Hello Merry Christmas :) I Saw Request Was Open And Was Wondering If You Could Do Scenario Where The

Hello merry Christmas :) I saw request was open and was wondering if you could do scenario where the brothers and Solomon (separately) celebrate the holiday with mc and their family in the human world ? Thank you and happy new year! :)

Merry Christmas, Anon! 🎄🎁

It's been a while since I've gotten a request and I really wanted to finish it before Christmas is over in my timezone and I just barely made it ^^;

I hope you like it!

***

The Brothers + Solomon at Your Family's Holiday Party

Lucifer is the perfect party guest. He makes effortless conversation and can get along with pretty much everyone. As devilishly handsome as he is, Lucifer looks good in an apron and he'll definitely take advantage of that. He'll help in the kitchen if needed, he might even help out with the dishes and somehow not get any soapy water on his expensive looking clothes. Throughout the night, he keeps you near as much as possible, with an arm slinked around your waist or a hand in yours, gentle but possessive gestures. It's not that he thinks your family will take you away from him, he just wants everyone to know you're well taken care of. Your family may wonder how you got such a catch, but it's very clear that he's chosen you.

Mammon is a favorite with your older family members, though they might not have known what to make of him at first. He joins in on their card games and loses just as many games as he wins. He tries to keep you near him for good luck and that does seem to work, hopefully the two of you end up with a small pile of riches to show for it, be they candies or cash. He'll insist on bringing the flashiest gifts, but somehow he knows exactly what each of your family members would like, even though he hadn't met any of them before the holiday. Mammon's natural confidence and model good looks make him the center of attention at your family party, and his ego will inflate accordingly. Despite all this, he is a very good party guest, and it is clear to everyone that he adores you.

Leviathan is very shy with your family at first. It takes all of his strength to make the most basic responses to their questions and even then, he beats himself up inside for being "weird". If you get pulled away, he panics. Don't worry too much about him, though. He's stronger than both of you think. He'll gravitate toward the kids table, maybe building Legos with them to soothe himself or starting an impromptu Mario Kart tournament. Of course he's a champion gamer and he shows everyone all his special techniques to get a high score. Levi becomes the new favorite of all the kids. As you leave for the night you'll have several cuties telling you to never break up with him. He's blushing, he didn't realize he made that much of an impression (also he's internally freaking out because you breaking up with him didn't occur to him until now, please promise you won't!)

Satan, like Lucifer, is a perfect party guest. No one would ever know he's actually so guarded and calculating. He's taking mental notes of every interaction the two of you have with your relatives. If any of them seem not quite right (backhanded compliments, rude remarks veiled with insincere smiles) he files away that information for later. If he finds your family to be relatively harmless, he's relieved. Satan has a good handle on his anger, but sometimes he needs a break from all the stimulation so he doesn't have an outburst. If he disappears, you might find him taking a breather with one of your family's furry friends (he's ecstatic if it ends up being a cat). Let him rest until he's ready and he'll come back refreshed and ready to impress your family with his charisma.

You don't have to worry about Asmodeus at all. Even without charming your family members, everyone will love him. He fits in well with the adults, but with the young kids as well. Asmo wants to know all the tea, all the family drama, and he'll give his input on things. He'll especially be on the lookout for any of your childhood photos or stories your family wants to tell. I hope you're comfortable with lots of public affection, because he's another who will keep an arm around your waist the whole evening. He might go as far as sitting on your lap or pulling you down to sit on his, and he'll attack your face with kisses every chance he gets (he'll stop if you ask him to, he promises to be on his best behavior). Please do let him indulge in cuddles a little bit, what's better than snuggling by the fire after dinner as everyone winds down for the night?

With the power of love, Beelzebub is able to quell his normally voracious appetite, and when he does that he basically becomes the perfect boyfriend. He's kind, friendly, AND he eats well? He's constantly complimenting whoever is in charge of cooking, and they'll fill his plate again and again. He'll silently glance toward you to ask if it's ok to take more, and when you nod in approval, he happily digs in. That's another thing, with the way he looks at you, your relatives know it's true love. It's very important to him that you have your special time with your family, his family means so much to him. So he might sit back when you socialize, while the kids try to use him as a jungle gym but he doesn't mind. As long as you're happy with your family, he's happy.

Belphegor is a good party guest when he sets his mind to it. It's probably best to keep him away from plush surfaces, especially when there are lulls in the festivities, because he will tend to doze off (I remember reading someone's headcanon a while ago that Belphie is the type to seek out the party's designated baby sleeping room and crash there, and I totally agree). If this happens, you can tell your family he's suffering from jetlag (whether this is true or not). He's definitely the most subdued of all of the brothers, but he's a surprisingly good conversationalist and gets along well with your family. He may lightly tease you (he still is a bit of a brat) which your family might take as a good sign of his affection for you. Though he's no stranger to loud family gatherings, Belphie will need a few days to recover from all the socializing, so I hope you don't mind him napping longer than usual.

Please, for the love of Diavolo, keep Solomon away from the kitchen during your family's party. Everyone will thank you. Solomon's gifts are the most creative, definitely embued with magic, and I don't think he'd be able to help himself from doing a few minor magic tricks for the kids before the party is over. He'll make an excuse, it was a simple trick, anyone could do it. But you'd know the truth. He chats freely with your family, no shortage of fond remarks from him about you. It's been so long since Solomon has spent this much time around human families, he's taking it all in and enjoying having you by his side. If you were worried about the party going smoothly, you don't have to. Just, maybe toss out that plate of cookies for Santa and replace them, our witty sorcerer may have tampered with the recipe when your back was turned.

Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)." 

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock. 

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message. 

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

 It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

 "There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days. 

 You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows. 

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?" 

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window. 

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?" 

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied: 

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake. 

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else." 

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing. 

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat. 

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport. 

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks. 

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society. 

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation. 

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly. 

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail." 

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary. 

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment? 

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously. 

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology. 

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa. 

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport. 

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead. 

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment. 

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans. 

Just you."

⟢ tweets about you ! hq

synopsis: just lovesick boys 🤭

ft. atsumu tanaka noya suna oikawa sugawara kuroo kenma bokuto hinata

A Sacrificial Game 2

King!Dragon x Reader

Masterlist

p.t 1

pt. 3

Welcome to part two! I'm a very slow writer so you may notice that I posted these parts somewhat consecutively. That's bc I wrote part one last year;;; I know, I know, but I got a new keyboard and I'm obsessed with the way it feels so hopefully it will get me back into writing again! Does anyone even read these...? Gah whatever. Enjoy!

CW: ♢ Abduction ♢ Blood/Injury ♢ Mention of Forced Stripping (Brief, not done by love interest) ♢

The next time your eyes opened back up to the dreary world, a groan was involuntarily passing through your lips. Pain. Fuck. Every breath felt like you were splitting open, and as a result, moving was not a very appealing option. Your ribs, whether fractured or broken, you didn't know. But, oh, it was undeniable something was wrong.

The pain had you sweating despite the night's air being blisteringly cold-- colder than it should have been for this time of year, and the more you got your bearings, the more you were able to process what was around you.

A single, dingy lantern hung from the wooden ceiling above you. It swung wildly with every bump and jostle, the flame within it threatening to flicker out each time. The room you were in was moving, no, no room, you were in a carriage. You tried to push through the pain to get yourself up but found your movements restrained-- expensive looking silk ropes curling around your body and a simple white gown you hadn't been wearing before was now draped over your figure. Though pretty, and far more expensive than anything you'd ever owned before, it did little to ease the painful shivers that wracked through you.

You'd been washed, groomed, and redressed with care, but hot rage filled your chest nonetheless. You'd had little to nothing to your own name-- living still with your family and no claim to a spouse, child, or land.

They've stripped you of those things. Taken away your chance at a normal life, and now, too, they've taken your dignity.

A particularly rough bump in the road sent your body up and off the ground for just a moment before slamming you back into the rough wood of the floor. By the Damned... The pain left you winded as a stabbing sensation shot through your entire body.

"Are you alright?" A meek voice spoke up from above you. There, on one of the benches, a meek priest looked down at you with sad eyes full of pity. Was he also Chosen? Were you both about to meet your end? No... His hands were not bound behind his back as yours were-- instead, they freely laid folded in his lap.

Your gaze hardened and, seemingly unable to stand it, he looked away in shame. “Why are you doing this?” You asked coldly--you knew... but hope was still pushing back the dread that was steadily gathering in your gut. He didn’t answer at first, instead he simply shrunk into himself more, as if somehow he would be able to curl around himself and hide away from your accusatory eyes. “Where are we going?”

It took time for him to give you an answer. Time you, whether willingly or not, gave. The air thick with the silence between you two, only broken periodically by the groan of wheels or the creaking of the lantern above, but with your stubborn, uninterrupted glaring, he broke.

"The border that separates man from beast... you've been Chosen."

Bastards. Those bastards! What were the chances?! Did they even actually draw?!

It kind of dawned on you that... they may not have. You questioned authority often, butting heads against those who supported this horrific tradition-- many of the higher officials found your outspoken presence to be a nuisance, and with their own unmarried children to look out for..... Was it really that far of a stretch to say you'd been sacrificed in more ways than one?

"...Let me go." You demanded, and when you were met with resistance, your rage bubbled over. "Let me go this instant! Now!" Shouting hurt, but the fear and adrenaline eased your pain into fuel for your rage.

“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Harder than it has t- was he fucking kidding?

“You cruel bastard! Damn you and damn that Temple as well!”

As though the carriage had also had enough of your behavior, the jostling movement stopped. With an eerie croak, the doors swung open to reveal the drenched silhouette of gruff looking man in temple garb. If it would have been a stranger you saw, it would still have been equally terrifying, but perhaps it would have hurt a bit less.

You immediately recognized the man as Father Kyron, and a cold weight settled in your gut. The Father had watched you grow and mature since before you could walk-- often taking the time out of his day to play ball or sneak treats to the other children after services had ended. He'd always been such a warm pillar of the community, someone everyone could feel safe with. But those kind eyes that had always looked on at you before were now completely vacant of that gentle affection.

A monster was all that was left.

The rain pelted down on his leather-clad shoulders, cold droplets splattering onto you from the force of their impact. Whether or not he was a holy man of the temple, he looked nothing short of a demon in this moment.

Your screams went ignored as you fought not to be dragged out by your hair; body being dumped unceremoniously into the ground's painful embrace.

Kyron didn't spare you another glance as he once more took ahold of the reins. The priest did the same, shutting the wooden doors with a slam, snuffing out the little light the lantern within had to offer you.

The raging tides of emotions slowly simmered away as the carriage finally moved out of view, and now, instead of anger, hopelessness began to ease it's way into your veins. What could you do? You'd been abandoned. Left to lie in the dirt with only the echoing throbs in your side to keep you company.

