XLI. She likes to learn different handwriting styles


When Chitoge writes with Japanese characters, there isn't much of a difference between her Hiragana, Katakana, or Kanji. They're large, much like her personality; often written in a hurry; and only a little bit neater than the chicken scratch she had when she first started learning. Sometimes, when she practices her handwriting, she would produce perfect little characters with sharp corners and sloping curves that almost looked printed, but that's reserved for special occasions only.

Her English writing is very different. Raku never really noticed until he stopped by her room one afternoon to accompany her as she filled out paperwork for her mom.

"Knock knock," he says, tapping his knuckles against her door frame. "Delivery for a Ms. Kirisaki."

"Hey," she greets him without looking up from her desk. "You can leave that by my bed or something. I'm just trying to figure out this last thing, but I should be done soon."

He puts the bag of food where she pointed before walking over. He leans over her shoulder to read, but the pages were swimming in English. "Whatcha up to?"

"Taking some notes. Mom's too busy to read all the documents so I go through them and write down what's important. Condense it into easily readable bullet points. It makes her life easier cuz she has so much to do. These are just practice, though, so it won't be a tragic situation if I mess something up."

"What's all the scribbling on the papers?"

"More notes, but they're for myself, really. Sometimes if I need to go back to something or don't know what something means or need to clarify things, I put a reminder there and then reword it so I know what it means next time I read over it. Also, are you just gonna stand there, breathing down my neck and interrupting me, or are you gonna go away?"

"How about I stand here, breathing down your neck and not interrupting you?"

He lowers his face and exhales forcefully, hot air tickling the nape of her neck. Chitoge swats at him, huffing some kind of complaint, but allows him to settle next to her. his hip on the edge of her desk. It's quiet as her attention-and his-returns to her work. He finds it interesting the way her writing switches from a quick scrawl on her personal notes to a neat script on her notebook, the familiar yet unfamiliar letters twisting on her page. (He knows enough English to decipher the words, but doesn't understand a lot of the terms she uses. English class isn't exactly his strongest.) Raku blames the difference on the papers themselves. Her personal notes don't require a careful hand and a clear font; it's not like anyone else will read them. But then she flips the page in her notebook and starts writing in print, letters tall and strange. He recognizes it as the KG Skinny Latte font that she's fond of looking at and watches as she fills up the lines, waiting for her to finish her thoughts (interrupting them would only give him a punch to the shoulder and a string of angry words) before asking,

"What the fuck was that."

It comes out more of a statement than a question, but curious nonetheless.

"What the fuck was what."

He points to her book. "You switched from cursive to print."

"Yeah, and?"

"Well, why?"

"Well, why not?"

"Shut up, Gorilla Woman."

"You're the one who asked, Bean Sprout."

There's a beat of silence.

"So are you gonna tell me or..."

"Or what."

"You know what, never mind."

The corner of her lips curl into a small smile and his twitch up to mirror it. Despite his efforts, her smile always gets to him. She closes her notebook and opens to the first page, turning to the next slowly so his eyes can take it in. Lavanderia, Prince Charming, Market Diary, Paper Daisy, Coffee and Tea, Malaya, Always Forever, and a number of other fonts he knew but could not name.

"I like looking at fonts and trying to replicate them," she explains, thumbing through the sheets. "My mom told me that I could write like this because it makes her job a little more interesting."

"I like them, too," he reaches up to let his fingers graze the marks. He traces over them lightly. "It just seems unlike you."

"In what way?"

"Your art is usually absolute crap, so-" Thump. "Ow! You asked so don't just hit me! Go back to doing your work!"


XLII. She has the randomest items on hand*


He's muttering to himself, trying to remember which episode they were on. It's been months, but they definitely left off on season 4...did the concert with Weiss happen yet? He scrolls through the episode synopsis list and hopes that one will sound familiar soon. It's approaching two in the morning and he isn't sure who suggested watching a show at this time, but it's too late to back out now.

Whub, whub, whub.

