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♪ 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ♪

༺ Work Night ༻

Oneshot ~ Tokyo Revengers x Female Reader

Summary ~ On the deadliest night of the year, you’re trapped in a flower shop, hunted by five obsessive killers. Survive the night—or become their prey.

Featuring ~ Baji Keisuke, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, and the Haitani Brothers

Extra Notes ~ Jujutsu Kaisen’s Version - Blue Lock’s Version

*Reader is implied to be a foreigner at one point. No language barrier.

This story should only be posted under eempyreall on my tumblr, ao3, wattpad, and patreon. Report if you see it posted under anyone else but me.

l apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

|| Warning ||

You and the characters are 21+. Although I picture the reader as a black cis-gendered female, physical appearance will not be described at all.

Content within this story may not be realistic or factual.

I do not condone any of the behavior displayed within the story.

There may be dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit content, sexual content, non consensual and/or dubious consensual content, etc.

That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

You understood that your employer baited a few naive employees to mandate the merchandise on one of the most dangerous nights of the year—you having been one of the victims of the sly persuasion. You recognized the inducement dripping from the tone of the flower shop’s owner.

“It shouldn’t be that hard to make sure the store is in good condition by the morning. This is a small business, anyway,” she chuckled, hands placed on her hips as she faced the four of you. “I mean, for god’s sake, who’d want to steal flowers?”

Now, you might’ve made a hasty decision in accepting the offer placed on your shoulders, but you were no idiot. You knew the consequences of remaining in a public environment while the duration of the chaotic night played out. Despite the risks that could take place, the price to gain was too enticing to ignore.

Most individuals would simply run around, breaking into banks and wealthier people’s homes to steal cash instead of taking an overnight shift for a boss who’s dubiously obsessed with the product—enough to schedule four of her employees, who had no certifications, as security guards. You weren’t one of those people.

You had no intention of getting slashed across the throat or shot through the head because you were a threat to someone else’s gain. You weren’t one to fight over things of that nature. You didn’t find it worth your life.

You agreed with the owner—nobody would aim for a flower shop. Especially one that attracts minimal business. The boss had already removed the cash from the registers, so the only win would be a variety of flower pots and packaged soil.

Your only job is to clean and mandate the shop.

You are currently leaning over the cashier’s counter, thumb swiping through your social media feed as one of your coworkers, Aimi, sweeps the remnants of fallen petals from the hanging plants, lowly humming a tune as she moved her arms. Chieko had just finished pinning the fabric that conceals the glass windows of the shop, taking a few steps back to admire the work as she rubbed her palms against her jeans.

“This should be good enough, right?” she questioned, turning back to face the assistant manager, who sat on a chair with a leg crossed over, phone in hand.

Jona’s gaze shifted to the covering before he dismissively waved her off, nodding. “Yeah, it’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

You exhaled sharply, setting your phone in your pocket as you stood upright. You turn to face the other employees as you swallow. “Hey, are you sure that nobody has ever tried to break in?” you question, your main focus placed on Jona.

Aimi’s irises flicked over to you before she cracked a warm smile. “Yeah! I’ve taken this shift each year, and nobody has ever tried anything,” she shrugged, setting the broom against the wall.

Chieko walked towards you before placing a hand on your shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve taken this shift for about five years, and I’m still here,” she said, her tone filled with a confident ease that should’ve relaxed your anxiety.

But you couldn’t rid yourself of the heavy pit you felt spreading throughout your stomach.

Jona rolled his eyes before leaning back in his seat, stretching with his arms held in the air. “Relax. Time flies by faster than you think.”

Your eyes shift to the cat-shaped clock that’s set on the wall at the back of the store. It reads nine o’clock, two hours into the dangerous and yet celebrated tradition. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth as you reach for your phone—

Tap, tap, tap.

Time freezes as you and your coworkers’ attention quickly flies to the entrance of the store. The wooden door’s silver knob rattles, the glass window’s fabric concealing the culprit.

The store is quiet, everyone paused in their positions as they study the area, concern evident in their expressions. Your head turns to Jona as he stands up, shoving his phone in his pocket as he stiffens in his spot.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” You hear the muffled sound of a male’s voice, pleading. The tone is slightly shaky but carries an edge of relative calmness as he knocks against the surface. “Please, I need help!”

You turn to face all of the employees as sweat forms on your skin. “Has this happened before?” you mutter, voice almost a whisper as you try to stay quiet.

Chieko turns towards you, swallowing before she shakes her head in denial. Aimi mimics the gesture as she stares at the door. You can see the unease settle in their presence—fingers twitching, bodies stiffening, and fear radiating off of the women.

Your eyes flick over to Jona, observing the slightly perturbed look on his expression, though contorted with annoyance.

“J—Jona! What are you doing?” Aimi hissed quietly. Her voice is dripping with an apprehensive tone that matches her mien. She attempts to reach out for him, but he moves too fast, standing in front of the door as he lifts the fabric slightly—just enough to peek out of the window.

What the fuck is he doing?!

From the angle where you stand, you fail to see his expression as he stands there for a moment. Eventually, Jona releases the fabric and walks back to the center of the room, facing all of you.

“Listen, that guy out there—he’s bloody as fuck. Nobody is allowed to unlock that door,” he says, his tone flat but edged with caution. His fingers entangle with his short hair as he frowns.

“Bloody? Did he have any weapons?” Aimi questions, eagerness in her tone. She walks closer to Jona, though still at a distance.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t see any, but I’m not taking any chances,” he says as he yanks a small knife out of his pocket. “If he somehow passes through, I at least have this to fight against him.”

You give him a pointed look. “And if he has a gun? What if he just breaks through the windows?” you question, your voice laced with irritation and worry.

Chieko clears her throat. “It’s very rare for a citizen to have a gun here in Japan,” she replies, her tone steady but with an underlying edge of concern.

“Rare, but not impossible,” Jona says before his eyes shift to you. “Look, Y/n. There’s no promise of complete safety. You knew this when you signed up. We work with what we’ve got, so it’s better to just stop asking questions and breathe, got it?”

BANG, BANG, BANG!

“Please! Help me! I—I know someone’s in there! They’re gonna kill me!” the stranger screeches.

All of you wince at the sound of the man’s shouting, his fist against the door growing louder as it vibrates the surface. You can only stand in place as shock becomes evident on the rest of your coworkers’ faces. The tension in your chest grows as the hairs on your skin stand tall. Your heart erratically beats against your chest as your pulse throbs.

“T—they’re?” Aimi repeats, whispering to herself as her hands tremble. “There’s more people?”

Chieko exhales sharply. “They could’ve meant one person, Aimi. We need to relax and come up with an escape pla—!”

The sound was sickening—a roaring rev of a chainsaw, followed by the wet, meaty rip of flesh being pierced through interrupted her statement. It was grotesque, the impact causing muffled gurgles and ragged gasps to escape from the man outside as the relentless grind of metal cleaved through bone.

Suddenly, an eerie stillness settles over the store, a silence heavy with unspoken terror as you all stand, frozen in place.

“J—Jona,” Aimi stammered, fingers gliding against her cheeks as she reached for her hair. “I—I…”

As she trailed off, you swallowed hard, eyes flicking over to Chieko, who was quiet, aside from the shallow, ragged breaths escaping her lips.

Your breathing stopped as you heard a light tapping against the window.

“Oh, Y/n… We know you’re in there! Come out and play!” the male sang, the sound of metal clanking with the glass.

Your body freezes at the sound of your name.

What?

You felt a sudden pit in your stomach as all your coworkers’ gazes locked on you.

“You know them?” Jona questioned, his brows furrowing at your form.

You gasped, shaking your head. “N—no! No, I don’t know anyone aside from you guys!”

It’s the truth. You had only recently moved to Japan after studying the language. You hadn’t had any time to make friends, so it was impossible for anyone to have known you aside from your coworkers.

Before you could defend yourself any further, a crash echoed as the force slammed into the front glass wall, shattering it. You all instinctively ducked in response.

A loud thud landed on the floor, rolling a couple of times before the headless corpse limped on the ground, a ruddy puddle oozing from the gaping neck. You sucked in a sharp breath as you jolted back in quick panic. After hearing Aimi’s scream, your head shifted to her, breaths ragged as you eyed the pieces of glass embedded in her face. Her hands shook as her lips parted in horror.

“My face! My face!” she cried, hysterical as the tears fused with the crimson running down her face. Her fingers barely grazed the sharp pieces as you and Jona stared at her in disbelief.

Your head turned to see Chieko frozen, her form stiff as she trembled, her eyes wide open as she observed the open space of the entrance.

Jona cursed when both of you matched the direction of Chieko’s gaze.

A masked individual stepped over the pointed edge that stuck out from the foundation of the gaping space, the glass cracking underneath their boot. The white plastic concealed his identity, though his blonde-and-black strands draped over his shoulders. Your eyes shift to the metal bat they drag across the floor, your heart rate spiking once the bloody edge comes into view.

Its face was contorted into a somber expression, eyes squinted and nose sculpted to scrunch, while the mouth was drawn into a deep frown. Blood stained the fabric of his clothes, as well as the white of his mask. He stood in place as the rest of the group followed, stepping into the store as the sound of glass crackled.

Your eyes flicked to the man who held the crimson-stained chainsaw, his mask’s expression sculpted into an angry gaze. The mouth mimicked the first person’s shape, but the brows were furrowed. His wavy strands were a solid black, styled similarly to the individual standing next to him. A dry, ruddy substance streaked across his mask, fresh blood covering the majority of his clothes.

Another masked person appeared, slightly diagonal to the first male who entered. His mask was shaped into a theatrical, mischievous grin. His pink hair was pulled into a neatly combed ponytail, one strand flowing over the bloody plastic shield. His glove-covered fingers stretched around the handle of the stained katana.

The other masked individual chuckled. “Seriously? This is what you were guarding?” he questioned, his tone dripping with mockery as he slung the stained machete over his shoulder. His mask was that of a grimace, his purple hair styled in a mullet. He shoved one hand in his pocket as he looked around, blood splotching both his mask and clothing.

The taller man next to him stepped forward, a baton held in the same position as the former’s machete, though his thumb slightly tapped against the handle. His mask was sculpted into a wide smile, one of humor, as he tilted his head. His short, purple hair was slightly disheveled, his clothes streaked with crimson.

He clicked his tongue. “That’s what you thought would keep you safe?” the male drawled, a smirk evident in his tone. The edge of his baton pointed in the direction of Jona, who stood with caution, holding out his pocket knife. “How pathetic.”

“Enough talk,” the man with the chainsaw said, his tone slightly cocky but firm. “Let’s wreck this place already.”

A chuckle spread throughout the quiet room. “Let’s see how fast they can run,” the blonde-streaked male said.

Instantaneously, everything moved at a quick pace.

You immediately ducked your head as the brisk swing of the baton barely missed your head, the male having taken long strides toward you before you could escape your frozen state.

He chuckled. “Pesky little thing. I’ve been curious about you for a while, Y/n.”

You made eye contact through the mask, purple irises piercing your form before he swung again. You jumped out of the way, just in time for the end of his baton to crack the register, the device flipping over and falling against the counter with a noisy thud.

How does he know my name?