Your screams turned to wails, then to sobs, and then to silence. And for a few moments you sat there, unable to process the shock of it all.

There's a funny thing about shock that no one tells you about. When there are plenty of important things for your mind to race through-- whether that be the betrayal of a beloved mentor figure, what would happen to your family, if your father was alright, who would tell Alikar... your mind often defaults to something insignificant; something harmless. And all you could think about were those damn peaches that had been laid together so carefully in your mother's wicker basket by Alikar's careful hand.

Had they all been trampled into the ground? Or would your family be able to salvage the last things you touched into something good and safe and warm for themselves...

Your eyes fixated on watching the way the rain thinned your blood and how it trailed down your skin to mix with the mud beneath you. The colors sickeningly seeped into the once pure white satin of your dress like the branching of a tree. The fabric feeling like it took root to your skin as it clung uncomfortably to your figure. It was a suffocating feeling and, surprisingly, was enough to bring a grimace to your face and give your mind enough clarity to realize footsteps were fast approaching where you sat.

"Here! Over here!"

"Damn it all, I knew I heard something!"

"Get the towels, the poor things soaked!"

Unknown voices made their approach accompanied by the warm, softened glow of lantern light. Though vaguely, you could make out the figures of a small group of armor-clad individuals.

Perhaps it was a bit of a cliche. The knights in shining armor coming to the maiden in distress-- but you could afford little to focus on the irony of it all. All you knew was that whomever held that lantern would be a fate far kinder than hungry animals or a slow fall to the elements.

Saved.

You were saved.

"H-Help me" Was all you could muster, the relief allowing exhaustion and weakness to finally take root in your body. Lead weights settling in your limbs and a quiver in your voice.

The closer they came, the clearer you could see them. They were guards, no doubt patrolmen assigned to protect the border, but very obviously not those of the human kingdom.

Otherfolk

Primarily shifters from what you could tell because, despite their mostly human appearances, their natural, beastly features still shown through. Large rabbit ears, a long flowing tail, wings stuck to their backs, or faces that just weren't quite arranged in the typical human fashion.

To some it would have an been off putting sight, but frankly after all the interaction you'd had with humans for the day... an inhuman face was a welcome sight.

"We've got ya, we're here to help, don't be scared." The rabbit shifter cooed, her gentle paw-like hands cupping your face sweetly as the bat's nimble fingers worked away at your bindings.

Her palms were soft and warm, the sleeves of her tunic smelling like the herbs and incense your mother often used at home. Your eyes closed as you couldn't help but lean into her comforting touch. For a moment, just a moment, the thumb swiping away your tears was not that of a stranger, but your mother. And for a moment... just a moment. You weren't shivering in the cold rain of an unknown land, but instead simply sat at the kitchen table at home waiting for peach pie on your birthday...

---

---

---

Ah. Was this death? If it was... it was peaceful. Never before had the space around you felt so soft and warm, and, faintly, there was the gentle scent of citrus in the air.... but was death supposed to be this painful?

Inhaling deeply, you winced, eyes cracking open as you moved blearily to try and sit up only to experience probably one of the most excruciating pains you'd ever felt.

"Easy! Oh, easy, my lady!" A familiar voice fretted, those same gentle hands from before supporting your weight with surprising strength against your shoulders. Carefully, she eased you back in place. "Lie down, the doctor gave strict orders for you to rest as much as possible until the healer can arrive. They aren't broken, but whomever you put up a fight against did one hell of a job on your ribs."

Your gaze fixated on the rabbit as she began to visually check you over once more with her large, rounded black eyes. She wasn't very tall, a bit below average at most, and held a very lithe figure. But despite that, she was donned with heavy, metal plated armor kept a sword neatly sheathed at her hip.

"Who.. are you?" You cringed as your voice was much rougher than expected, but who could blame you? After a night of screaming into the cold like your life depended on it, because it most certainly had, anyone's voice would have been a bit spent.

Without missing a beat, the rabbit shifter handed you a warm glass of water, which you greedily gulped down as she spoke.

"My name is Eve. I am a member of the king's guard here at the palace. I've been assigned as your personal guard, my lady." She bowed at the waist with a practiced precision, her fluffy ears tilting back so as to not land in your lap. "May I know the name of the lady I serve?"

"Hey, pause. Palace?" You full-stopped your assault on the glass of water and took your first good look at your surroundings. Sure enough, it was far from your typical healers hut or hostel.

The sheer size of the bed alone was the first thing you noticed. It was definitely made for something, or rather someone, that was far larger than you as the length of it easily extended another three or four feet past where your own legs ended. The tall, expertly carved banisters loomed over your head, supporting a canopy of heavy silks that seemed to trickle to the floor like water.

And the room

What a room it was. It was as massive as the bed with pristine, marble cut floors and high arching windows. Beautifully intricate moldings were placed all around, masterfully crafted to perfectly mirror one another. It was a chamber fit for a lady, no, a princess-- both of which you were not.

"I... don't think I'm supposed to be here." You murmured, eyes still trailing over the details of the walls that practically dripped with luxury.

