is repeated in a higher octave, you know that the song is about to end, but it sounds so sad and beautiful that it makes your eyes water, hand cupping your mouth to prevent whatever unelegant sound you’re about to make. The piece reaches a romantic conclusion, like the last word written in a book, or a couple exchanging sacred three words.
Akashi exhales, puts down the instrument and looks to you to gauge reaction.
Instead of the applause he’s expecting, he sees you walking towards him and cupping his face with both hands before kissing him.
It’s something that he returns whole-heartedly, of course, for he’s sure his heart has never felt that close to bursting at the seams. The touch of your lips are initially soft and tender, but something in him decides to take more of you, and his hand moves to your waist to press you against his body. His mouth moves against yours in a passionate dance, encasing your bottom lip in his to suck on it, while he has a hand behind your head to pull you impossibly closer to him.
He wouldn’t have stopped if it weren’t for the wetness he feels against your cheek.
“You’re crying,” Akashi says after slowly pulling away, his finger wiping away the tears, only to find more of them streaming down your cheeks. You sigh helplessly before resting your face against his chest, inadvertently inhaling his scent.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “that was just… beautiful, I don’t know what else I can say—”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says, chuckling a little bit, and you can feel the vibrations deep in his chest.
“I—did you—Akashi-san, how long—”
“Please, call me Seijuurou,” he cuts you off, patting your head lovingly in attempts to calm you down. “I shall also call you
___________, if you wish.”
“Seijuurou,” you begin again, and he prays to heavens that you don’t catch the way his heart beats like a hammer against his ribcage when he hears you say his name, “how long did you spend practicing for this?”
“That’s a secret I can’t tell,” Akashi answers, mischief apparent in his gaze. You pout, disappointed at the answer, but you lean up to kiss him again nonetheless, this time with your arms wrapped around his shoulder. Akashi’s lips curl into a subtle smirk against the kiss, and when your mouth opens slightly as a form of invitation, he wants nothing more than to accept.
When you part, your eyes are half-lidded, and Akashi can’t decide if it’s from lust or love before he concludes that it’s both.
“Aka—Seijuurou, are we…”
“A couple?” He finishes your sentence for you when he senses you trailing off, and then dips down to your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your skin. “Yes, we are. I’d like you to be mine.”
“Mmm,” you hum in both agreement and pleasure from his treatment, “I’d like that too.”
Scarlet eyes look deep into yours, and he sees love in them just like you see love in his—it’s just a matter of time until the two of you feel right to say it out loud. For now, his violin has initiated the conversation, and you’re speaking with your eyes, with how you admire his face and how he watches your lips move as you speak. For now, the two of you will just bask in romance’s dream.
A time will come in the future when he’ll say he fell in love with you first and you had no idea, but that’s for later, Akashi decides.
Gahhhhhhh!!!!! Beautiful, beautiful!!! He’s so romantic!!!
This is the thing that made me want to rip my hair off my head because of my PC randomly blue-screening me. To those who responded to the rant, thank you for your understanding!
@ourneverendingpossibilities it’s nice that you have such a positive outlook in life!! I was so mad when it happened, but since it’s complete now I guess everything’s okay ヽ(＊>∇<)ﾉ
@squirrelsass13 thanks for the encouragement! I rarely ever write on Word (it transfers weirdly when I copy and paste the text on tumblr) so I was typing straightaway on my Drafts… I click on “Save Draft” every paragraph now lol
I’d ask you to tutor my son if you weren’t so busy!
Wow, you’re very ambitious.
Those are words spoken by housewives, small medium enterprise owners, and white-collar workers. Midorima doesn’t think that they’re somehow lower than him in any aspect—sure, they earnings are technically lesser than his, but how does that define someone as a person? He meets these people everywhere, the people that make up his community, his society: at the clinic, in parties, at the grocery store… It’s no secret that he’s seen as an outstanding person by these people.
Twenty-seven, has the letters “M.D.” behind his name, helps people get over all sorts of sicknesses from light ones like a common cold to not-so-light ones like diabetes, plays piano as a hobby.