A scream caught your attention, your head shifting to the right where you saw Aimi attempt to make a run for the exit, only for the gloved hand to snatch her by the back of the collar, shoving her to the floor against the corpse. Just as the pink-haired man stepped over her, you rolled out of the direction the edge of the baton smacked, bouncing against the floor.

“I’m curious if you’re worth my time. I’ll see if you make it through the night,” he said, his tone dripping with sick amusement.

You stumbled as you lifted yourself up, just as your gaze switched to Jona, his hand holding up the knife as the purple-haired man walked toward him. “This is too funny,” he chuckled.

CLANK!

The loud sound that echoed throughout the room caught your attention as your gaze shifted to the left. You sucked in a sharp breath as you saw the finishing impact of Chieko’s head being forced to the side, blood splattering in the air as she landed on the ground. She groaned as the male lifted his bat, slamming the end of the metal against her skull over and over. The sickening crunch of the broken bone caused bile to burn your throat, a burning lump caught as you felt the tears prick your eyes.

This is really happening. We’re all gonna die.

“Chieko!” Jona screeched, though the distraction only caused his eventual demise.

I should’ve been more prepared. I should’ve known.

The ear-splitting rev of the chainsaw started up just as the masked male snuck behind the man holding the pocket knife, the metal piercing through his waist at an agonizingly slow pace. Jona’s lips released choked gasps as he stood in place, his head slowly turning toward you with his eyes wide open. You watched as crimson gushed down his chin, the sound of the drops from his cut torso splatting on the ground as his body split open.

Your fingers twitched as you moved, the edge of the baton grazing your shoulder as you jumped out of the path just in time, landing painfully on the messy ground. The palms of your hands slid against the liquid pooling around the area. Your head lifted in time to see the male with the katana place his foot on Aimi’s chest.

Her hands shook as she braced herself. “Please! Please, don’t kill me! I’m not ready to die!”

The man crouched over her, katana across his lap as he leaned against his knees. He brought his free hand to his mouth, index finger pressed against his lips as he shushed her.

“I’m doing you a favor, you know? With that ugly face of yours and all. You should be thanking me,” he mused, a grin evident behind the mask before he stood upright. His arms raised with both hands wrapped around the katana before he lifted the blade over his head.

You stumbled over the slick blood, picking yourself up just in time for the blade to slice through the head of your former coworker, the grotesque sound of flesh splitting meeting your ears. The man with the baton stared down at you while you ran for the gaping hole in the wall.

Before you could escape, your arm was yanked back, a tight curl of the male’s fingers holding you in a painful grip. “Where are you going? The fun’s just begun,” the male with the bat taunted.

He tossed you on the ground, your body landing with a thud before you scooted back, crimson spreading across your skin as you surpassed the corpses, eyeing the men whose attention was now placed on your trembling form.

Just as you attempt to pick yourself up, the male with the chainsaw in one hand crouched in front of you. Before you can stop your reflexes, you ball your hand into a fist before back-handing the man with an upward curvature, his mask flying off as the strap slides off his head.

Your breathing is ragged as you hear the whistles and snickering in the background, the black-haired male slowly facing you with piercing brown irises. His gaze is locked on you, expression contorted in an irritated and yet amused look. His free hand reached for the cheek you hit.

Your eyes goggled in recognition. “You—!”

The customer.

One of your regulars.

The only difference is that his hair is down and his glasses are vacant.

“B—Baji?”

He smirked. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said before his free hand shot to your throat, fingers curling tightly around the surface as you reached for his hand.

You attempt to peel his fingers off your throat, but he only tugged you upward to match his height as he stood upright. Your nails pierced his skin as you struggled to breathe.

This is it.

“You have any idea how long we’ve been waiting for this moment?” he said, his voice dripping with impatience and a wicked grin planted on his face.

He held you in place for a moment as his eyes flicked over your expression, the sharp gazes of all the men grazing into your skin as they studied you like predators observing their prey.

“Hey, Baji, how about we have a little fun?” The pink-haired man drawled, closing in on your space as he walked forward.

The black-haired man chuckled. “What do ya have in mind?” His grin widened as he stared at you.

You continued to struggle, your heart beating against your chest as your feet dangled in the air.

“A little chase, huh?” he purred, head tilting. “Sounds fun to me.”

“Oh shit, that sounds like a great idea!” the male with the bat said with enthusiasm. “Let’s give her a head start.”

The man with the grimace on his mask hummed. “Sounds fun enough,” he shrugged.

The man with the baton chuckled. “Let’s see how far this bunny can jump.”

Suddenly, your knees met with the hard surface of the floor as Baji leaned over you.

“You get a ten-second head start. If one of us catches you…” he paused as he leaned closer. “You’re mine.”

—𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.

wc: 1355

Your breathing is ragged as the platform of your shoes slams against the pavement. The night is surprisingly quiet aside from your heavy steps as you rush down the street.

“Please, please, please,” you plead to nothing as the breeze kisses your skin, the chill of the night causing goosebumps to rise from your hair follicles.

The adrenaline in your veins pumps as the heavy beating of your heart erratically thumps against your chest. There’s a tight constriction in the pit of your stomach and an ache that’s spreading throughout your calves.

—

Junior year rolls around and ohh has highschoolsweetheart!Eren changed.

You hear him before you see him—his voice cutting through the morning hum of students catching up after the summer break. It’s familiar, unmistakable, and yet, when you turn around, your breath catches in your throat.

Oh.

This was not the Eren Yeager you left behind in sophomore year.

Gone was the lanky boy who used to trip over his own feet during gym class, the one who wore those wrinkled short-sleeved button-downs with the same rotation of black skinny jeans and scuffed Converse. The Eren standing before you now was… different.

Taller. Broader. The summer had done something to him—his arms, his shoulders, his entire build had filled out in a way that made your brain short-circuit for a moment. His hair, once perpetually messy but in a boyish kind of way, had grown out just enough to curl at the ends. He still had that same wild energy, the same excitement in his eyes as he grinned at you, but there was something undeniably new about him. And he was pretty. Not that he wasn’t always attractive—he was, and you’d never denied it to yourself. But this? This was unfair.

“y/n!!” He reaches you in a few easy strides, completely oblivious to the way your brain is currently buffering. Before you can even react, he’s throwing an arm around your shoulders like it’s nothing, pulling you in for one of those classic Yeager side hugs, all warm and familiar and way too casual for the internal meltdown you’re having.

“Dude, I haven’t seen you all summer!” he exclaims, ruffling your hair in that annoying way he always does, like you’re still kids and he doesn’t look like he walked straight out of a teenage coming-of-age movie. “Why’d you ignore my texts? I was about to file a missing person report.”

You blink. He’s looking at you like he hasn’t changed at all, like he isn’t standing there all tall and golden, like he isn’t suddenly one of the hottest guys in school. And you? You’re still standing there like an idiot, trying to piece together a response.

“I— I was busy,” you manage to say, and it’s only half a lie. You had been busy, but you’d also needed space. Space to sort out the mess of feelings that being best friends with Eren Yeager had turned into over the years.

Eren, being Eren, doesn’t notice your internal crisis. “Pfft, busy. You mean ghosting me?” he teases, nudging your side. “I should’ve just shown up at your house.”

You scoff, regaining some of your composure as you roll your eyes. “Like my mom wouldn’t have loved that. She’s still convinced we’re secretly dating.”

Eren barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he tosses it back. “She’s been saying that since middle school. At this point, I think she’s just manifesting.”

Your heart lurches at his words, but you shove the feeling down. This is Eren. Your best friend. The same guy who used to perform Justin Bieber songs in the middle of the quad for you. He might look different now, but he’s still him. Even if the way people are starting to stare at him—at you two together—is making your stomach twist in a way you’re not quite ready to admit.

The first day of junior year had barely started, and yet, you already felt like you were walking through some alternate reality. Eren was still draped over you, arm slung around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world, completely oblivious to the way people were looking. Correction: the way people were looking at him. It was impossible to ignore. You could hear the whispers as you walked down the hallway together, the way heads turned when he passed.

You roll your eyes, scoffing as you nudge him off you, but the warmth of his arm lingers on your shoulder. “Yeah, well, she’s gonna have to give it up eventually. We’re not dating.” You don't know if you say it to convince yourself that there is no possibility it would become reality.

Eren grins like a bad little kid, his eyes glinting in that Eren Yeager way that usually spells trouble. “Not yet.”

Your heart does this annoying little skip in your chest, but you quickly shove him with more force this time, scowling to hide the smile that forms against your own will. “Shut up.”

He just laughs, dodging your next attack like the menace he is. “Damn, I missed you,” he grins, and there’s something about the way he says it—casual, easy, genuine—that makes your stomach flip. You hate how easily he gets under your skin. How he annoyingly burrowed his way into your heart.

Before you can retaliate, a group of girls passes by, whispering not-so-subtly behind their hands. You recognize some of them—volleyball girls, cheerleaders, a couple of girls from your English class—but they barely spare you a glance. Their eyes are all locked on Eren. And he knows it. The worst part? You know he knows it, too.

One of them, a tall blonde with perfectly curled hair, flashes him a bright smile. “Hey, Eren,” she says, twirling a strand around her finger like it's a damn high school movie. You're usually a girl's girl, but right now you were shooting daggers at her.

Eren, to his credit, doesn’t look phased. He just tilts his head, grinning in that annoying way that makes your blood boil. “Hey.”

That’s it. Hey. And yet, the girl giggles, and you want to die. It’s like some cruel joke. Last year, nobody would have given him a second glance. He was your Eren—goofy, loud, a little dorky, always getting himself into trouble. Now? Now he’s on the varsity football team, his arms are looking a little too good in that fitted black tee, and suddenly he’s the guy every girl is looking at.

You hate it. You don’t even know why you hate it, but you do.

Eren barely acknowledges them, turning back to you like nothing happened. “Anyway,” he says, slinging an arm over your shoulder again like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. “What class you got first?”

You shake yourself out of whatever weird haze you’re in, clearing your throat. “Uh—math. Mr. Moblit.” Your eyes scan over the salmon pink piece of paper that held your class schedule, and Eren leans in just a little too close to read it.

He groans, dramatically throwing his head back. “Ugh, lucky. I got stuck with Mr. Shadis.”

You snicker. “That sucks.” You can't help but smile when you see the same characteristics from Eren. Even if he did look fine ass hell, oh so different from last year, he still acted the same.

“I know, right?” He sighs, dropping his head onto your shoulder in fake despair. “If I fail, just know it’s because Shadis has it out for me.”

“You fail because you never pay attention,” you remind him. You've had plenty of classes with Eren, with him always sitting next to you. He would be doing anything but pay attention.

“Okay, but, like, who even uses calculus in real life?” Eren squints his eyes, and you can feel every little movement he does as his head rests on your shoulder.

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you for the second time, ignoring the way your skin tingles where his head was resting. “Come on, dummy. We’re gonna be late.”

He groans again but follows after you anyway, falling into step beside you like always. Like nothing’s changed. Except everything has changed. And you’re starting to realize you have no idea what to do about it.

Lunch rolls around, and you find yourself dragging your feet through the cafeteria, still processing the weirdness of the morning. You’re not sure what to make of Eren’s sudden glow-up—or the way your chest does this annoying little flutter every time he looks at you like nothing’s changed. All the effort of trying to get over your little crush on Eren was wiped clean, the boy really had a grip on your heart now.