Eve's ears tilted back once more, this time nervously as her tiny mouth curved into a frown. "Is the room not to your liking, my lady? I can ask to have you moved to something bigger--"

"No! Goodness no! This is more than enough! Too much, actually." You stumbled over yourself in your haste to not be fussed over to such a grand extent, which made Eve's expression falter from one of concern to confusion. "I'm not a noble," you clarified. "My name is (y/n), just (y/n)." Back home, impersonating a noble was enough to lose a limb if you were lucky-- your head if you weren't. Hopefully, if you cleared up the confusion quick enough, whoever misunderstood and brought you here would be more lenient with their anger.

"How could I dare call the future queen by her name?"

"......Pardon?" Surely you hadn't heard that right. "The what?" Was it.. the shock? Yes, the shock. It must have not worn off yet, that was all.

"The future Queen. I'm afraid it isn't my place to elaborate any further, lady (y/n), but I assure you once his Highness' meeting finishes up he will be here to speak with you himself."

So it wasn't the shock... and the king of beasts himself would be coming here, to you, like.. this?

You didn't need a mirror to know you were ill prepared to be meeting royalty. Your hair and skin still felt dirty and strange from your previous night's rather rough introduction to the ground, and your clothes... well, perhaps more accurately described as the lack thereof...

You felt your cheeks heat in a bit of embarrassment as you gently lifted the warm blankets to peer below. You still wore the underwear you'd had on before, identifiable by the stains of blood and dirt which had settled permanently in the crevices of the fabric, but what covered the rest of your torso and legs were bandages and dressings. Your cuts and bruises had been treated, rather professionally at that if the skill and quality of the supplies had anything to say about it.

But still, it was far from a dignified look.

As if reading your mind, your rabbit knight chimed in once more. "Don't worry, my lady, his Highness is an understanding and gentle ruler. He won't judge you for something like being wounded."

While it was sweet Eve was attempting to comfort you, you were less worried about appearing weak and more focused on the fact you were damn near naked-- though that was probably an idea that mattered a lot less to someone completely covered in fur... You didn't have the heart to tell her that though. Not when she was so eager to please and had that hopeful look in her eyes.

Not that you would have had the chance to anyway as, without so much as a knock, the two heavy doors to the room swung open.

Your hands moved in a flurry to gather the thick comforter up over your chest, your startled eyes locking with another's, and for a moment, the both of you paused.

He was tall, taller than any man you'd ever known, with shoulders just as broad that laid draped in a dark-stained cloak. It was still wet with rain and what you could guess was blood based off the thicker, red pigment that dripped from the bottom hem. Heavy, leathery wings sat poised behind him like two elegant, massive shields as his spear-like tail swung languidly between them. It was evident why everything here was the size it was now. He was massive. He was imposing. And he was horrifically attractive in a way no boy from your village could ever hope to compare.

He didn't need the crown or fine clothing to be identified. You could feel the authority he held in the air the moment he entered the room, and immediately upon seeing him, you understood the stories of your kingdom's best soldiers turning tail the second his taloned foot stepped onto the battle field.

Dipping your head as best you could, you quickly averted your flustered gaze and blushing face. "I greet the King of Beasts."

You'd expected a plethora of reactions. A gentle acceptance of your greeting, a roar of anger as to why someone as lowly as you laid within his palace, or even silence as he ignored you completely

What you hadn't expected was laughter. It was a deep rumble that could have shaken the cores of mountains if he'd leaned close enough.

"Is that what they call me nowadays? 'King of Beasts?' Of all things... you humans and your silly imaginations never fail to entertain."

You only felt your cheeks darken in humiliation as you lifted your head to stare at him with complete bafflement. Was that the wrong thing to say? Instead of answering your wordless query, he instead pulled up one of the oversized chairs to your beside.

"Eve," he called to your rabbit companion with a far calmer and level tone. "You're dismissed." Your guard, whom you'd momentarily forgotten in the chaos of it all, quickly scampered out and very suddenly it was just you and him left alone in the room together.

"Forgive my intrusion, this won't take long." His tone didn't flow like an apology, but more like an order or expectation that you would forgive him. It left a sour taste in your mouth and evidently an equally sour look on your face.

His eyes narrowed.

"Unless there's something you'd care to object?"

For a moment, a primal instinct surged in your gut beneath his gaze: Fear. He was the descendant of a long lived, powerful bloodline known for having the power to snuff out thousands of lives like yours. You were comparable to a meager speck of dust in his eyes, surely-- but an emotion that overtook your momentary fear was... anger.

No, it was rage. To be ripped from your home, stripped of your dignity-- your identity, thrown to the wolves, all to be mocked and disrespected and then be told to forgive them? Forgive him?

How far must you bow your head in order to save it? How much more humiliation did you have to endure for the sake some man deeming you worthy of survival?

Men in power had stripped enough away from you today, you'd be damned if you allowed this one to make you watch the last shred of self respect you had trickle through your fingers.

"I do actually. Quite a few actually."

The beast's narrowed eyes didn't ease, but he made no move to stop you.

"Well? Go on."

You took a breath, steeling the nerves that were pleading with you not to go through with what you were about to do. It was far too late to back down now. Instead, you hold his gaze.

"You laughed at my greeting, yet failed to introduce yourself. You came in without so much of a knock, not having a shred of thought towards my decency. You sent away the only person I knew, leaving yourself, a man, alone in a room with me, a woman, which shows you also have no concern for my dignity. Not to mention you're absolutely filthy covered in... who knows what. And to top it all off you don't ask me for forgive you but tell me to." You begin to falter, slowing your ramble as his slitted pupils begin to round out. "I think you're rude, and inconsiderate and..."

"And?" He urged, leaning forward a bit which only had you pressing further back into the plush pillows that had propped you up.