It’s not really surprising to the people who ask him “what do you do in your free time?” because, you know, doctors. They’re classy and smart and all. Sure they can play the piano—he can probably play the violin, too.
But you can see their eyes significantly widen when they know he has a diploma in piano, certified by the Associated Board of Royal Schools of Music. Where is that name from? The United Kingdom. Why did you take it?
He always tells them it was just for fun, but a small voice inside him knows the truth: somewhere deep in his heart, he wanted to be a pianist.
His first words to you are: “It’s a common cold.”
“That much I can see, Doctor,” you deadpan, holding a tissue against your runny nose. He sighs.
Midorima is used to handling all sorts of patients: naggy, rude, stubborn people… he’s seen them all in the past four years of his practice. Today, however, it’s only after lunchtime and he already wants to go home already. Maybe attending Akashi’s party last night isn’t really a great idea. Sure, it’s not a DJ-inviting or dance floor grinding kind of party, so he’s not physically tired—he’s tired from all the socializing with fake people. “Meet new people,” was Akashi’s reasoning for inviting the doctor, and of course Midorima did, but none of them were enjoyable.
To be precise, he can’t tell if they’re really enjoyable or not through layers of faux talk. Akashi texted him earlier, expressing his regrets that it was somewhat an unpleasant experience for Midorima. He also wrote “but I won’t stop inviting you to these social events—I understand how you think they’re superficial, but I can guarantee you that they genuinely enjoyed your piano very much.”
Well, if there’s one thing Midorima likes about those parties, it’s that he’s presented the opportunity to play.
“As a doctor, I have to announce the diagnosis to you, don’t I?” He replies, scribbling a pen on his prescription pad. “I’m prescribing you to these basic medications, but since your cold isn’t a serious one—yet—I highly recommend that you consume home remedies before resorting to these medicines.”
“M-hmm.”
“Turmeric tea, ginger tea, a mixture of lemon, cinnamon, and honey.”
“Got it.”
“Control your diet; you don’t want to eat food that’s going to worsen your cough.”
A sound of ripping paper. He hands the slip to you.
“You don’t remember me do you?”
That takes Midorima by surprise.
“Have we met before?” He asks warily as you take the prescription paper from his hand and fold it, putting it inside your handbag. Your lips form a small smile, and Midorima eyebrows furrows.
“You sang last night, didn’t you.” It sounds like a question, but his tone makes it clear that it’s rhetorical. He knows for sure that it was you who was dragged by one of your acquaintances that claimed you to be the best singer in a ten-mile radius—the expression itself is a horrible exaggeration, but when Midorima hears you sing, he has to admit that you do have an exceptionally lovely voice.
His first words to you turns out to be “what key?” instead of an illness announcement because he was the pianist accompanying you.
“You look different, Ms. Fly Me To The Moon,” he says aloofly, writing something on a document. You chuckle at the nickname, not knowing that the stoic doctor-slash pianist has the capacity to be somewhat playful, and towards the opposite sex, nonetheless. Midorima can only admire how melodious your laugh is, even when your voice is nasally from the cold.
“At least you remember what I sang.”
“Like I said, you look different,” he repeats. You were clad in an elegant evening gown for the party last night, and although Midorima doesn’t have the eye to identify expensive clothing brands and such, he is able to appreciate how attractive you looked in the attire. Your hair was done simply in a style that matches your dress, and among the slight make-up you applied, he notices the suppleness of your colored lips first.
The person sitting in front of him doesn’t carry the glamour of the party—you’re slightly pale, dressed humbly in a sweater and jeans—but the lack of make-up, fancy hairdo and dress doesn’t affect how beautiful you look, in his opinion. Your eyes still glows the same captivating way as he witnessed last night.
“Yes, well,” you sigh with a smile as you stand up, “you better engrave how I look last night deep in your memory, doctor, because I’m never going to attend one of those high-end social events ever again.” The first part was sarcastically said, but Midorima finds himself doing as you told, picturing the details of your gown and hearing your singing voice echo in his mind. Being a quite introvert doesn’t mean he’s immune to any of your charms.
“Shame,” he finds himself saying. You smirk, pausing right before you walk out the door.