You end up at your usual lunch table, the one you share with Ymir and Historia, Sasha too but she was going to the culinary club's welcome party because duh, Sasha isn't going to miss out on extra free food. The two of them are already sitting, bickering about something stupid, but the moment you drop into the seat next to them, it’s like they both sense something’s off. They can feel the energy radiating off of you, the look on your face when something is bothering you. Ymir eyes you with a raised brow, and Historia’s gaze flickers to the door, where Eren is walking in, looking effortlessly cool, chatting with Armin as they make their way toward your table.

“Oh, boy,” Ymir mutters under her breath. “You’ve got that look on your face. What’s going on with you and Yeager?”

"How do you know it's something between me and Eren?" You raise an eyebrow, a little frustrated that she knows you so well.

"It's always about Yeager," Ymir and Historia say in unison, giving you that look of obviousness.

You roll your eyes. “It’s nothing. We’re fine.” A deep sigh still escapes your lips as you open the bottle of apple juice your lunch came with.

“Mmmhmm,” Ymir hums skeptically, but she doesn’t push it. Historia, on the other hand, flashes you a concerned smile. Her brows perch up with sympathy.

“You sure? You’ve been acting… different.” Her voice is soft, almost too knowing, but it’s enough to make you squirm.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” you say, the words coming out a little sharper than you intended. But it’s not like they’re wrong. You have been acting weird. And it’s all because of Eren, damn that boy.

Your thoughts are cut short as Eren plops down next to you, his familiar arm slinging around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yo! What’s up, guys?” His voice is as loud and cheerful as always, but there’s something in the way his eyes linger on you that makes your stomach twist. Ymir raises an eyebrow, but Eren doesn’t seem to notice. Historia’s gaze flits between you two, but she stays quiet, focusing on her lunch.

“Hey, y/n,” Eren says, his voice a little softer now, and you feel your heart race. “You doing okay?” Your eyes flicker to him, seeing his pretty face in a concerned look as he stares at the side of your internally panicked face. It's enough to make your insides ache, enough to make your heart beat a thousand times faster.

“Yeah, just… tired,” you reply, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal, even though your mind is anything but calm.

“You sure?” His expression softens, and for a second, it’s like the world fades out, leaving just the two of you. His hand, warm against your back, feels like it’s burning right through your shirt. “You don’t look fine.”

You can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks. “I’m fine, really.”

Eren nods but doesn’t look convinced. He leans in a little, lowering his voice so only you can hear, “If you say so. Just know, if you need anything, I’ve got your back, yeah?”

Your heart stutters at his words, the genuine concern in his voice tugging at something deep inside you. But the moment is interrupted by the loud cackle of a voice from across the table.

“You hear that, Historia?” Ymir teases, her grin far too knowing. “Eren’s looking out for y/n. Makes me wonder if you’ve got competition, huh?”

Eren laughs, unbothered, and flicks Ymir’s ear. “Shut up, Ymir. You know it’s just—” He looks at you for a moment, his grin faltering, then shrugs it off. “Just what we do. We're best friends. Nothing weird.”

You feel your heart drop a little, but you brush it off. “Right. Nothing weird.” It's almost as if you're trying to reassure yourself, which, let's be honest, you really were trying to. Trying to convince yourself that it's all in your head.

But the way Eren’s smiling at you, like he knows more than he’s letting on, makes your pulse race. His eyes linger a little too long, and you wonder if he’s trying to figure something out, too. The tension is palpable, thick enough that even Ymir and Historia seem to sense it. They share a glance, but neither of them says anything. Instead, Ymir kicks you under the table—hard enough to make you wince.

“Aye, stop thinking too much,” Ymir's expression says, clearly reading you like an open book. She doesn't even have to say anything for you to understand what she's trying to say “Just enjoy the moment. Eren’s not going anywhere.” And for the first time today, you almost believe her.

The conversation drifts as you try to settle back into the easy rhythm of lunch. But the moment is short lived. The clatter of trays and the loud chatter of students fills the air, and before you can catch your breath, a new wave of noise arrives.

Reiner, with his usual cocky grin, leads the pack of jocks toward your table. His broad frame and confident swagger draw attention the way Eren’s used to, but this time, you can’t help but notice the way the girls at nearby tables watch Reiner too. He’s got that easy, good-looking charm, but there's something about Eren that just hits different, even now, when the jocks are slowly taking over the cafeteria’s social pecking order.

“Yo, Yeager!” Reiner calls, leaning over the back of your seat, making you jump in surprise. “You ditching us for the weirdos?”

Eren’s arm drops from your shoulders as he shifts his attention to Reiner, but not without a small, teasing grin. “If you’re calling them weirdos, I think you’ve got the wrong table, man.”

A few of the other guys laugh, though it’s more because it’s Eren, and he’s got that goofy, unpredictable humor. The girls now huddled around your table all stand up a little straighter, their eyes darting toward Eren, and you feel a sudden, sharp pang of frustration deep in your chest. You try to ignore it, to keep the casual mask in place, but something’s different now. The subtle tension between Eren and you—it’s like it’s palpable to everyone but the two of you.

Reiner, not one to let Eren off easy, takes a seat beside him, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Come on, man, we’ve got practice in an hour. I’m dragging you back, and we’re gonna talk strategy, not... whatever this is.” His eyes flick over to you, and you swear you catch a hint of amusement in them. It’s like he knows something you don’t.

Eren glances back at you, his expression a little unsure, like he’s debating whether to stay or go. For a brief moment, his eyes soften, but then, in typical Eren fashion, he shrugs and grins, looking more at ease than you feel. A part of you hopes he'll choose to stay, just to reassure you that things really didn't change.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go. But only because you’re begging.” He stands up, brushing his hands off as if he’s wiping away the conversation, like he doesn’t even see the way your heart drops when he stands a little too far away from you now.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words get stuck. All that leaves your mouth is a disappointed huff of a breath. Eren turns back toward you, like he’s about to say something, but then his attention shifts to the group of jocks calling him over.

“Later, y/n!” he calls, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder. “Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

You’re left frozen, your hand still halfway raised as you force a smile, though it feels more like a grimace. Reiner slaps Eren’s back in that overly friendly way he always does, and Eren just laughs, falling into step with him as they make their way to the other side of the cafeteria. You hate the way your stomach twists watching them go. It’s like they’re speaking an entirely different language—one you’re not part of. The table around you is quieter now. Historia looks at you, her expression sympathetic, but Ymir—well, she looks way too smug for your liking.

“Wanna talk about it?” Ymir teases, but it’s not unkind.

You sigh, dropping your gaze to your lunch. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Uh huh,” Ymir replies, that knowing smirk still lingering on her lips. “I’m pretty sure Eren’s just trying to keep his cool in front of the jocks. You’ve seen the way he’s been around you lately. He likes you, trust me.”

You frown, not sure how to respond. Eren might be acting like nothing’s changed, but everything has changed. And the worst part? You’re not sure if he even knows it yet.

“Don’t worry,” Historia sympathetically adds, her tone reassuring. “He’ll figure it out eventually. You’ll figure it out.”

You give a noncommittal hum, not sure if you're ready to figure anything out just yet. But as you glance across the room, watching Eren laugh with Reiner and the others, you can't shake the feeling that something’s coming. Something big. Some type of shift. You spend the rest of lunch pushing food around your tray, pretending not to notice the way your eyes keep flickering toward the jock table.

Eren looks good—annoyingly, frustratingly good. He’s leaned back in his chair, laughing at something Jean said, that lazy grin plastered across his face like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. His long fingers drum absentmindedly against the table, and when one of the cheerleaders—Annie’s friend Hitch, you think—leans in to whisper something to him, your stomach twists.

You snap your gaze away, cursing yourself. Why are you even watching? You’re not his girlfriend. You’re his best friend. And best friends do not sit there like jealous exes just because other girls are realizing what you’ve known for years—Eren Yeager is stupidly, effortlessly attractive.

“You’re making it too obvious.” Ymir’s voice is flat and teasing. You don’t even have to look at her to know she’s smirking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, shoving a bite of food into your mouth just to have something to do.

“Mm. Right. And I’m straight.” Ymir leans on her fist, watching you with open amusement. Historia sighs, nudging her in the ribs before giving you a softer look.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Historia offers, “he hasn’t actually looked at her once.”

Your eyes dart up before you can stop yourself, and— Historia’s right. Eren’s nodding along to something Reiner’s saying, but his gaze keeps drifting. He’s scanning the cafeteria, like he’s looking for something. Or someone. And then, just like that, his eyes find yours. For a second, time stutters.

Eren’s lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting to catch you staring, and for a fleeting moment, something flickers across his face. Something unsure. Something vulnerable. But then Reiner nudges him—too hard, probably on purpose—and Eren snaps out of it, laughing as he shoves him back. And just like that, the moment is gone. You exhale sharply, turning away. You hate this. The push and pull, the way he makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—there’s something more, only to act like nothing’s changed the next second. Maybe nothing has changed. Maybe the only thing different is you.

“You should talk to him,” Historia says gently.

You scoff, picking at your food. “And say what? ‘Hey, Eren, just wondering if you’ve realized you’re hot yet and if that means you’re too good for me now?’”

Ymir cackles, hands drumming on the lunch table as she childishly kicks her feet. “I mean, I would pay to see you say that to his face.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “This is a nightmare. It's never been this complicated with Eren before.” It had always been complicated, but not this complicated.

Historia opens her mouth to say something else, but before she can, the cafeteria doors swing open, and the familiar screech of a whistle pierces the air.

“Football team! Practice starts now!” Coach Smith stands at the entrance, arms crossed, his stoic expression already promising death if they don’t get to moving. The jock table groans, but they all start standing, grabbing their trays. Eren stretches as he gets up, his shirt riding up just enough to show a hint of skin, and you swear you hear one of the volleyball girls sigh dreamily. You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.

Eren turns, catching your expression, and grins. “What’s that look for?”

You school your face into something neutral, a deadpan almost. “Nothing. Just wondering if you’ll survive an entire practice without getting distracted by your fan club.”

He blinks, then laughs—like really laughs, loud and unfiltered. “Pfft, fan club? Yeah, right.”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, but then you stop. Because—he’s serious. He really doesn’t see it. All the stares, the whispers, the way girls—entire groups of them—are looking at him like he hung the damn moon. He doesn’t even notice. Eren’s still just Eren, in his own head. You should be relieved. Maybe you are. But mostly, you just feel confused and overwhelmed.

“Well, try not to get tackled into the ground,” you say instead, grabbing your drink to take a sip.

Eren grins, nudging you lightly as he starts to walk away. “Aw, you worried about me, y/n?”

The drink nearly chokes you, the cooing tone of his voice making you feel uneasy and bashful. “Not even a little.”

He just laughs, throwing one last lazy wave over his shoulder before jogging after Reiner and the rest of the team. And you? You watch him go, stomach twisting, hating the way his absence already feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.

The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows over the football field. The team is mid-drill, running play after play under the sharp bark of Coach Smith. Eren is breathless, sweat slicking his skin, but his mind isn’t really in it. Not fully, anyway.