"And scary."

"Scary?"

At that, the towering dragon leaned back, the sturdy wood of the chair beneath him creaking with the shift in weight. "You look me in the eye, tell me what I can and can't do within my own home, in my own country, tell me all your objections about me... all while you think I'm scary?"

Unsure where this is going, you nod a bit lamely. What else could you have said?

"I see. Well. I suppose, in my haste, I have treated you a bit roughly for a lady."

"You...have." You affirmed hesitantly, your death grip on the blankets over your collarbones easing slightly.

"Then, for that, I extend you my sincerest apologies and ask that you find it in that fiery little heart to forgive me." You weren't sure if his tone was playful, mocking, or both... but it was a start.

"I'll think about forgiving you then."

"Then I'll put forth the effort to earn it. But for now, let's start from the beginning. I am King Jarkah Drak'in, ruler of the Etherian Empire. And you are?"

You had pondered giving him a false name before, but at this point there seemed little reason to it. "(Y/n). My name is (y/n)."

"(Y/n)." He repeated back to you, the gentle rumble in his voice almost bringing back that warmth to your cheeks. "I rarely hear human names so sweet on the tongue."

You tried and failed to formulate a reply to the compliment, your thoughts stuttering over themselves.

Seemingly able to see your internal struggle, Jarkah stood back up, signaling the end to your little exchange.

"As much as I'd prefer to talk further, I realize I should take your fragile circumstances into consideration, I'll postpone our conversation until I hear word that you've recovered." Was he... still mocking you? Or was that genuine consideration? It was difficult to read his reptilian features, and even more so when his back was turned to you. "Goodnight, (y/n)."

You floundered for a response but all you managed was a meager "Goodnight" as the door clicked shut softly behind him.

TW: violence, gore, female reader, cursing

When Muzan sniffs the wind, and catches the scent of human, he hisses softly, his lips peeling back from his pointed teeth.

He’s not pleased. He hasn’t seen or smelled a human in decades—and now that he’s managed to carve out a territory, there’s one coming back to the mountain? Hell no.

He jumps between the trees, gracefully leaping from branch to branch. He’s going down the mountain, down to the foothills where the scent’s coming from. There’s a house there, he remembers—humans used to live there, hunters, before he killed them all. So, some foolish human’s moved back in.

They’ll be a foolish, dead human soon, before they get near his kin.

He thinks of Rui, caught in an iron-toothed trap and crying like a fawn. He thinks of Gyutaro and Daki, starving and exhausted, driven from their forest to his. He thinks of Zohakuten, trying to carry his brother’s body through the snow, leaving a black trail of blood behind them.

No human will touch them again.

When he lands on the long bough of an oak that stands beside the small house, Muzan notices the gray car drawn up out front, and the boxes on the porch. His nose wrinkles. This isn’t good. The human’s planning to stay.

He doesn’t see one, so he drops down, and takes out his anger on several of the nearest boxes. His claws shred through cardboard, tape, and everything inside—which turns out to be pillows, blankets, and a few clothes. Irritated, he swipes at another box, intent on finding the traps or guns or nets—and his claws shatter glass. The pieces stick in his fingers, and he snarls in pained surprise. He leans over, and sees a small drawing in a frame. His claws broke the glass covering it, but they didn’t rip the drawing.

It’s simple, black lines on cream paper. He cocks his head, and the lines resolve into a forest, waterfall, and pool of water. It’s strangely beautiful, appreciative of the woods and the water in a way Muzan couldn’t imagine from a human.

“Yeah, I heard something outside. It’s probably just some small animal or something. Don’t they have tanukis here?”

Muzan, startled, scrambles up the side of the house and onto the roof. His hands ache and sting, the glass still stuck in the skin.

A human comes out, a phone pressed to her ear. He can tell she’s female, smell it on her. Usually, humans use phones to tell others to come, to join the hunt—but she’s saying, “No, no, I’m fine. Really. You don’t need to come, Aunt Reese, I’m serious. It’s perfect.”

She slips the phone into a pocket of her clothes, and then she notices the wreckage of the boxes.

“What the hell?” she murmurs, squatting to examine the scattered remnants of pillows and bedding and clothes. “Okay, that definitely wasn’t a tanuki.”

When she sees the other box, she gasps and tears it open, sagging with relief when she finds the drawing unharmed. And then she notices the broken glass, which, Muzan suddenly realizes, has his dark blood on it.

“Oh, wow,” she murmurs. “What are you?”

She starts sorting things into piles—unusable, and usable, Muzan thinks—and sighs a few times. She seems more attached to her belongings than he expected. Maybe if he rips up more boxes, she’ll leave.

But he’s going to pick the glass out of his skin first.

You learned very quickly that whatever it was, it didn’t care for your presence in the house.

Every morning, you woke up to find something broken, scratched to ribbons, or just plain unrecognizable. At first, it was just your car—the tires ripped up, the glass smashed, huge divots torn out of the metal like butter—and then the house. Windows scratched, screens with gaping holes. It was like living in a haunted house, and it always happened at night.

But it hadn’t come inside the house. Until now.

The pen and ink drawing your mother made—the last one before she died, before her cancer got worse again, before everything—isn’t in its frame.

You slowly walk out onto the porch, your gut sinking. The sky is still dark, dawn too far off, and the front door is hanging open—and the drawing is on the wood, torn into so, so many pieces.

You sink down on your knees, and as you sift through the wreckage of the last part of your mother, you burst into tears.