“What, not being able to see me all dressed up again?” Ten years ago, Midorima would’ve easily flushed red at the teasing remark. He’s way past that now, and instead of reacting like the teenage boy he was, he looks straight into your eyes when he says:
“I was talking about how it’s a shame that I won’t hear you sing again, but that too.”
Two months later what you said proves to be a blatant lie. You’re standing beside Midorima, arms hooked with his, a casual sign that the two of you are attending together, presumably as a romantic couple. This time it isn’t Akashi’s, but a business partner of his—he nevertheless invited Midorima along to provide him the audience for his piano, and regarding yourself… well, you’re accompanying the pianist. It’s not like you’re crashing this party or anything.
It’s only your third “date” with the man, so to have the opportunity to see him up-close in a formal setting that requires guests to dress up is exhilarating, to say the least. Midorima’s handsome enough in his casual attire—having to stand next to him wearing a nicely tailored, dark-colored suit while having to keep your hands to yourself is almost some sort of punishment. And the collar button of his shirt! He always buttons his shirt all the way up and wears a tie to complement the outfit, but for some unknown reason he’s left it open this time and disregarded the tie.
If you didn’t know any better, he’s trying to tease you.
“It’s rare to find you with someone by your arm, Midorima-kun.”
“Akashi,” Midorima acknowledges the voice. You turn to meet the redhead face to face, smiling softly.
“Good evening, Akashi-san.”
“Hello, _________. Good to see you,” he replies smoothly, as you reply in a similar manner. “Even more surprising finding out that you’re with him tonight. Are you two…?”
The two of you exchange looks as if telepathically deciding who should answer, and turns out you are.
“Sort of,” you say, and the hint of mischief in your smile cannot be missed by even the most oblivious person in the room. Akashi surely isn’t one, but thankfully he doesn’t push you further.
“It’s a long story,” Midorima chips in, as if his relationship with you bloomed out of a blackmail kind of situation of some sorts. You chuckle, and so does Akashi
—the latter is gracious enough to show the two of you to where the piano is.
“What are we?”
You are in his arms, as naked as he is, leaning your face against his chest and feeling the beat of his heart when you ask the question. It’s a summer night, and the sheets are loosely resting on your waist, the two of you too hot and sweaty from your previous activity to pull it all the way up to your neck. One of his hands is drawing soft circles with his thumb on your bare skin, while the other one that is untaped (very uncharacteristic of him, but it’s a sign of a good night) brush your hair in long, loving strokes.
He doesn’t respond. You snuggle closer into his chest, relishing the sensation of his nakedness against yours while you think of all the times you’ve spent with him. That one time you had lunch together, those meaningless parties you go to just so you can watch him play and he can hear you sing, the nights you stay together at his place. You’ve spent at least a hundred hours with him, though it doesn’t feel long or dragged—those hours are cherished and enjoyed to the fullest, arguments (petty or not) included.
But it’s his reserved nature that makes you feel insecure sometimes. Tonight is one of those nights.
You move up so that your face is right in front of his because you want to look at him in the eyes. He’s beautiful, the viridian undisturbed by the lenses of his glasses—the eyewear is carefully situated on the nightstand before all this began. You’re sure he can see you clearly from this proximity, your nose against his, your hand caressing his cheek. His hands drift down from the crown of your head to your chest, cupping your breast and playing with a nipple as his eyes grow half-lidded.
Midorima is the one to lean in first, engaging you in a chaste kiss, a perfect juxtaposition what with his hand groping your chest and the other slowly travelling down to your ass, stroking every inch of skin possible. You are the one to pull away, arms around his neck and eyes clouded with lust, thanks to the things he’s doing to your body.
“Do you love me?” The question comes out as a whisper.
“I’ll show you how much,” he answers in a heartbeat before he kisses you again, bringing your body under his.
He never fails to convince you.
The afternoon sunrays shining through the high glass windows of the music hall are almost blinding, considering how dark it was just a few moments ago in the auditorium. You’re by Midorima’s side as per usual, looking around nervously with a bouquet of daisies and orchids in your arms. Your husband seems to be scanning the area like you are, and when you hear a shrill yell of a young child you know it’s who you’re looking for.