Because you’re sitting on the bleachers, and you’re laughing at something Historia just said, and it’s distracting as hell. His gaze keeps flickering toward the bleachers, toward where you’re sitting with your friends. You look relaxed, leaning back with one knee pulled up. He can’t hear a word from this far, but that doesn’t matter. He knows your expressions by heart—every little eye roll, every laugh, the way your lips purse when you’re pretending to be annoyed but aren’t really.

He’s staring again.

“Yeager! Focus!” The loud shout of Coach Smith jolts him out of his trance, but it’s too late. Whooosh.

Eren barely ducks in time to avoid a pass he wasn’t paying attention to. Jean groans in exasperation, throwing his head back and smacking his hands on his pads. “Dude, wake up! What the hell are you even looking at?”

Eren shakes his head quickly, clearing his throat. “Nothing,” he lies, trying to mask the way his heartbeat kicks up. Grabbing the football that he failed to catch, slackly tossing it back to Jean.

Jean, of course, is already following his gaze, his eyes landing exactly where Eren doesn’t want them to. The smirk that stretches across Jean’s face is almost unbearable. “Right. Nothing.”

Eren scowls, shoving Jean as he jogs past. But before he can settle back into formation, something shifts near the bleachers—movement that immediately snags his attention. Someone’s walking up to you. Eren’s brows furrow as he squints. The guy is tall, lanky, his bright red hair messy in a way that seems purposefully unkempt. He’s wearing a ripped band tee, chains dangling from his jeans, and—oh, great. Floch Forster.

The guy moves with a swagger that makes Eren’s teeth grind. Ripped jeans, faded punk band tee, chains dangling from his belt loops—he looks like he just crawled out of a basement concert. Floch has always been a talker, a surprisingly smooth one at that, and judging by the way he leans in, he’s in full flirt mode. Eren watches, growing tenser by the second. He expects you to roll your eyes, wave him off, something. But you don’t. You tilt your head slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips. Why aren’t you moving away? Eren’s jaw tightens. Then Floch takes another step closer. That’s it.

Eren doesn’t even realize his feet are moving until Jean grabs his jersey. “Dude, where are you—?”

“I’ll be back,” Eren mutters, ripping himself free and jogging toward the bleachers before anyone can stop him.

You hadn’t expected company, least of all from Floch Forster. Historia had just nudged you, muttering something about incoming trouble, and before you could even react, there he was—Florian “Floch” Forster, king of misplaced confidence, leaning against the railing like he had all the time in the world. You don’t hate Floch. You don’t like him, either, but he’s harmless enough. He’s always been a little too flirty, but in a way that’s more for show than anything else.

“Well, well,” he drawls, his signature gaudy smirk already in place. “If it isn’t the prettiest girl in the bleachers.”

You exhale through your nose. “Oh, god.”

Floch grins, clearly unfazed. “What? That’s a genuine compliment. You’re breaking my heart here, y/n.” His tone is cocky, almost annoying.

You tilt your head, unimpressed. “Do you even have one?” A grin forms on your face, it felt kind of good to banter and maybe knock him down a peg.

“Oof.” He presses a dramatic hand to his chest, cheesing way too hard. “Harsh. But hey, I like a challenge. Y’know, if you ever wanna find out, I could show you—”

“You couldn’t,” you cut in. It's a little abrupt, shocks Historia a bit at the snappiness, but it just comes out.

Floch laughs, plopping down beside you with zero hesitation. “Alright, alright, I’ll cut to the chase.” He leans back on his palms, eyes flicking toward the football field before settling back on you. “How long are you gonna keep pretending your best friend isn’t in love with you?”

You choke on your drink, sitting up straighter now as you sputter a cough. “Excuse me?”

Floch just raises a brow, looking entirely too smug for your liking. “Come on, y/n. The guy stares at you like you hung the goddamn stars. It’s actually painful to watch.”

Your face burns, but you force a scoff. “You’re delusional.”

Floch shakes his head, watching your reaction closely. “Am I? He’s been in love with you since, what, forever? But the dude’s an idiot, so I get why you’re waiting. He’s probably still convinced you’re out of his league.” Out of his league?

Something about that statement makes your stomach clench. That’s not true. Right? Floch doesn’t miss the flicker of doubt in your eyes. His smirk stretches a little wider, sensing an opening.

“But y’know,” he continues, shifting closer, voice dropping just slightly, “if he’s not gonna make a move, maybe you should let someone else have a shot.”

Your lips part, caught off guard. “What?”

Floch leans in just enough for the air between you to thin, to start smelling like his axe cologne. “I’m just saying,” he murmurs. “Maybe you should let someone who actually sees you take you out sometime.”

Oh, you think, heartbeat stuttering slightly. Although your mind was still half focused on what he said about Eren. Before you can formulate a response, something shifts in the air—sharp and tense.

“Oh, hell no.”

The voice is unmistakable. Your head snaps up just in time to see Eren—sweaty, breathless, and looking pissed—hopping the railing in one effortless motion.

Floch doesn’t move. He just smirks. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Eren doesn’t respond, his fists clenching at his sides. His green eyes—usually filled with something bright, warm—are now dark with irritation.

“What the hell are you doing here, Forster?”

Floch tilts his head, all mock innocence. “Relax, man. Just having a friendly conversation.”

Eren’s jaw ticks. “Yeah? Well, have it somewhere else.”

The tension is thick, electric with an almost uncomfortable tension. You glance between them, unsure if you should intervene. Maybe you should, but all you can do is look up at Eren. The way some strands of hair stick to his forehead, the way his thick brows are furrowed. The way he almost seems territorial over you.

Floch exhales, shaking his head like this is all some kind of joke. He shifts his gaze back to you. “Really? You’re just gonna let him chase me off like that?”

You hesitate. And that hesitation is all Floch needs.

He incredulously chuckles under his breath, standing up and dusting himself off. “Man,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Eren’s jaw tightens. “See what?”

Floch flashes one last cynical smirk before turning to leave. “Nothing, man. Nothing at all.”

And just like that, he’s gone, his chains jingling as he strolls down the metal steps like he hadn’t just stirred up a storm. The silence he leaves behind is suffocating.

You exhale, crossing your arms as you finally shake out of your daze. “That was so unnecessary.”

Eren scoffs, finally looking at you. “He’s a dick.”

You narrow your eyes. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Eren looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a split second, something unreadable flickers behind his eyes. His lips part like he wants to say something—something important—but instead, he just shakes his head.

“Forget it.”

And with that, he turns, hopping back over the railing and jogging toward the field without a second glance. But you know better. It wasn’t nothing. And now, you don’t know what to do about it.

Eren doesn’t look at you for the rest of practice. Not once. It’s infuriating. From your spot on the bleachers, you watch as he throws himself back into drills like he’s got something to prove, pushing harder than necessary, muscles taut with tension. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed in concentration—but you know him. You know when he’s actually focused and when he’s just using the game as an excuse to run from something. You also know what—or who—he’s running from.

You exhale, frustrated. It’s not like you wanted Floch’s attention. Hell, you would’ve been fine never speaking to him again. But Eren had stormed over like he owned you, like it was his problem to handle, and now he won’t even look at you? It was all too confusing.

Eren misses a catch from Bertholdt, taking off his helmet and throwing it to the ground with an audible 'fuck!' that echoed around the football field. Running a hand through his sweat drenched hair, the frustration in his face is super evident.

Historia, sitting beside you, hums in amusement. “That was deliciously messy,” she murmurs, sipping from her water bottle. "The whole situation. Possessive Eren, the little bicker, everything."

“It’s annoying.” A scoff leaves your lips and you can't help but stare at Eren with a confused and irritated expression.

“Oh, it’s both.”

Ymir snickers, her sunglass covered eyes looking at the way Eren is still pouting. “Dumbass is jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “He is not jealous.”

Ymir glances at you with an expression so patronizing you want to shove her off the bleachers. “Right. He just lost his entire mind over Floch flirting with you for no reason at all.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because—yeah. The thing is, Eren isn’t the jealous type. He’s never been possessive over you before, never given you any reason to think he cared about who talked to you. He’s always been the annoying one—flirting playfully, ruffling your hair, teasing you about your nonexistent love life like it was all some big joke. And maybe it was. Maybe he was just messing around, just playing into the dynamic you’d always had. But today felt different. And that scared you more than anything.

You wait for him by the locker room. It’s a stupid idea. You know it’s a stupid idea. You could’ve gone home, could’ve ignored the way your pulse has been pounding ever since practice ended, ever since he stormed off like you did something wrong. You could’ve pretended it didn’t bother you—the way he looked right through you for the rest of practice, the way his body went stiff when you so much as moved in his direction, the way he threw himself into drills like he was trying to hit something that wasn’t there.

But you’re still here. Waiting.

The late afternoon sun is sinking lower in the sky, drenching everything in a honey-gold glow. It should be pretty, peaceful even, but the knot in your stomach makes it hard to appreciate. The air is thick, humid from the lingering heat of the day, and your skin feels sticky, uncomfortable. The locker room door swings open in intervals, groups of players filtering out, laughing, talking about parties, weekend plans, things you can’t bring yourself to care about.

Then—finally—he steps out. Eren.

You feel his presence before you even see him, your body going still, your heart stuttering in your chest. He looks good. Unfairly so. His hoodie is loose over his shoulders, damp hair falling into his face, a few strands curling at the ends. His skin is still flushed from exertion, the glow of the sunset catching on the sharp lines of his jaw, the hollow of his throat where the collar of his hoodie has slipped down just enough. He’s effortlessly attractive, in a way that makes your stomach twist with something you don’t want to name.

He notices you immediately. Stops in his tracks. Something flickers across his face—something unreadable—but then it’s gone, replaced by a carefully neutral expression, like he wasn’t just throwing a damn fit over you and Floch thirty minutes ago.

Your arms cross tightly over your chest. “You ran off.”

Eren exhales, looking past you, jaw tight and thick brows furrowed. “Didn’t run.” His voice is flat, clipped. You know him too well to miss the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his shoulders are tense even though he’s trying to look casual.

You take a step closer. “Eren.”

His jaw ticks. “What?”

That’s all he says—short, sharp, like a blade cutting through the space between you. It makes irritation flare in your chest, a spark igniting beneath your ribs. He’s the one who lost his mind over nothing. He’s the one who got weird. And now he’s acting like you’re the problem?

You grit your teeth. “Are you seriously mad at me?”

His head snaps toward you so fast it nearly startles you. “Mad at you?” He lets out a dry, humorless scoff, running a hand through his hair, making the damp strands even messier. “I’m not—Jesus, y/n. I just don’t get why you were even entertaining that guy.”

Your stomach drops. The word entertaining rubs you the wrong way, makes your irritation flare into something hotter. “I wasn’t entertaining anyone,” you snap, voice tight.

Eren exhales sharply, shifting his weight like he’s trying to hold something back. “He was all over you.” yeah, he was dragging it.

Your lips press together. “And?”

His eyes darken, flickering with something upsetting, something raw. “And I didn’t like it.”