Raku pauses. He looks down, following the trail of his white headphones until his eyes land on the person displayed on his phone screen: Chitoge, with her hair pulled back and eyebrows shooting up questioningly, was staring back. His forehead furrows in confusion for a second, but she's already waving her hand with a Hurry up and find the episode. He rolls his eyes and is back on the wikipedia page. Was it episode 4 or 6?

Whub, whub, whub.

His gaze snaps to Chitoge immediately, and she freezes, one hand raised to her face, holding a...what?

"Did you find it yet?" she asks, continuing to flap the object next to her face. There goes the sound again.

"Are you fanning yourself? What is that?"

"Uh, a ping pong paddle?" she holds it closer to the camera and flips it around for him to see. "Obviously."

Raku drops his head into his hand so that his cheek rests against his palm. A grin tugs at his lips. "And where'd you get that?"

She picks up something beside her, a little off screen, and shows it to him. The white basket rattles as she shakes it; the handles of the things hit against each other. "The ping pong paddle bucket, duh. Don't give me that look; it's hot."

He's definitely smiling now as he stares at her. She's tilting her head with a smile of her own, though puzzled at what he was looking at. Or rather, why he wasn't finding the episode. So she asks him, and he shakes his head, gives a groan, and drags his hands down his face. His focus shifting back to his computer screen, but he lets out a chuckle.

"God, I love you."


XLIII. She really, really likes kisses*


Kiss, kiss.

It's stupid. Really, really stupid. It all started with this little baby she knows; he was taught to give cheek kisses, which were more like an open mouthed transfer of slobber, whenever someone said "ooh ahh." His younger sister is learning a variation of the command: kiss kiss. Raku doesn't know when Chitoge planted this in his mind, but whenever she says the words, a nonchalant tone accompanied by the tilt of her head, he finds himself leaning over to peck her cheek.

Kiss, kiss.

Now it's become more like a game. At a stoplight, she says it fast, just as it's about to turn green, and he quickly kisses her cheek before turning his attention back to the road. Walking down the sidewalk, waiting for their order of food, dropping each other off at home, from all the way across the room, you name it. She often jumps away, dodging his lips and laughing as he misses. Oh, but he has learned. His hands shoot out and grasp her waist; she tries to twist her face, but her attempts are futile.

Kiss, kiss.

Sometimes, the words fly out of her mouth and Raku can't count how many times she's said the phrase. Two? Three? Four? He peppers her face with kisses, eliciting small squeals and giggles from the blonde, and neither of them seem to mind that he's done more than he needs to. In fact, she encourages him to give two or three more...just in case, you know?

Kiss, kiss.

He's tried to say the words to her, but only received a blank stare in return. It's like biting the hand the feeds, she offers as an explanation. I trained you, so you can't use it on me. He points out that her point is 1) very flawed and 2) very wrong because he's pretty sure that's not how you use that idiom. So he argues that if he makes a new phrase or action, she has to abide by its demands and can't use it herself, to which she agreed. He thinks of the silliest action he could and this ultimately backfires as he waves his arms wildly in public, attracting everyone's stare. Still, he thinks it's kinda worth it when Chitoge rolls her eyes, the faintest blush dusted across her face, and kisses him. Rules are rules.

Kiss, kiss.

Heat. It races up his arms, through his lungs, down his legs. His movements are as feverish as his skin, grasping at her curves and just about anything he can get his hands on. He feels strain in his fingers, which are settled around her thighs and almost locked into place; he's working hard to stay restrained. She shifts a little on his lap and ignores his obvious signs of distress, movements calm and languid. Her hands rake through his hair, follow the slope of his shoulders, and stop on his chest. He wonders if she can feel how fast his heart beats. Erratic and deafening in his ears. There's a slight purr in her voice as she says the words: kiss kiss, pressing her body against his. His lips tilt up eagerly to catch hers.

Oh god, the way she says it makes him come back for more.