Muzan had tried everything to make the human leave, shy of attacking her. He’d demolished her car, her house—and she still wouldn’t leave. She’s a threat. She’ll bring others, hunt him and the others down.

Muzan can’t afford to let her stay.

She cares about that drawing, so he’s going to destroy that paper tonight. See if she’ll stay without it.

So, when the human’s gone to sleep, he creeps up to the house. He goes in the door, into the first room he comes to. And there it is, on the wall. He pulls it out of its frame.

The thing on the wall, the round white thing with black marks around the edge, suddenly makes a noise. A long, loud noise, like a bell.

Muzan jumps and runs, panicked, onto the porch. Movement inside tells him the human’s getting up, and so, hurrying, he shreds the paper and jumps onto the roof. The human won’t stay. He’s made sure of that.

And then she comes out, and she sees the scraps of paper, and she bursts into tears. Muzan pauses. Something in his chest tightens, oddly, when she cries, trying to gather up the pieces.

“Okay, okay, I get it!” she suddenly shouts, her face still wet. “You hate me! You want me to leave! But I—“ She gulps on a sob, voice breaking softly. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. And this is all I have left. So please, please, just leave me alone!”

He should be happy. He should. But he isn’t. Muzan’s chest clenches. He’s gotten used to her face, her smile, the way she whistles off-key while she does her chores. Seeing her break breaks something in him.

Does he care about her?

She goes inside, drooping, and comes back with something strange. Muzan, curious, watches, and she starts using clear things to put the drawing back together. It stays, so the clear strips must be sticky.

A loud ringing sound. Muzan knows it by now—she uses it to know when to get up. Sighing, she gets up, goes back inside.

Muzan drops silently onto the porch, and pulls a strip of clear stickiness off the plastic thing. And he starts sticking the paper back together. He remembers the drawing. It must have really mattered to the human, then.

He’s sorry, oddly. She doesn’t seem to have any guns or knives or traps, and he made her cry.

He doesn’t like to see her cry.

You switch off your alarm clock, and stand beside the bed for a minute, sighing as it sinks in. You don’t have anywhere else to go, but the creature in the woods has made its opinion very clear. You can’t stay.

Slowly, you make your way back out to the porch, and when you see it, you stop.

The drawing’s fixed.

You hadn’t put more than half of it back together, and now it’s all there in one piece. The tape dispenser is scratched—by long, sharp claws you’re more than familiar with by now—but unharmed.

It feels like an apology.

So you take the drawing, and put it back in its place, and then you go through the fridge and bring out some eggs, some bacon. You fry the bacon, scramble the eggs and salt them, and plate the lot—and carry it outside.

“I think you can understand me, or at least some of what I say,” you tell the woods, the sun still out of sight. “You’re a predator, right? So you’ll probably like this. And, um—thank you.”

You leave it on the porch and shut the door. The creature likes its privacy, so you eat your own breakfast in the living room, humming quietly as you stare up at the repaired paper. The creature’s very intelligent—you can hardly tell the drawing was torn at all, from how well it was fixed.

When you check the plate, it’s been licked clean. Literally.

Maybe things are finally looking up.

Muzan sits on the long, overlooking branch of the same oak, watching the human plant a small garden. He smelled the seeds yesterday, when she left them outside. Edible. Nothing dangerous.

He tells himself that if she ever proves dangerous, he’ll drive her off.

He knows perfectly well that he won’t.

She talks to him now, though he still hasn’t let her see him. When she’s outside, or when she has the windows open, she’ll say things like, “How are you?” Or, “That was a bad storm last night. Hope you didn’t get too wet.” Or even, “I wish I could show you this show I’ve been watching on Netflix. You probably have no idea what that means, do you? I think you’d like it.”

When the fall’s cold snap came, she started leaving blankets out for him. Muzan brought them back to the den, for Rui and Zohakuten and the others. They’ll be warm this winter. When he goes into sleep with them, they’ll be warm until spring.

So he left his human a few birds he hunted, on the porch. She’d laughed, and said, “I—have no idea what to do with these. How about you not hunt for me? I’ve got food, I promise. But thank you!”

Muzan had taken back the birds, and left something from his collection behind. Like all his kind, he’s drawn to bright things, and he keeps the best ones for himself, in his part of the nest. So he left her a silver button, and a red ribbon, from his hoard.

She liked those. Muzan’s seen her wearing the ribbon, using it to pull her hair back.

A few nights ago, he started coming to the house at the same time, around sunset, every day. He’s done it since. She’s noticed—she talks more when she knows he’s there.

Yesterday, she teased him, and he dropped a nut on her head. She laughed until she almost fell over.

Muzan thinks he might like this human.

When your creature doesn’t come back all winter, you realize he’s probably hibernating. Some large predators do that. He’s probably one of them.

You were really worried the first week he didn’t turn up, though.

You’re not sure when he stopped being an it, when “the creature” became “your creature,” but you’ve gotten attached to him. You can tell when he’s there. He visits around sunset every day. Recently, he started interacting with you—dropping nuts and other things to make his point—even if you still haven’t seen him.

You spend the winter wondering what he looks like, if he’s warm enough. If he’s safe and comfortable and happy, while the snow falls outside and you turn up the heating.

When spring comes, you’re excited to have him back. And he comes back.

One night, you hear a knock at the door. It’s still a little cold at night, so you pull a blanket around yourself to answer it, not thinking about who the knock came from.