It’s barely above a whisper, but it slams into you like a physical force. Your breath catches. The words linger between you, heavy, charged with something neither of you can name but both of you can feel. Your heartbeat is erratic, hammering against your ribs. You’re staring at him, searching his face for answers, for clarity, for anything—but he’s already looking away, already forcing his expression into something unreadable, like he didn’t just say something that made your entire world shift on its axis.

He knows. You know he knows. And that terrifies both of you.

He inhales sharply, like he’s about to say something else—but then he stops himself. A muscle in his jaw twitches before he shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“No,” you say quickly, stepping forward, voice urgent, desperate. “Eren—”

But he’s already turning away. Already walking. And this time, you don’t try to stop him. Because the truth is—You’re just as scared as he is.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at the space he left behind. Minutes? Seconds? It feels longer than it probably is, but the weight in your chest doesn’t go away. You don’t get it. You’ve had arguments with Eren before. Dumb ones. Stupid ones. He’s annoyed you a million times, and you’ve annoyed him right back. But this? This hurts in a way you don’t know how to process.

Because it felt real. Because it felt like something cracked open between you—something undeniable. And because deep down, in the part of you that you’ve tried to shove away for years, you know the truth: You don’t want him to be okay with other guys flirting with you. You don’t want him to treat you the same way he treats every other girl. And if today proved anything—if the way he reacted, the way he looked at you was any sign—maybe he doesn’t want that either. Maybe he never did.

Eren’s hands are clenched into fists as he walks, barely registering the conversations around him. His heart is still pounding. His body is itching with leftover adrenaline, but it has nothing to do with practice. What the hell was that? His own words play back in his mind, over and over. "I didn’t like it." What the fuck was he thinking, saying that out loud?

He’s been reckless before. He’s flirted with you for years—always playfully, always in a way that he could pass off as a joke. But that? That wasn’t a joke. That was raw, unfiltered, stupid.

Because he can’t have you. Because you don’t see him that way. Because even if you did, he’s not good enough for you. You’re y/n. You’re his best friend. The girl who somehow makes everything in his life feel a little easier, a little lighter, just by being around. The girl he’s been in love with since he was old enough to understand what love is.

And you deserve someone better. Someone who isn’t just figuring out his place in the world. Someone who isn’t Eren Yeager—impulsive, reckless, always getting himself into trouble.

But even knowing that—Even knowing he should stop—He still turns around, just for a second, just to look back. Just to see if you’re still standing there. And when he sees you—arms crossed, head slightly bowed, looking like you’re caught up in your own spiral—It fucking kills him. Because if he wasn’t such a coward, he’d tell you the truth. That he doesn’t just like you. He’s yours. He’s always been yours. But it’s too late now. And it’s all his fault.

Tw- Stepcest, dubcon??, he’s really rough and mean, Megumi is 19, this is really dark!!! Not proofread

A/n this is a remake, you can find the og here

Stepbrother!Megumi and Stepdad!Toji taking turns stuffing your poor cunt with their sperm each night, it’s like an unspoken competition between father and son on who ruins your pussy and fucks you stupid and dumb the most. Whenever it’s Megumi’s turn the night after Toji, he’s so rough and aggressive with you, it’s as if he’s madman trying to destroy you. Gripping onto a fistful of your hair harshly from behind as he pounds your dumb little brains out, cursing and babbling to himself about how Toji could never fuck you and ruin your poor little cunny as good as he does.

He’d fuck orgasms after orgasms out of you, his mean tip grazing against your cervis every time he forces his cock back into you, it’s so sloppy the way you’re drooling into the sheets. He’d stick his thumb into your asshole while he’s fucking you from behind, telling you that’s he’s going to be the one to take your anal virginity, not knowing that Toji has already done that a longgg time ago, but you obviously can’t won’t tell him that.

He pounds you with so much lust and passion, pistoling his cock into that one spot inside of you that knew it had you seeing stars, soo hard over and over. He manhandles you so harshly without a care in the world like he’s trying to break you or something.

“Nobody can wreck this sloppy little pussy like I can sweetheart, not even my fucking dad got that? It’s alright if you don’t, I’ll just fuck it into your dumb little brains instead, you’ll surely get it then” his tone harsh and serious, sending shivers down your spine because you know he’s not joking. He’s so possessive over you. He lands a hard brutal slap on your ass cheek, making sure that it’s gonna leave his hand print branded on your ass for days so Toji can see.

Just This Once

Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, he gets lost in the sauce frfr, situationship… ish?, this man wants to RUN, disorganised attachment style (primarily avoidant), penis in vagina sex, teasing, edging (accidental), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Kakashi discovers that he has a breeding kink. It's kind of a spiritual experience.

Inspired by @rookie98writes's fic Leave It On

—

Kakashi isn’t used to the strange sort of domesticity that comes with being in a... whatever this is. It’s not quite a relationship. A situationship, maybe. He’d say it’s something more than friends-with-benefits, but the two of you aren’t really friends, either.  

You come together every now and then. That’s all. Like two passing ships in the night. 

So why is he standing in front of your stove, cooking dinner while you sort through the pile of unopened mail on your kitchen table? Why did he offer to water your plants while you were away? Why does he want to do anything for you? 

Kakashi knows what it’s like trying to play catch-up after some time away from home—two months, in your case. He’d knocked on your door a few minutes ago with the intention of returning your key, and he must have caught you right after you got back from the store if the two bags of groceries on your kitchen counter were any indication. 

You looked so dead on your feet that Kakashi took over from there, unprompted. But now, as he stirs the pot of flavourful soup simmering away on the stove, his mind sees fit to wander.  

What the hell is he doing?  

He’s getting too attached. That’s what he’s doing.  

It’s that time again—time to cut and run, just as he always does when things start to become complicated. Kakashi makes a habit of ending any potential connection before it can even start, because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He can’t get hurt if he never lets anyone in. It’s easier that way. 

“I need to schedule my injection,” you mutter to yourself as you read through one letter. Then you sigh and toss it back down onto the table, before you lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “We should probably get used to using condoms again until I can book an appointment.” 

Your birth control must be overdue, then.  

“Sure,” Kakashi answers, feigning unbothered. The two of you used condoms in the beginning, but after a particularly gruesome mission that nearly saw him home in a box, Kakashi stopped reaching for the bedside drawer, and you stopped asking him to.  

He should have known then that he was getting too attached. 

Still, it’s your body. Whatever you want. He’ll end things in the morning either way. 

As Kakashi samples a bit of the soup he’s minding on the stove, pausing for a moment to add a bit more salt, it suddenly sinks in – really sinks in – what could happen if the two of you aren’t careful.  

He could get you pregnant. 

A jolt of arousal shoots through him.

Kakashi doesn’t want children, not now, not ever, which is why it doesn’t make a lick of sense that such a thing would turn him on. He likes the idea of his seed taking root inside of you. He might even enjoy it, the imagery his mind conjures—you bent over for him, begging him to give you a baby, your pretty yukata hiked up around your waist…  

His clan crest embroidered on the back of it.  

Kakashi swears. Loudly.

You startle, looking over at him in alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he lies. Then he proceeds to play it off like he burned himself, but he isn’t fine. No, that single thought, that single fantasy, scares the complete and utter shit out of him—but it turns him on even more, and that’s so much worse.  

He’s already too attached. Way too fucking attached. 

—

Kakashi doesn’t do feelings. He has them, of course, much like any other person, but he doesn’t let them show very often, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them. He won’t say in so many words that he cares; instead, he shows you through his actions alone. 

His knees brush the underside of your thighs as he settles between your legs, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.  

What a vision you make, spread out for him like this.  

Your lamp had blown when you went to turn it on, leaving the streetlights to illuminate your features in a sickly hue of yellow-green. It isn’t romantic in the least, but he can’t help thinking that you’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment—maybe because it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this.  

The sight of you, so needy and wanting, fills his chest with something bittersweet.  

The tomoe of his sharingan spins lazily as he memorises the curves of your body, the muss of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest as you work to recover from your first orgasm of the night. His fingers are still tacky with your essence, and he smears the residual wetness over the head of his cock to make the entry a little easier. 

“You should wear a condom,” comes your breathy whisper, but you make no move to stop him. Your eyes almost seem to glow as you peer up at him in the dark, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. 

“Mm. Do you want me to?” 

His question hangs heavy in the air.  

The only things Kakashi can hear are your soft breaths and the sound of his own steady heartbeat, which quickens with every silent second that passes.  

You want to say no, he realises.  

He wants you to say no. 

“I like it better without,” you answer quietly, and the implication isn’t lost on him. Not when you look up at him with those big doe eyes, like you don’t know the risk. 

Because there is a risk, and he knows it. Kakashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night—wicked thoughts, terrible thoughts—thoughts of filling your fertile womb with his seed, thoughts of watching your belly grow round with his child, thoughts of seeing his clan sigil stamped between your shoulder blades like a mark of ownership. 

His.  

Against his better judgement, Kakashi does exactly what he shouldn’t do.  

He agrees.

“Just this once.”  

Just like he says every other time—except every other time, there hasn't been a risk.

Your coy little smile is what prompts him to lower down onto an arm and settle more of his weight on you. Kakashi dips his head to kiss you indulgently, savouring the taste of you, the feel of you beneath him. He kisses you like he hopes to convey just how much he missed you while you were gone, like you might be able to taste the unspoken words that linger in his mouth. 

He kisses you like he means it—and he does. That’s why he needs to go. 

As his tongue twines with yours, Kakashi fills you in a slow, beautiful glide that wrenches a whimper from your throat. 

He knows he should go easy on you, but he relishes in the rapid flutter of your walls as you struggle to adjust to him after so much time apart. A surge of masculine pride washes over him, tinged with a hint of guilt for stretching you open like this. He isn’t exactly small, after all, but you take him so well. 

To ease any potential discomfort, he smooths his hand up the soft skin of your thigh in a soothing caress, before he trails gentle, placating kisses along your jawline. “Is this okay?” Kakashi asks, voice low, only to be rewarded with a particularly strong contraction that makes his toes curl. 

“More than okay,” you sigh. 

As a test, he shifts his hips. When Kakashi hears your breath hitch, he knows that you can handle more.  

He starts slow, rocking into you sensually, but he already knows that he isn’t going to last. It’s been just as long for him, and you’re tighter than you’ve ever been.  

“God, Kakashi, you feel so good.”  

So do you. Kakashi sucks a bruise on your neck in response, if only to muffle the sound of his own pleasure when your perfect cunt clenches around him again.  

He needs to pace himself, or he’ll finish too soon—but then you ask him for more, and what else can he do but oblige you?

He speeds up, not overly so, just enough that both of you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of your lovemaking. The smell of your arousal permeates the air, and he’s tempted to have another taste. 

Later. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. “Did you miss me that much?” 

Maybe he’s reassurance-seeking – just a little – but your answering whine tells him what he already knows. 

He’ll miss this. He’ll miss you. That’s why he needs to go. 

“Stay with me,” you rasp. You’ve always been good at noticing when he’s stuck in his head, but right now, Kakashi can’t help but wonder if you’ve just read his thoughts. You see through him so easily. It’s one of the things he likes about you. 

“Sorry,” he says with genuine apology, leaning in to capture your lips again. You let out a pleased hum into his mouth and lift your thighs up a little higher—an offering, one he’s more than happy to accept, even if he doesn’t plan to reciprocate.  

It’s selfish, he knows. 