XLIV. She's a huge tease (NSFW)


Duty calls isn't an unfamiliar phrase when it comes to their relationship. Raku finds himself leaving the country for days, weeks, even months at a time to tend to international matters regarding his family business. He doesn't feel too bad leaving Chitoge; she has just as busy a schedule, if not busier, with her own family business and helping out her mom overseas. Raku's thankful for having a girlfriend like Chitoge, someone who understands the responsibilities and hardships of being an heir, and wonders if Onodera would've been as understanding, had things turned out differently. On the outside, most likely, but she'd be hiding her inner unease. With Chitoge, Raku knows that her actions are true and that she really doesn't mind not seeing him for a long time.

They've tried a number of different methods: skype, rabbit, voice calls, Facetime. They found that the latter works best when they have small blocks of free time to chat away about their day, but it isn't uncommon for these calls to span across hours. This call was one of them, already approaching two hours.

"And then he had the audacity to say I was wrong," she huffs on the other end of the line, shuffling the papers on her desk. It was night time, but she busied herself organizing for the next day. "In front of everyone in the meeting! Which I wouldn't mind normally cuz I can take constructive criticism, but his tone. Oh my God, his tone had me so annoyed. It was so degrading, like I didn't know what I was doing, and it sucked, you know?"

Raku makes a noncommittal grunt of agreement. He wants to listen to her, he really does, but the way she's reaching for her stapler is also really distracting. She doesn't seem to notice that her cleavage had taken over the screen, black lace peeking out from the neckline of her shirt.

"But it all turned out okay because the team head called him out for having bogus facts and not enough information in his presentation while everyone told me that I did great. I wasn't actually wrong at all-" she quickly ties her hair back and his mouth goes dry at the sight of her exposed neck-"and it was super satisfying because I finally finished the project."

Sucked. Head. Satisfying. Finished. The words ring in his ears, and he feels a little bad about where his mind is as she tells him about work, especially when she waited so patiently as he ranted about his day for over an hour, but he can't hold it in much longer and calls her name right as she's about to launch into another story.

"Chitoge," he says again, softer this time, letting the syllables tumble out of his mouth. "Are you free for a, um, meeting sometime soon?"

He can't suppress the goosebumps on his arms nor the blush on the back of his neck, and he almost wants to bark a shut up at the leisure grin spreading across her face. It's one of realization, as if she now knows why he's been distracted while she was talking. With the long distance, they've been relying on exchanging pictures (encrypted with the highest security, of course. who knew that the advanced technology would be used for sending nudes?) and having video calls where they got each other off, inconspicuously dubbed meetings. Watching each other masturbate was an experimental decision, but it ended up working so, so well.

"I dunno, I can check my schedule," she crosses her arms and lets her chest rest on them, leaning forward for the camera. The low cut of her spaghetti strap tank top was seriously not helping, and she knows this. That's why the Cheshire-like smile hasn't left. "There's a few free spots in my calendar, but that's not for a week or two. If you ask nicely, I can make time...now."

He glances at the clock. He's home for another hour and a half. "Don't you have to wake up early for something? It's already so...late...for...y...ou," the words die in his throat and he swallows thickly.

Her hand trace along her collarbones, which he's absolutely weak for, and she smirks in triumph as his eyes follow. "Sorry, what was that?" she asks with feigned innocence, dipping down towards her chest, fingering the top of her bra.

"I don't want to keep you up or anything," he manages without much conviction.

"Mhm," she hums dismissively. Her hand's cupping her breast now, thumb swiping over her nipple. Raku can't tell if his brain's making it up or not, but he swears he sees the bud pushing through her bra and the tight material of the tank. "You're right, waking up in the morning is just so hard."

The slight moan at the end of that sentence doesn't escape him; he's palming the bulge in his pants. "Yeah, maybe you should-" shouldn't-"go get some rest-" oh, please please don't-"for the morning?"

There's a pause.

"Yep, I should! Okay, bye, I love you, good night!" she chirps, ending the call before he could register her sentence.

He's left staring blankly at the screen and blinks slowly. One. Twice. Three times before letting out a large groan. Of course, this is such typical Chitoge behavior, leaving him with a raging hard on and probably cackling to herself somewhere in America. Raku grumbles to himself, just about to pull up her pictures to use, when his phone starts to vibrate. A call from the she-devil herself.