“Mama! Papa!”
The little girl, currently nine years old, runs towards the two of you with two or three large bouquets in her arms, the majority of her face covered by flowers. You laugh at the sight, crouching to hug her tightly once she reaches. Noises of plastic being scrunched can bother you less, as you feel your daughter burying her face against your chest. She pulls away to immediately look up at his father with bright eyes.
“Papa, how did I do?!”
“You did good, nanodayo,” he answers, a faint smile on his face as he fixes his glasses, “although there’s room for improvement in terms of arpeggiation—”
You gasp exaggeratedly, drowning the remaining of Midorima’s sentence.
“Shiina! Papa says you did a good job! Do you know what that means??”
“No!” She replies, confused but ecstatic.
“I promised you we can go have dinner wherever you want if Papa praises you,” you reply, and the confused expression on her face melts into real unabashed excitement.
“Mama, are you serious!?” Shiina’s voice has become high-pitched from the bubbling enthusiasm that seems to have taken over her whole small body. “We can go anywhere I want!?”
“Yep,” you nod for further affirmation. “Papa has agreed on this, too,” this time you look over at Midorima, only to be amused to find the deadpan expression on his face. You give him a wink, and Midorima, witnessing his own daughter having such a great time just because you told her she can eat whatever she wants for dinner, can’t help but melt a little.
“Maji! I want Maji!”
“Sure, we’ll go to Maji tonight,” you say accommodatingly. Midorima can only smile down at the girl when she looks up at him, a face-splitting grin on her face. Even though her physical attributes are definitely inherited from him, she obviously takes after you in terms personality.
“And then I want to have ice cream after dinner! Can I, Papa? Let’s go home so I can prepare for dinner!!”
“You may, Shiina,” he sighs amusedly—what does a nine-year old kid want to do to ‘prepare for dinner’? “But before we go home you must meet Uncle Akashi first. He came to see you perform, you know.”
“Uncle Akashi is here!?”
You chuckle. It’s a wonder how said man is viewed as intimidating and merciless among most adults dabbling in business, but is the opposite in the eyes of children. Shiina is almost obsessed with Akashi, what with his gentlemanly behavior that reminds her of Prince Charming. Shiina once even told you that since she can’t marry Papa, maybe she’ll marry Uncle Akashi instead—you have yet to tell Akashi this, but you have a feeling he already knows.
Speak of the devil, the redhead can be seen from twenty feet away thanks to his hair color, maneuvering amongst the crowd to approach your family. Shiina’s acting very much like an excited puppy, and you wonder if it’s immoral to compare the behavior of your human child to an animal (despite said animal being unbelievably cute as well), but that doesn’t matter anymore because Shiina is already in Akashi’s arms as he lifts her up in the air, chuckling amusedly.
Midorima looks at the scene with mild jealousy in his eyes—not that his eyes aren’t green in the first place.
“Mama?”
The usually animated voice of your daughter is now tired and soft as you tuck her in. She must’ve been exhausted after the performance.
“Yes, honey?”
“Can you tell me a bedtime story?” This piques your interest a little, because she’s stopped asking for stories before bed for almost a year now.
“Sure. What would you like to hear?”
“The other day… Mai-chan and Reika-chan were talking about how their parents met and fell in love,” she says shyly, hiding her face behind a beloved doll. “Can you please tell me how you and Papa met, Mama? You’ve never told me that story before.”
You chuckle.
“You’re gonna have to ask Papa for that, honey. It’s a long story anyways, and you’re tired. Best go to sleep soon.”
“Okay…” Shiina says, and it’s not hard to pick up the disappointment in her voice.
“Goodnight honey,” you kiss her cheek before turning off the lights.
“’Night, Mama.”
Truth be told, there is no ‘long story’. Midorima just called you one day to ask you out for coffee with a tinge of nervousness in his voice that you can spot even from the other side of the line. You ended up scheduling a lunch instead, and if Shiina asks him to tell her how you fell in love with each other, he’ll have no explanation except of how breathtakingly beautiful you look with sunshine on your skin and a smile on your face as you talk about music and food and the stars.