The new angle does something to him, or maybe it’s because he's well aware that it would be even easier to fill you up this way. He reaches deeper like this, and the tilt of your hips would perfectly hold his cum in place, increasing the chances that it’ll take. 

He wants it to take. 

Kakashi exhales a long, shaky breath. He shouldn’t want that as much as he does. He shouldn’t want it at all.  

“Close?”  

Yes, but he’s not going to tell you that. Kakashi pulls back to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him like he’s hung the moon. It makes his heart ache.  

He stamps it down. 

“I could be,” he teases lightly—a non-answer. “Are you?” 

When you open your mouth to respond, however, he snaps his hips forward suddenly to make you trip over your words. “I— shit,” you swear, and his eyes shine with silent laughter. Your own narrow playfully as you add, “I could be too, if you keep that up.”  

“Really?” 

To pick on you a little, Kakashi withdraws from your tight heat more slowly than he has all night, agonisingly slowly, until only the head of him remains inside; and then he lingers there, purposely, until the stirrings of impatience start to take you over.  

It’s cute, the frown you give him, the pout he sees beginning to form.  

“Don’t be mean,” you tell him sulkily. 

His lips tug up at the corners, revealing a hint of prominent canine. “Maa, I didn’t realise you were in a rush,” Kakashi drawls. “And here I wanted to take my time with you.”  

Before you can read too much into what he’s just said, he slams home. Hard.

Your startled gasp brings on a flicker of self-satisfaction deep within. Kakashi relishes in the knowledge that only he can make you feel like this—especially when he starts to fuck you in earnest, prompting you to fling your arms around his shoulders.  

“F-Fuck, Kakashi, oh my god—” 

“That’s it,” he encourages gently. “Hold onto me.” He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy.

You cling to him like your life depends on it, which brings about a funny feeling in his chest that he can’t quite shake—something warm and gooey and affectionate.  

Kakashi stamps that down, too, and traces the line of your neck with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin until you shiver. Seeing your throat so littered with love bites unearths something within him, something primal, that he’s always refused to name.

He likes seeing the marks he’s left on you. He wants them to mean something. He wants them to mean that you’re his. 

He’s too attached.  

To distract himself from what he intends to do in the morning, Kakashi picks up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh as he snaps his hips into yours, fast and rough, exactly how you want it.  

It doesn’t last long. He’s too worked up.  

Kakashi knows he’ll come before you do if he continues like this, but when he tries to slow down, you dig your heels insistently into his ass. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—” 

“I’ll have to pull out soon,” he says raggedly, even though the thought of finishing in you already has him ready to blow.

When Kakashi feels you lock your ankles behind him, he nearly does.  

“Come inside me,” you whine, your breath fanning hot over the shell of his ear.  

His thoughts screech to a halt. You want him to come inside you, knock you up— 

“Fuck,” he curses, stopping abruptly, buried all the way to the hilt. His cock throbs wildly, desperate for release, forcing him to tightly grip the the sheets above your head in order to stave it off. 

If he moves right now, he’s done for.  

When you make a quiet, frustrated sound deep in your throat and wiggle your hips, Kakashi barely manages to hang on. He can feel that tell-tale flutter inside of you, the one that indicates exactly how close you are, but he’s closer. His breaths come out in short, sharp pants as he tries to hold himself together.  

You finish first. Always. 

“Don’t be mean,” you say again, but you sound a little more petulant this time.  

Kakashi lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and presses a wet smack of a kiss just beneath your ear, making you giggle. “You like it when I’m mean.”  

“I like it when you’re nice,” you clap back, voice breathy. 

Kakashi hums knowingly. “All right. I can be nice.”  

Then he pulls back just enough to pepper your face with kisses, and you squeal in delight, though it soon tapers off into a moan when he starts to trail them down your throat, each one more sensual than the last. He palms one of your breasts, gently squeezing, tweaking a nipple— 

“Come on,” you whine, digging your heels into his ass a second time. 

He laughs softly at that. No more teasing. You want him to be nice.

You inhale sharply when Kakashi picks back up where he left off, this time with quick, shallow thrusts that target your g-spot. He smooths his hand down your side, savouring the softness of your skin, then he slides it in between your bodies to rub your clit in just the way you like—the way he remembers you like, because he’s too fucking attached. And sure enough, when your hips buck from the added sensation, he knows that it’s working for you. 

“If you—If you edge me again, I swear to god—” 

Upon hearing the indignation in your voice, Kakashi laughs softly. “I won’t.” 

Then he remembers that he won’t have a chance to edge you again. Not after tonight. 

His jaw tenses at the reminder. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, holding onto him, needing him, which pulls him right back into the present. “Come with me. Please?” 

Kakashi bites back a groan and slides in deeper, readying to do what his body craves. 

No. He can’t come with you. He’d have to finish inside in order for that to happen. 

And just like that, he’s back to teetering on the edge. The filth his mind conjures nearly proves to be his undoing—a vivid image of your tight, wet cunt wringing out every drop of his cum until it takes, tying you to him, making you need him. Making you his. The threat of it simmers under his skin, but it’s starting to feel more like a guarantee. 

Get her there, then pull out. 

Kakashi repeats those words in his head like a mantra, over and over, like it’ll ensure that he lasts, and it works—at least until you start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. You meet him at the perfect angle, sucking him deep on every stroke, allowing him to slide just beyond your cervix and into that spot that sends your voice into a fever pitch. 

A choked sob escapes you as you rake your nails down his back, leaving red lines in your wake. The sting of it only sends him higher, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder to prevent himself from blowing too soon. 

“Right there, Kakashi, right fucking there—” 

Right there, so deep within you that if he came right now— 

He groans when he imagines what would happen, and it all ends with his baby in your belly and his family crest on your back. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, yet he fucks into you with purpose, now—hard, deep, powerful thrusts that knock your headboard into the wall. 

Kakashi knows exactly what that purpose is. The primal part of his brain won’t let him forget it. 

“Yes, just like that, fuck me, make me fucking yours—” 

He kisses you to shut you up, because if he hears another syllable, he’s sure to fill you to the brim. It’s not a gentle kiss, not now. He holds your head in place with a firm grip on your jaw, shoves his tongue into your mouth to assert his control, and still, he recites his mantra. 

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then—  

You jerk your head away to gulp in a breath of fresh air, chest heaving from exertion, and Kakashi’s eyes sweep over your face for any sign of discomfort. What he finds is the opposite, and he drinks in the pleasured scrunch of your brows, the hazy flutter of your eyelids, the kiss-swollen state of your lips. 

Seeing your muscles tense and strain as you struggle to keep your eyes on his is one of the most intimate things he’s ever experienced.  

“Come inside me,” you beg, and he can hear the desperation there, see it written all over your pretty face. “I need it, I fucking need it, Kakashi, give me your cum—” 

“I’ll give it to you,” he chokes out. Anything for you. Anything you want. 

The way your fingers wrench into his hair belies a hunger that matches his own, and you drag him down for another kiss, messy and insistent, demanding that he make good on his promise to pump you full. He can feel the ripple of your inner walls as you come undone, feel the painfully tight squeeze of your legs around his waist, holding him there, ensuring that he stays; and never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed.  

He can’t pull out. Not now. Not when you’re so willing to milk him dry. 

Kakashi kisses you with everything that he is as he shoves himself impossibly deep inside of you, acting solely on instinct to drown your cervix in hot, sticky spend. He lets out a sound of pure male satisfaction that you eagerly swallow down, your tongue massaging his in tune with every erratic jerk of his hips as he empties himself inside of you, painting your insides white, marking you as his.  

It feels good. It feels right. 

He’s too attached. 

He doesn’t care. 

As he comes down from his high, all Kakashi can think about is how fucking risky it is, what he’s just done, which only ruins him more when the post-orgasm clarity finally hits. 

Why the hell did he do that?  

What the hell did he do?

Your thighs tremble and shake, a sign that he’s done his job well, though he feels no pride in it—just a growing sense of panic.  

He needs to go. He needs to go right now. Not tomorrow. Now. He needs to get the hell out of here and never look back, right fucking now.  

Then he hears your quiet sob, and his heart leaps into his throat. Kakashi jerks his head down to look at you, and when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, he actually does panic.  

“Did I— Shit,” he quickly pulls out to check on you, more attentive than he’s ever been, “Did I hurt you?” 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally hurt a woman during sex, but he really should have taken it easier on you. He probably went too deep and hit your cervix a little too hard. That’s what usually tends to happen. 

“No,” you sniffle. “I’m fine. I just... I really missed you.” 

Fuck. Don’t say that. You’ll make him want to stay.  

His eyes soften as they trail over your features – the colour of your irises, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips – and he gently smooths your tears away with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t hurt you?” 

You shake your head and offer him a watery smile. “I also came really, really hard,” you add matter-of-factly, and he huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s hormonal, then. “They’re happy tears, Kakashi. Calm down.” 

Teasing or not, someone telling him of all people to calm down is an otherworldly experience. The phrase lands strangely, and for the first time since he came to see you tonight, his thoughts quiet down to a dull background murmur. 

They’re happy tears, you said. 

You’re happy with him. 

He’s happy with you, too. He doesn’t want to go.  

You frown, then, and lean up onto your elbows to look at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”  

Kakashi can’t be sure what you see in his expression to warrant that sort of question, but the fight finally leaves him. He sits back on his heels and drags a hand down his face, feeling defeated for a reason he can’t explain.  

“I was just...” Happy, for a moment. Happy to be with you. “Worried,” he finishes lamely. He can’t look at you, not when he feels the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. 

You laugh and turn him back towards you, gently cupping the side of his face. “Okay. Well, I’m fine,” you pat his cheek in playful reprimand, “but I am leaking all over my clean sheets, and it’s your fault, so...”  

That draws his attention. When Kakashi sees the creamy mess spilling out of you, his flaccid cock twitches with interest even after he remembers why his stomach is in knots.  

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he says hoarsely, transfixed by the sight. 

He wants to do it again.  

He shouldn’t want to do it again. He feels fucking crazy for having done it once already, when the two of you aren’t even in a relationship, let alone in any way prepared for a child. But again? A second time? He’d have to be certifiably insane. 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, and Kakashi wonders how the hell you can possibly be taking it so in stride. He came a lot. There’s so much of it dripping out onto the sheets that it’s starting to create a small puddle under your ass, and there’s even more inside of you—a lot more, judging by how hard he came. 

It might take. It might seriously take, and you think it’s fine? 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him, and his eyes snap back up to yours. He’s in his head again, you mean. Then you chew your lip for a moment, hesitation evident, before you ask carefully, “You’ve been acting a little… off tonight. Is everything okay?”  

Every single one of his instincts is telling him to run. That’s where this conversation always leads, but he’s not ready for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

He swallows thickly. “I’m fine.” 

When you frown at him, skeptical, Kakashi shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.  

“Okay. I won’t pry. But, um, I’m here. You know. If you ever need to talk.” You say it a little awkwardly, like you aren’t sure if he’d be offended by the suggestion, and the worried crease between your brows only grows at whatever you see in his expression. “Or... Or not.” 

You laugh nervously, then, and shift away from him, only to wrinkle your nose when more of his cum oozes out of you.  

It’s cute. You’re cute. 