He picks up and chokes on the complaints he was about to give. She's on her bed now with her back against her pillows. Her bra is gone and this time, he's absolutely certain that her nipples are showing against the tank top, barely contained by the fabric. He wants to tug the material down so bad-it's barely an inch-until her breasts are exposed for him to suck on, tongue swirling and flicking over the hardened buds. His mouth aches from muscle memory and as a reminder that he hasn't had her in so long; instead, he watches her roll a nipple between her forefinger and thumb and holds back a whimper. Her slightly parted legs reveal a darkened patch on her underwear, which she grazes over with her other hand.

"Are you just going to leave me waiting?" she raises an eyebrow. "Clothes off, Beansprout."

He makes no sounds of indignation at the nickname. Raku stumbles out of his pants and yanks off his shirt, nearing tripping in his haste to scramble into bed. His erection was getting nearly painful, confined in his jeans. He grips his dick through his boxers, prepared to rub his precum, but Chitoge shakes her head.

"I said off. All of it. I want to see how hard you are for me."

He's quick to respond, and she's content to see his cock spring up, already dark and leaking. Just for her.

"Your turn," he juts his chin at the screen. "I want the tank off."

She complies, though not as fast, and he has chills at seeing her chest. He misses feeling it in person.

"This can come off, too," she snaps the waistband of her underwear. The dark patch has grown with her working herself up. He nods furiously. "You have to ask nicely, though."

"P-please?"

"Please what?"

"Please take them off."

She pretends to consider for a second before shimmying the artcle down her legs and-Jesus Christ, oh my God, his girlfriend is so beautiful. Raku feels his heart pound (not the only thing he wants to pound) and wonders what he did in a past life to deserve someone like her.


XLV. She can't dance


"Is your vision okay? You keep thinking my feet are the floor and I'm starting to get a little concerned."

Chitoge levels him with a glare and he feels her hands twitch, wanting to push him, but he gives her waist a slight squeeze and continues to lead them across the ballroom. She's the one that wanted to learn for a friend's wedding, yet Raku feels like he's the only one learning. It's been hours in the room and she's making so little progress in shoes. Imagine how difficult it'll be when they switch to heels.

She manages to step on his toes again and lets out a frustrated sigh. "Let's take a break," she calls out to the instructor, waving for the music to be turned off. "Ten minute?"

The man gratefully steps out of the room, headed off to the bathroom.

"I wasn't really that bad, was I?" there's a hint of meekness in her voice, something unusual for someone like her. "Do you think I should even bother trying anymore?"

"Well," Raku mulls over his words carefully, "we've been at this for four hours so far and you've at least got the positioning and general technique down. Kinda. Sorta. Not really."

"Just tell me, Beansprout," she rolls her eyes. "I promise I won't punch you."

"In that case, yeah, you should probably stop."

Her shoulders droop. "I knew it. I'm not really cut out for these sorts of things."

"Hey, hey, chin up. Not all's lost! When someone asks to dance with you, you'll do so badly that you'll scare them off without having to make up some excuse. And besides, any wedding that has formal ballroom dancing instead of Cupid Shuffle...probably better to just sit aside and drink some punch. Maybe a glass of champagne. Definitely eating at the snack bar."

She chuckles.

"You won't be the only one sitting out either, I assure you. They're be lots of others, myself included."

"Oh, Raku, you don't have to do that. I think a lot of people would like to dance with you."

"Then leave them wanting. I came with a date and I can't just leave her alone."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says, patting her head, "you're stuck with me whether you like it or not."


hey, y'all, long time no see! I think it's been...over two years now? anyway, I've grown a lot, both as a writer and a person. not sure if that's a good thing or not. thank you so much to those who still follow. I love my little darlings.

so I threw an NSFW thing in there lol let me know if I should make more (if so, more explicit?) or just keep it fluff.

the asterisks mark the ones that are based on my boyfriend and i! the first actually happened and the second just based on our term "kiss kiss"

drop me a line whenever~ much love.

Aeris