He will ask Shiina to keep it a secret from you, of course, because if you know he’s been in love with you for that long, he knows you’re never going to let it go.
OMG my face hurts from smiling and I don’t even care! I had to hold back squeals so I didn’t wake my husband. I LOVE the way you write adult Midorima! This whole piece is beautiful!
(I wouldn’t say i’m BACK, per se, but I’m alive at least, lmao.)
Isashiki Jun
(I decided to go with a cuter gif of him lol most of them are of him screaming)
I feel like he’s the kinda guy who vehemently denies liking soft and fluffy things, but lbr he probably loves them. He’s a bit of a mom friend, though he’d like to see your mom side come out too. He’d be chill with spending dates at home with you, that way he doesn’t have to worry about getting pissed off at people who look at you wrong.
Lbr he’s kinda intimidating, but he’s really sweet and he’s a total nerd. (I mean, he reads shoujo manga, such a dweeb.) He’d treat you right, for sure, though he might go a little overboard sometimes, and you’d have to tell him to chill.
Lol, I just love it! I only recently started watching Dia so being matched with a character who consistently makes me laugh at his antics is so fun! Thanks for the match!
I’m sad about the fact that Ed Sheeran’s two new singles dropped after I announced Cantabile—could’ve used one of those songs.
Semi-NSFW; sexy, basically.
“Photoshoots tomorrow. 10 a.m. for Metropolis and 3 p.m. for Junon.”
“Cool,” Himuro replies, sipping from his cup of latte.
“Need me to drive you around tomorrow?” You ask.
He seems to contemplate your offer for a few seconds before nodding a yes and saying a quiet “thanks”. You nod back, acknowledging his words as you walk down the hallway with him. Some of the recording studio staff are walking around hastily despite the time saying it’s a little bit past 8 in the evening—such is the life of an employee of the entertainment industry.
“I really hope I’m not bothering you or anything,” he replies, “I think Alex is still using my car.”
“Oh,” the fact that his old basketball mentor is in town seems to slip out your mind in the midst of your hectic day, “right. You want me to clear up some space in your schedule so you can spend time with her?”
Himuro shrugs offhandedly. “Nah,” he answers. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Alex has her own thing to do anyway.” He looks at you from behind aviator sunglasses. “Thanks for offering, anyway.”
“Don’t mention it, it’s my job.” The two of you walk down some set of stairs.
“Oh, _________.”
“Yeah?”
“Wanna grab a bite or something?” Himuro says, his gaze unreadable through the black lenses of his eyewear, “you haven’t eaten dinner, have you?”
“Sure.”
“Burger?”
You smile. “I’m on.”
Being Himuro Tatsuya’s personal assistant and manager requires great patience and precision. He’s no ordinary man, despite how humble he carries himself around people—he’s a national star and has his face plastered all around big cityscapes on screens and papers. You’re willing to bet at least a thousand teenage girls in Japan has a poster of him in their bedrooms. The man is the face of a band, the engineer behind hit songs, and he’s notably the most humble among his fellow celebrities.
Thankfully, Himuro is not difficult, unlike the people you’ve worked for before being his manager. He’s aware of basic courtesy, like saying ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ (yes, your previous employers were probably unacquainted with the concept of greeting other people). He also treats you like you’re his equal, and somehow, after being stuck with each other for work purposes, the two of you became friends.
That’s how you end up eating McDonald’s with him as you walk down to your car. He’s munching on a McChicken, and you get to tease him about how he’s going to ruin his diet. He chuckles in return, and even though his steel gray eyes are blocked by a pair of Raybans, you know that he’s not upset about that comment.
“It’ll be worth the weight,” he jokes back, and you can’t help but laugh quietly, covering your mouth.
He makes it very easy for you to fall in love with him, and if there’s a reason to condemn Himuro Tatsuya, it’s how his charm makes you (and many other people) unintentionally fall for him.
Himuro sighs as he closes the door to his apartment, locking it before venturing further in. Today’s recording session wasn’t as tiring—he’s had worse—so what is this unease and why is his heart heavy?