“You said it’s fine. Why?” The question leaves him before he even thinks it through, but it’s too late, now.  

“What?” 

This wasn’t the first time he’s come inside of you, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly the riskiest. “I finished inside. Why aren’t you more upset?” 

“What do you mean? You finish inside me all the—” Then you stop, and your brows shoot straight up onto your forehead. “Wait, is this because of my birth control?”  

“Well, it’s overdue, isn’t it?”  

You stare at him for a prolonged moment, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head. Then your nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me? You thought my birth control was overdue, and you still—” Scandalised, you slap him on the arm. “Kakashi!” 

Oh. Well. It must not be overdue yet, then. 

Of course you wouldn’t let him come inside if there was a chance that you might conceive. He’s a fucking idiot. 

“That’s so bad! What if you actually got me pregnant?” 

A lick of heat shoots up his spine upon hearing you give voice to what’s been on his mind all night. Kakashi stares at you, wide eyed, and blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.  

You study his face for a moment, before you purse your lips, looking a little troubled. Or pissed off. He can’t really tell. “I mean... Did you want to get me pregnant?” 

“No,” he rushes to say, his cheeks burning hot because yes, he did, but not for real.  “No. Not at all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and...”  

How the hell is he supposed to explain himself? Neither of you are exactly vanilla, you’ve explored a number of kinks together, but this is something else entirely. Then again, a breeding kink would make the most sense out of any, considering it stems from a biological urge to procreate. 

But would you even believe him if he said he only gets off to the fantasy of it, and not the reality? Because if a woman ever said that to him, he’d run away as fast as he could. 

A sly smile tugs at your lips, then, a knowing smile, and Kakashi quickly averts his eyes to the window, embarrassed. 

“You like it, don’t you?” you hum, seductively walking your fingers along his shoulders. “You like the idea of knocking me up.” 

Refusing to look at you, Kakashi clears his throat, trying to ignore the arousal that comes on from your suggestive tone, never mind the words you speak in it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“No?” The sheets rustle as you reposition yourself, and then, when your fingers delicately wrap around his cock, he inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek. “Then why are you so hard?”  

And he is, too. He’s already fully erect and ready for another round, and he knows that there’s no way to lie his way out of it anymore. As you start to work your hand over him in slow, sensual strokes, up and down, coaxing the answer out of him, his head drops back. 

“Because,” he rasps.  

The sheets shift again, and then you crawl into his lap. He welcomes you gladly, splaying his hand over your lower back to steady you, though he still can’t face you. He’s too embarrassed. 

“Because why?” you ask breathlessly. Kakashi lets out a pleasured sigh as you kiss and suck your way up the side of his neck, stroking him steadily, before you purr into his ear, “Because you want to give me a baby?” 

A soft sound of approval rips out of his throat, and his cock twitches into your palm. “Don’t—Don’t say that,” he pleads. 

“Hm? Why not?” 

To hell with it. No sense in hiding it anymore. “Because I might actually do it.” 

“Yeah?” Your teeth tug playfully at his earlobe before you pull back to look at him, and Kakashi finally wills himself to meet your sultry gaze, humiliated though he is. “You know,” you muse, “I don’t like condoms for a reason. Do you know why?” 

The breath leaves his lungs with a whoosh.

Oh, he should have known. You’re just as filthy as he is. Of course you’d have a breeding kink, too, though he’s exceedingly grateful that you’d kept it to yourself until now. You’ve never been shy about sharing the things you enjoy, which means you probably figured out how he’d react. That’s the only explanation. 

He likes that you understand him as well as you do. 

He likes you.

“I think I might be able to guess,” Kakashi says knowingly, a smile playing at his lips. When he leans in to kiss you again, all he can think is: maybe it’s not a bad thing to be too attached. 

—

Snippet #1:

“You said it was overdue,” Kakashi tells you. 

“No, I said I needed to make an appointment,” you correct, and he can see that you’re struggling not to laugh. “I still have, like, a week left on it. I just didn’t think I’d be able to get an appointment that soon. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.” 

While you cook breakfast for the two of you, Kakashi wraps his arms around your waist from behind and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue.  “And what if I don’t want to be careful?”  

He feels the shiver wrack your body, but then you do laugh at him. “Down, boy. Three rounds wasn’t enough for you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know...” Kakashi pulls you back against him, allowing you to feel the answer for yourself. “You tell me.” 

—

Snippet #2:

Kakashi hides his face in your pillow, feeling distinctly vulnerable without his mask. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, muffled. “I have a delicate constitution.” 

You cackle at his discomfort, like the cruel woman you are. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’m really, really curious.” Then you hum thoughtfully. “Do you want to know one of mine?” 

He shifts his head just enough to reveal one curious eye. 

You squirm a little, then, like you’re finally starting to realise exactly how embarrassing this is to talk about. “I, um...” A pause. “So, you know how...” Another pause, and you take a deep breath. “Okay. I like to imagine that I'm being used to—to repopulate a clan, I guess. Just, over and over. Lots of kids. But not for real.” 

He feels another jolt of arousal at your admission. 

Looks like you’re on the same page, then. 

Then Kakashi leans up onto his elbow to regard you properly, and then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to point out how closely that particular fantasy hits to home. 

That’s when you seem to realise who you’re talking to – the sole remaining member of a clan that could probably stand to be repopulated – and your eyes go wide, before you nearly trip over yourself to add, “It—It has nothing to do with your clan, specifically, Kakashi, it’s just—” 

“A fantasy,” he finishes for you, amused. 

 You worry your lip between your teeth and nod. 

“Well,” Kakashi says, considering his answer for a moment, “I might have imagined that, too. Specifically.” Then he gives you a roguish grin, intending to pay you back in kind for your teasing. “How many children do you think would be enough for my clan to be sufficiently repopulated, hm? I’m thinking eight.” 

Mortified, you bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god! Eight?” 

Payback’s a bitch. “Well, I was originally going to say ten, but—” 

When you squeal in embarrassment and yank the blankets over your head, Kakashi barely manages to stifle a laugh.  

—

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a hot minute, so your feedback would mean a lot - please let me know what you think :)

Happier than ever

Ex!Suna Rintarou x Singer! Reader SMAU!

Voleyball player Suna Rintarou and famous singer Miya Y/n did not end in good terms, what happens when Y/n’s career starts growing and they have to meet each other?

TW: Exes to lovers, angst a lot of angst, jealous!Suna, kinda insecure! Suna, heartbroken! Y/n, fluff at some point, humor

INTRODUCTION

cell mates | hell habitants

001- kiss on the lips

002-clinically insane

003-wattpad

004-fangirl

005

A/N: hello, its me again, im sorry i know i never finish the stories that i start, but im planning on continuing every story i haven’t finished, i just cant do much without wifi rn, for now enjoy!

ʚ⁺˖ ↠ blue

ᰔ pairings: dabi/touya todoroki x fem!reader ᰔ content/tags: mha spoilers, childhood pov, abusive childhoods, childhood crush, blood, allusions to self harm/suicide, explicit language, smut, kinda not really, its smutty talk, angst, allusions to s/a, power dynamics, time jump to when touya is like 26, creative liberties have been taken with the original story, set in the century 2400 ᰔ wc: 10.5k ᰔ a/n: so there is a bit of a weird timeline with this one. instead of touya dying at 13, I've made it he dies at 16 and the subsequent events are a lil delayed, in the manga he is 24 atm but here i have him as 26, please suspend your disbelief for a sec cause the amount of work ive put into this so it makes sense, i almost went crazy

March 10th 2460 Touya: aged nine You: aged eight (and three-quarters)

Breakfast is at five, lunch at twelve, and dinner at seven.

The clock hands tick over the first five graduations and onto the sixth, meaning it is six minutes past seven and dinner is late.

Lateness is not tolerated by the Todoroki clan.

No reason, whether it be big or small, would be accepted nor understood by the head of the family, and punishment for being tardy ranged from groundings to lectures and in the most severe cases, a beating. However, those parameters do not extend to said head, who you think to be more akin to that of a prison warden than a father.

You watch the housekeeper slide the last of the food onto the table and take another look at the clock.

7:08.

The table had been set, food diligently prepared and presented, plates piled high with greens and dripping meat, three different kinds of fish, an array of soups, and other liquid foods. Mrs Todoroki often had trouble eating, so instead opted for warm broths and hot teas, and they were all going cold while you waited for Mr Todoroki to come in from Touya’s nightly training. Saliva coats your tongue as you breathe in the heavenly scents wafting from the mountains of food, your stomach growling in protest at not being filled with the delicious smells.

Ten minutes pass and just before the eleventh has a chance to be observed, the sliding doors to the dining room whoosh open. With the ease and casualness of someone who is above the law of the household, Enji Todoroki strolls in followed closely behind by the eldest sibling.

Touya trails behind his father, movements sluggish and slow, his frail body slumped in exhaustion and what you would only later realise as terror. You can almost see the muck that weighs on his body, dripping off sharp bones in big flat globs of swamp green mud, seeping into the reeds of the tatami mats below. Fresh wounds litter his arms, blooms of dark red blood pock the sterile bandages that were hastily wrapped around his limbs. The stark white began at his wrists and climbed up and up his arms until they disappeared beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. You follow Touya, eyes lingering on his wounds as he sits down opposite you.

“Fuyumi. Is he-“ Your question is hushed, spoken from the corner of your mouth to avoid raising suspicion of the subject.

“He’s okay, we don’t talk about it.” Her answer comes in a rush, eyes darting towards her father like a prey animal watching their stalker.  “Just eat.” 

Fuyumi’s mouth pulls into a frown for a quick second before her attention moves to the food before her.

You nod, attention shifting from the boy across the table to the plate that had been prepared just for you. A small helping of meat and fish paired with a big serving of rice and vegetables, the nanny even going as far as to put it into a divider plate as though you were a toddler, but you thanked her regardless, smiling up at the haggard-looking woman as she nodded politely and moved onto tending to baby Shouto. The food only holds your attention for so long before you glance back up at Touya, watching as he cuts into his steak with the precision of a man far beyond his years. Each move slow and calculated; every shift of his arms or turn of his head deliberate and purposeful, small actions to avoid raising awareness of his person. Come to think of it, all the children, save for Shouto, moved like that. As if they were in constant apologetic states just for breathing, existing, and with their father you understand why, but it doesn’t stop you from staring at the boy before you.

"Stop looking. He doesn't like it when you stare." Fuyumi whispers, smacking her knee against yours.

"But it looks like it hurts." You whisper back, unable to look away from the red splotches on the white bandages.

You want to ask if he is okay. If he needs a doctor and who did that to him? Was it a bully at school? How was the school not getting involved if he was being bullied this bad?

"Fuyumi," Touya sneers from across the table. "Tell your friend to stop staring at me."

Unabashed hatred simmers in his blue eyes as his glare falls on you. Heat rises to your cheeks, stumbling out an apology, and vowing to never look at him again.

No one had ever looked at you like that. With such hatred and malice, you didn’t even know existed.

"He plays rough, always falling over at school," Mr. Todoroki’s voice booms throughout the room, so loud and sudden it is like a thunderclap on a clear day. "You've got to be more careful, Touya. What would people think if they saw you like this!"