You pull the door open.

And there he is, letting you see him. Your creature. You let the blanket fall, unable to think of anything else.

He’s tall and thin, but lined with muscle—and he could almost pass for human, except for the dark tint on his forearms shading into black on his hands, or the deep red of his eyes, or the claws tipping his long, graceful fingers. He licks his lips, his eyes dropping nervously, and you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth and a long tongue.

His hair is long and black, but well-cared-for and clean, not draggled. His skin is porcelain pale, and he’s nude—but unlike a human, he doesn’t have any obvious genitals, just a smooth mound. (You immediately kick yourself for even looking.)

Very, very slowly, he holds out a hand toward you. It’s hesitant, almost fearful, so you meet him halfway with your own hand and squeeze his.

He jumps a little, startled, but then he leans closer, his eyelids fluttering. He has long lashes, you realize. Before you know what you’re doing, you lift your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. And he leans into it, turning to nuzzle against your palm.

“You—do you want to come in?” you ask.

It takes some time, but eventually he grows comfortable enough to show himself more frequently. When you’re gardening, struggling to pull a particularly stubborn sweet potato, he’s suddenly there to nudge you aside and dig it up with clawed hands. When you’re making breakfast, he shows up at the kitchen window and hands a few berries though it. He’s always there these days, whenever you turn around.

The first time he speaks, you almost jump out of your skin.

You’re talking to him, telling him about something inane—something you saw on Netflix—without expecting anything to fill the silence.

So when he says, “What is Netflix?” in a low mellow voice, you start, spilling your morning tea all over yourself and your blanket in the chair on the porch.

“Did I scare you?” he says, worried, and your heart jumps.

“I—I’ve never heard you speak. I didn’t even know you could,” you say, shoving the blanket off and rubbing your legs. The tea was still hot, and your thighs are hurting.

He kneels down in front of you, looking at your legs intently.

“It hurts,” he says softly. “Did it burn?”

“I don’t think so,” you manage, almost tongue-tied from seeing him so close to you. “But you—how did you learn English?”

“You,” he says, still intently studying your legs. “I listened to you.”

You huff an incredulous laugh. “Well, I always knew you were clever, but this is—“

He chuckles, and it’s a wonderful sound that makes your heart feel light and warm and full.

“I think you should change your clothes,” he says gently. “And then you can show me your Netflix.”

You do show him your Netflix, and other things around the house—the microwave, the fridge—and every time he sees something new and unexplained, he learns quickly. He adapts too; the television is not a threat, it’s entertainment. He doesn’t like the fridge, but he understands that the microwave makes food warm again, and he likes it better that way.

You learn too, more about him. His name is Muzan. He eats a lot of meat—preferably animals he hunts himself, though he seems to like eating with you—and has incredible senses. Smell seems particularly important to him; he can tell what you’ve eaten hours before, and find you unerringly with just your scent to go on.

After a little while, Muzan gets comfortable enough to visit every day, coming inside the house. He’s very intelligent, and spends a lot of time pouring over your books or discussing what he’s read with you. He likes documentaries or meaningful films, but generally doesn’t care for shows. If you want to watch one, he’ll settle himself beside you, reading silently.

And time passes like that, for weeks and months.

When summer is coming to a close at last, Muzan asks you to walk with him in the forest. He seems almost nervous when he asks, twisting his hands together. You often walk together on the paths, but this seems different somehow.

“What is it?” you ask gently. “Muzan, is something bothering you?”

He huffs a soft laugh.

“I want you to see my den,” he admits. “And meet my family.”

You can’t keep the smile off your face. You’re touched by the clear trust in that gesture. The two of you have come so far.

“Do they know I’m coming?” you check.

“Yes.” Muzan bites his lip. “They…may not trust you as I do right away.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to.” You slide your hand into his larger, dark-tinted one. “You’ve been hunted by humans, so you hunted them. I’m guessing they’ve experienced the same. Trust would be a big ask after that.”

Muzan pulls you into a fierce embrace, nuzzling into your neck.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice almost breaking.

The den is a cave, the entrance fairly cramped. Muzan guides you very carefully through it, at one point using his hand to stop you from slamming your knee into a sharp rock. It’s much bigger on the inside, with a pile of very familiar blankets directly in front of you on the floor. There are a few ledges, which seem to be full of bright things—buttons feature prominently, but so do shiny rocks and strips of cloth.

Muzan’s a bit like a crow, actually. Now you know where your button and ribbon came from—you’re wearing the ribbon in your hair today.

Zohakuten emerges first. He has black hair, like Muzan, and they’re clearly the same species. But he’s small, about the size of an 8-year-old. He’s glaring at you.

Muzan slips a hand around your waist. You take a deep breath.

“You’re Zohakuten, right?” you ask, squatting down. “I brought something for you.”

Muzan had explained that for his kind, their collections were very important. New members of a family group usually gave each other gifts, so you’d brought a few things.

Carefully, you hold your hand out. In it is a wooden dinosaur. “My uncle was a whittler,” you tell Zohakuten. “And he made this when I was little.”

Zohakuten sniffs it before he takes it.

“Your uncle ate a lot of cheese,” he says. Your brows rise.

“You can smell that?” When Zohakuten nods, you say, “You must have a really good nose.”

He smiles. Just a little.

Gyutaro comes out next, with Daki behind him. His hair is black; hers is white.

“You’re the one who gave us the blankets,” Gyutaro says flatly.