That’s right, it’s your fault, he ponders as he walks to the kitchen, inspecting the refrigerator for a cold drink. Himuro realizes that he actually misses you, even though you literally dropped him off less than five minutes ago with your car. The can of lemon tea opens with a distinct sound, but it’s not enough to wake him up from his train of thoughts.
Really, though… when did he start feeling this way?
“You want me to clear up some space in your schedule so you can spend time with her?”
Your voice echoes in his head. Since day one, you’ve been the kindest manager he’s ever had. Sure, you made sure that he’s actively participating in all sorts of work, be it photoshoots or promotional events, but there’s not one single time where you neglect asking his consent. “Are you okay with this”, “is this time alright with you”…
You’re never unkind to him. Or anybody else in particular. Sure, you sometimes have those bad days where you seem like you don’t want to be involved in anything, but instead of being rude, you’re just tired. Himuro makes sure that it’s not some kind of farce you’re putting up because you want to impress him (he’s met people like that, which isn’t a pleasant experience), and he appreciates that. Then, he began to feel refreshed around you, as if he weren’t some worshiped idol. He was just him, completely comfortable and carefree. After that, he starts to pay more attention to how attractive you are—he tried not to dwell on that thought when he first met you—and how you smell so nice whenever you lean in closer to whisper some pointers into his ear.
Himuro grabs his phone, fingers hovering with uncertainty over the touch screen before typing his text nimbly.
Sent 20:57 [Thanks again for sending me home. Good night, see you tomorrow.]
A minute later his phone buzzes, startling him out of his stupor. The can of lemon tea, now half-empty, is loosely held in his hand, and Himuro’s lucky his surprised jolt didn’t spill the drink all over the countertop.
Received 20:58 [No prob. I’ll pick you up at 9 tomorrow, sleep tight! xo]
He smiles. He’s usually not a fan of internet slang, which is why he doesn’t really use much of them, but seeing the two letters at the end of your message and thinking about their meanings of affection… It’s harder because anyone can interpret the “xo” differently, and his lovesick mind just likes to play with him—he’s secretly hoping that you mean those two letters are more than just a friendly gesture.
A VIP room in a high-end nightclub and a tall glass of champagne isn’t part of Himuro’s schedule, you’re quite sure of that. If it were, you’d notice your own words scribbled in your trusty notebook or your mobile. It happened so suddenly—several models invited him to join their nightly activities after the photoshoot, and you noticed their lust-glazed eyes and sultry smiles, men and women alike. Himuro wanted to decline, as he isn’t one to be usually found in clubs or bars at night, but they were so insistent to the point where he agreed just to shut them up.
“I gotta bring
_________ along,” he said as a requirement to the models, standing tall in front of him like a flock of cranes. You only agreed because you’re responsible for bringing him back home safely—the designated driver, or so you said, but the fire at the pit of your stomach tell you your real intentions: you’re jealous of how those people are looking at him.
So here you are, in a purple-lit room on the second floor of the club, standing against a wall with a non-alcoholic drink in your hand. Himuro’s surrounded by a few of the models on the sofa across the room, while the rest of them are busying themselves by making out at another secluded corner or dancing downstairs.
Unbeknownst to you, Himuro has been trying to get closer to you the whole night, but these people whose company he doesn’t really enjoy keeps getting in his way. They think you’re just a manager. They don’t know that Himuro sees you as a friend (and secretly more than that). They keep sending him flirtatious lines, asking risque questions, and acting to seduce him—alcohol is probably going to be their excuse, but he knows their true intentions.
[If you love me, come on get involved]
The only one that is allowed to do all that to him, even without the influence of alcohol, would be you.
You, sipping your drink while you endlessly scroll down your mobile phone as you lean against the wall. You, skin highlighted by the sultry mauve, the light creating a silhouette of your body. You, the object of his affection, obsession, desire, worship. He wants to do things to and with you. He wants to go on cute dates, buy you gifts, love you, maybe in bed too if you’ll allow him.
Call it intuition, but when he sees you glancing his way with a look on your face that is bitterness and pining, a zing runs down his spine, lighting a spark of hope inside him. You widen your eyes in surprise as your eyes meet his and, to cover up your true feelings, look back at the screen of your mobile. If you don’t let him see what’s in your gaze for too long, he’ll probably forget about it, right?
[Feel it rushing through you from your head to toe]
The pulsing song from the rowdier setting downstairs and the chatter of people surrounding him are nothing but background noise in his ears. Himuro downs his fourth glass of alcohol, and although his tolerance for intoxication is considerably stronger than that, the drink gives him liquid courage to stand up from his seat and approach you.
His steps are slow and almost sensual, but also calculative. Some eyebrows are raised at how he looks like he’s predator stalking prey, and his… companions are not less than appalled when he stands extremely close in front of you, successfully switching your attention from the mobile phone to himself.
You’re as surprised as those models with crane-like legs when he cups a jaw with his hand, leaning his face to yours, your lips dangerously close to each other.
[Can you feel it?]
The sudden increase of your heartbeat. The way your lungs stop yourself from breathing.
“Can you tell me something, _________?” He asks, breath caressing the skin of your face and you shiver.
He has to be drunk, and this event shall not be remembered in the following morning. You will try your best to act like nothing has happened between the two of you in this particular nightclub, in this particular room, in this particular situation where you’re practically sandwiched by his body and the wall. And your efforts will fail, because you can never forget such a thing. He, however, will continue on with his life as per usual, with you as his manager.
Your eyes search his steel gray ones, only to surprise yourself once again by discovering uncoated want in his eyes, along with insecurity—one thing that he’ll only allow his loved ones to witness.
“What?” You whisper.
Himuro swallows the urge to kiss you senseless down his throat. He needs to hear you say it.
“Tell me how you feel about me.”
[Found you hiding here so won’t you take my hand, darling]
“Tatsuya,” you respond, voice more hoarse-sounding that it usually is, “are you drunk…?”
“I’ve never been more sober,” he answers, “now tell me.”
What are you supposed to say to that? You’re not ready to tell him that you’ve actually liked him for a long time, that you’ve admired him from afar, and you’ve dreamed of having his affections for your own. He’ll retract himself and say that it’s creepy, that you’re supposed to maintain a professional relationship with him instead of fantasizing about him. He’ll say it’s disgusting.
—but when his lips touches yours, ghosting over your slightly chapped lips ever-so-slightly and moving slowly to cover everything he can get, you think that the chances of that scenario happening is very low, especially when his hand dips under your shirt like that…
[Before the beat kicks in again]
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
Instead of answering the question, his lips press against yours fervently, capturing your bottom lip in between his as he nibbles and sucks. You moan at the contact into his mouth, which somehow spurs Himuro to be more intense in the kiss. The hand that was touching the skin below your shirt now pulls you closer by the waist, while the other that was cupping your jaw snakes to the back of your head, deepening the kiss.
You can hear the sound of glass breaking, angry footsteps, and the bang of the door: one of the models is pissed, threw the glass of drink on the floor and exited dramatically. Neither you nor Himuro cares—this is something you’ve undeniably thought of before you went to bed, and drunk or not, this is still Himuro. Is he going to remember this in the morning? That’s the least important thing that is on your mind. Right now it’s the way his tongue begs for entrance to your mouth, the way he tilts his head, the way he tugs at your hair, the way his body is pressed against yours.
The remaining models, women and men alike, realizes that Himuro is not going to be available any time soon—especially not when he has his hand on your chest like that. So they leave in silence, the only sounds they make are produced by heels, articles of clothing, and the occasional clearing of throats. You’re now alone with the celebrity you’re managing, pressed against the wall of a VIP room in a nightclub, and you’re making out with him.
“Fuck,” he says in between kisses and grunts of your name, “there’s no way in hell I’m going to forget this tomorrow.”
He’s abandoned your mouth in favor of your ear, sucking at your earlobe and breathing against your ear before leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw and your exposed neck.
“You’re coming to my place tonight,” he purrs, and a surge of arousal immediately shoots to your core. He’s never sounded so dominant before.
“We have a lot of talking to do.”
WhooooBOY this is sensual spice!! I love, love, love it!
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