“Yeah. I’ve got something else for you though. Muzan told me you like knives, Guytaro.” You hand him the little pocketknife your mother gave you when you turned sixteen. “You want this one?”

Gyutaro looks it over. Then he takes it. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“So, do I have something?” Daki asks.

“Yeah, you do.” You give her a piece of embroidered cloth. “My mom’s mom made this when she was little.”

“What’s it for?”

“Being pretty,” you say, and wink. “Just like you.”

Daki squeals and hugs you. As she and her brother go to curl up in the blanket mound, you hear Gyutaro say, “You smell gross now.” Daki swats him, and snaps, “Nice things aren’t gross and she was nice, so she doesn’t smell gross. You’re gross.”

“Your hair’s gross,” Gyutaro mutters.

Apparently kids are still kids, even when they’re creatures in the woods.

When the sun sinks, and Rui still doesn’t come out, Muzan asks if you should go home. He’s worried about you being outside in the dark.

“Muzan,” you tell him, hands on hips, “if it’s okay with everyone, I’d rather stay.”

Zohakuten laughs. When you both look at him, he shrugs.

“I like her.”

Daki runs over and pulls up and down on Muzan’s arm.

“Can she stay? Can she please?”

Muzan looks over at Gyutaro. The boy shrugs.

“She doesn’t smell that gross,” he says, his arms folded. “I guess.”

Muzan sighs. “All right.”

Daki squeals with delight and drags you over to the blanket mound, pulling you down beside her. She curls up next to you like a cat, and starts telling all about everything in her collection. Halfway through, she starts yawning. A bit later, she falls asleep.

Gyutaro plops down next to her, stares at you for a second, and shuts his eyes. Zohakuten leans his head against your knee, looking over his gift again. And very gently, Muzan tucks himself against your other side, smiling.

“You’re smiling,” Zohakuten says, surprised.

Muzan puts a finger to his lips. “Don’t wake your siblings,” he says softly. Zohakuten wrinkles his nose.

“You’re going soft, papa,” he whispers.

Muzan shows his teeth playfully. “Oh, am I?”

“Definitely,” Zohakuten says. “You like her. You like her a lot.” He stares at you in the dark. “You’re all mushy now. You didn’t used to be mushy.”

“I’ll show you mushy,” Muzan warns. “In the morning.”

As Zohakuten rolls over, still holding his new present, he mumbles quietly, “That’s just what a mushy person would say.”

technically not your ex!isagi the boyfie that you are...

everybody put on your delulu caps

imagine dating isagi in like middle school/ early high school. he's the prototypical My First Boyfriend, i don't make the rules ok? he asks you out with all of his (and your) friends watching during lunch time and when you say yes, he asks for permission to hold your hand

he texts you good morning and good night every day and you guys hold pinkies during class. he tries (and often fails) to win you stuffies at the claw machine when you go out to the arcade after school, and you tutor him in geometry bc he doesn't understand why they put letters in math. he's your first kiss, and all your friends tease you about him at the cafeteria during lunchtime.

then one day, he loses a soccer game. it's his last chance at nationals, and you're almost as crushed as he is. you lose sight of him when the team leaves the field, and he doesn't respond to any of your texts or calls. he stops coming to school after that day. you're too shy to ask his parents where he is (you're not even sure if he told them the two of you were dating)

eventually, you give up on contacting him and move on. you spend the rest of your high school years focusing on your studies, trying to get into a good school for college. your hard work pays off and you spend the rest of the summer celebrating with your friends. one night at a sleepover, your best friend curls up in your bed (a little tipsy) and decides to google the boy who ghosted you. you're a little surprised to find out he somehow became a pro athlete, but you got into a prestigious university so hey, dreams do come true booboo

you really don't think much of it, and put it out of your mind to focus on making plans for your upcoming beach vacation. you and your friends spend a chaotic week and a half in tokyo and another weekend in kamakura. you have the time of your life, and gorge yourself on fancy yakiniku and ice cream in every flavor imaginable before you have to go home to pack for school.

and then The Funniest Thing Happens

you come home, sunburnt and sore. you head straight to the nearest konbini for aloe vera gel and a canned coffee. and who the fuck do you see? i know you know.

it's him! isagi Mother Fucking yoichi. after your initial shock, you give him a suspicious once over and why? WHY? is he still wearing the same stupid little twine friendship bracelet you'd made him for your 100-day anniversary?

you're so occupied with delivering your best incredulous stare that you don't even notice bachira stepping out of the shop to stand alongside him.

"oh hey! are you a fan?" you feel yourself starting to get hot under the collar because you might actually be the opposite...

you're still trying to find an appropriately indignant response when isagi answers for you

"oh well, uh we dated when we were younger..."

bachira picks up the end of the sentence seamlessly, equal parts eccentric and presumptuous "ohhh, exes huh?"

and isagi winces at the wording. "well, i mean technically we never formally broke up"

your head is cocked all the way to the side at this point because the audacity?? well it has you gobsmacked. struck dumb, even.

and all the while he's scratching the back of his neck like this is all some charming meet cute and you're FUMING because now his friend is shaking your hand and asking for your phone number so the three of you can hang out together during the football off season and you're a nice normal person who has a sense of propriety and this Very Odd Pro Athlete has already sent you a link to the restaurant they're going to tonight and obviously he's paying for your meal so he can hear more about isagi's high school sweetheart that he talks about so much!! because HE STILL TALKS ABOUT YOU??

and oughoughough it's too much for me i'll die actually