The lack of care for his son’s well-being gives you pause mid-bite. The vegetables fall from your fork as goosebumps skitter along your skin.

What would people think if they saw you like this?

What would they think other than he had been in an accident? Is Touya’s broken body a regular occurrence that people would be so used to seeing that it would start to raise suspicion? Had he been hurt on purpose? Why would Mr. Todoroki say that? Did Mr. Todoroki do that to Touya?

Your attention is pulled outwardly as Natsuo starts to talk about his day, telling his mom and the housekeepers all about the latest games and toys at school, the newest edition of a card game you like captivates you and your thoughts are swept away from the strange boy across from you. 

Dinner ended as it always did.

Mr. Todoroki called the housekeeper over to deal with the mess and children as he retired to his office and Mrs Todoroki took her evening walk around the grounds of the estate. You can’t stay the night despite it being a Friday, you’re never allowed to stay the night. Fuyumi had stayed at yours plenty of times, your parents never saying no to another friend but never you at hers. You thanked both her parents and waved bye to her brother before the youngest housekeeper walked you home. That’s how every Friday night ended.

That routine had become a staple in your life, going on two years, before there was a change to the way of things.

------

July 1st 2362 Touya: aged eleven You: aged ten

The shift was subtle and gradual, like the way a house is warmed by a fire on a winter’s eve. Slow and steady, seeping into all corners of the once-frozen house until all you know is warmth and you can’t remember how the cold felt. That’s how you would describe Touya’s presence in your life. From the arctic interactions each Friday night at the dinner table to someone you would call a friend.

The first thaw of the ice wall that had formed around your friend’s brother, was an accident.

Knee deep in the heat of summer, you had rushed over after summer school, swimmers in your backpack and a dream of jumping into the fresh cold heaven that was the local pool. You had come looking for Fuyumi, hell-bent on getting your poor friend out of the stuffy old house and somewhere she could have fun without the risk of her dad making her or her siblings cry.

You had come to hate Mr Todoroki.

He hadn’t done anything to you personally to deserve the contempt you held towards your friend's dad but you had heard enough from Fuyumi. She had told you all the times he made her mom cry. How there would be arguing and then the sounds of breaking plates followed by her mom’s cries. Mrs. Todoroki never said anything was wrong, never alluded to anything other than a mild argument but there had to be something more, right? Adults didn’t cry over nothing!

“ ‘Yumi, let's go to the pool!” you call down the hall. “I’ll buy ice cream this time.”

The housekeeper had let you in, instructing that your friend was in her room finishing up some school work but after you checked her room and found no sign of her, you went looking.

That is how you found Touya.

Walking into the bathroom under the assumption you would find Feyumi, you are greeted with a situation you are not old enough to understand the severity of.

Touya slouched on the bathroom floor, surrounded by bloodied towels, unspooled bandages, and uncapped ointment tubes. A piece of gauze caught between his teeth as he attempts to bandage his bleeding hand.

He shouts at you to leave, his command broken as he hiccups around the sobs falling from him. Scorched skin covering the majority of his arms, fingers red and blistering as they shake.

That image sears into your brain. Imprinting itself onto your eyelids so that each time you fall asleep, you see Touya; broken and bloody.

There isn’t much you remember from that afternoon, only flashes and stills that live in the recesses of your mind.

The feel of the cold tiles on your exposed legs as you knelt before the once terrifying older boy who had never had a single nice thing to say to you.

The smell of salt and metal of his fresh blood.

The sound of Touya’s cries as you peeled incorrectly placed bandages off raw and exposed skin.

The acidic taste of bile in the back of your throat upon first laying eyes on the scene before you.

It had been too much for little you to comprehend so you just forgot most of it. Thrown it into a locked drawer in your mind and lost the key.

That was the beginning of the thaw, a gruesome and bloody beginning to a friendship that spanned years and ended just as horribly.

------

September 23rd 2463 Touya: aged twelve You: aged eleven

“So it's this really old movie that my mum used to watch” you explain as you click on the familiar title screen. “It’s about a girl who gets transported to this weird world and she has to solve some weird riddle to get out.”

Touya looks at you like you had grown a second head but accepts your weird movie recommendation. You sit down next to him, popcorn bucket jiggling as the couch sinks under your frame.

The beginning animation of Spirited Away starts and the familiar tune wraps around you like a warm hug. This was the movie you liked to watch whenever you felt sad, and you noticed Touya was a little sadder than normal these days so you offered to have a movie night. His siblings had all said yes but upon discovering that the movie was one from decades ago, backed out. So with just the two of you left, you sit in silence and watch as the beautiful world comes to life.

It’s a nice moment between the two of you, sharing something so personal with someone you would have never considered a friend and here the two of you were, watching a movie. Like friends!

“I’m gonna call you Chihiro cause all she does is cry and that’s all you do too,” Touya announces as the credits begin to roll.

“I do not!” you retort, slapping his arm lightly. “I cry a normal amount for a girl my age!”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Chihiro.”

------

February 14th 2464 Touya: aged thirteen You: aged twelve

Spring is only a month away yet it feels as if it were the middle of December.

The cold of winter had sunk its claws deep into the city and it seemed as if it did not have plans to let go of it anytime soon. Everyone in Tokyo bundled up against the frost that coated the wind but it wasn’t the cold that had your hands trembling as you gripped a single rose.

It was Valentine's Day and you were about to ask Touya to be yours.

The nerves that had built in your stomach had taken over your extremities. It was as if your entire body was a live wire that every so often touched an exposed pipe and jolted.

In the two years since the bathroom incident, you had grown closer to the oldest Todoroki, sparking a friendship that consisted of more than smiles and shy hellos across the dinner table. Phone calls and text messages were the daily, walking to school and home together was the new norm, all things that one would consider friendly but there was a part within your heart that was growing to like Touya a little more than a friend. You knew it was a crush, you weren’t a little kid anymore, but you also knew that he was unattainable for many reasons. One was that he was a sibling of a close friend and the other being that he was not someone who thought about life that way. There was no room for crushes in Touya’s world. There was only hero work. How to become a hero and then how to become the number one hero.

You had heard this speech a million times. His plans to surpass his father in the rank of heroes and become the ultimate symbol of peace. Heroes had no time for girlfriends, only villains.

But you had no plans of becoming a hero so there was no real reason you shouldn’t try, right? Your mom had bought you the flower this morning, picking up on the crush that you had developed on your friend and very excitedly pushed you to give Touya a gift.  

“What do I do with this?” Touya asks, confused as he takes the flower from your hands.

You had stopped halfway through the walk home and turned to your friend, eyes wide with fear, and shoved the bloom into his hands. Originally the plan was to hand it to him as you said goodbye for the afternoon but you were swiftly running out of ways to regulate your breathing to counteract the anxiety wreaking havoc in your stomach.

“It's for you” you answer, eyes trained on your shoes. 

“Me?” 

“Yes.”

“Are you asking me to be your valentine?” There is a pause. “Do you like me?”

Yes.

“No!” you lie, shouting the word even though you didn’t mean to. “I felt bad that you hadn’t gotten anything, so I got you something and there you go, it doesn’t mean I like you.”  

You hear footsteps, watching Touya’s shoes move closer to yours. “Just admit, you like me.” He teases. 

“I do not!” balling your fists, you stomp your foot. “I already told you why I got them now shut up before I take them back!” 

Another pause. 

“Thank you,” Touya says gently. “Even if it's just cause you felt bad for me” 

Spring had come early for Touya Todoroki.

------

June 28th 2466 Touya: aged fifteen You: aged fourteen

Romance had blossomed between the two of you, then wilted, then blossomed again, then wilted again.

Teenage hormones had been unleashing havoc on your friendship for the past year. One day you were fine and the next, barely speaking but it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

“You two just need some time apart and then you can talk about it, you guys will sort it out.” Your mother had cooed, stroking your hair back as you cried one afternoon after you and Touya had had a ruthless argument.

The topic of fighting was always the same. His insane need to overtake his father and prove him wrong. The need within him had turned insatiable. Morphing from a dream that would one day be achieved with dedication and hard work into something that was turning your best friend into a ravenous beast.

“You’re not listening to me. I need you to listen to me.” Touya shouts as you walk home together.

“I am. You’re just not making sense.” You roll your eyes at your friend, turning your attention away from the raving lunatic walking beside you.

“Why would your dad have it out for you? He’s your dad?”

Touya huffs and stops, hand wrapping around your wrist to pull you back.

“My dad isn’t like your dad. He doesn’t love me or any of us. He just wants us to be better than All Might.” His words are slow as if explaining something to a toddler. “He knows that I am more powerful than him and now he’s scared that I might beat him so he wants me to stop training.”

You groan out his name, annoyed at the constant conversation topic. “Your dad wants you to stop training because you keep hurting yourself. He has told you that a million times, he’s just trying to keep you safe.”

“If he wanted to keep me safe, he wouldn’t have let me train like this. This isn’t about me being safe, this is about me outranking my dad.”

“Touya-“

He continues his tirade. “Enji has realised that I am better than him and Shoto but he doesn’t want his loser son who can only use fire to become the number one hero. I don’t know why you’re on his side. Why can’t you be on my side for once?”

“I am on your side!” you shout, yanking your arm away from his grasp. “I’m always on your side, why do you always make it seem like everyone is against you!”

Touya’s mouth snaps shut at your sudden outburst.

“I can’t keep having this argument with you. I feel like you don’t even want to be my friend so you come up with this stupid stuff to push me away and if you want that, fine. Just tell me so I don’t have to listen to you anymore.” You huff and turn around, starting on your way home without your friend.

You don’t hear his footsteps follow you.

His apology comes in a text later that night.

I'm sorry, Chihiro. Can we still be friends?

------

October 19th 2466 Touya: aged fifteen You: aged fourteen “Can you promise me something?”  Touya’s words become mist in the mid-autumn night.

“Depends.”

You turn to face your friend, feeling the dew-soaked grass squish beneath your shoulders. Hidden behind the garden wall, lost within the shrubbery the two of you hid from the housekeepers who had been tasked with wrangling the children in for dinner. Touya had run first, taking off down the hall the second he heard the call of his name and you followed, unaware as to what you were running from but you followed him everywhere so why wouldn’t you now?

“Please don’t forget me.”

“Forget you?” your brows crinkle in confusion. “Why would I forget you? Are you going somewhere?”

Touya is still on his back, attention rapt on the stars twinkling above him.

“Just when we get older and go to different schools and things change, you know.” He sighs. “Just don’t forget me.”

You sit up, concern overtaking your confusion. Why was he talking about this stuff now? Your friend turns to look at you, mouth pulled down in a frown as tears line his cerulean eyes.

“I won't.” You shake your head, scooting closer across the grass and grab his cold hand, interlocking your fingers together, you squeeze and swear an oath. “I promise, I won’t ever forget you.”

November 24th 2367 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged fifteen

Nights come quicker in winter.

Which means less time spent with Touya.

But at least there is a little extra time when he walks you home on an evening.

It is a little awkward. Walking so close together but not actually touching aside from the occasional brush of fingers that sent your heart into a sprint. There is something unspoken between the two of you, something that teeters on the edge of romance but not something that you are both ready to dive into. It’s not like you are kids anymore, if you are going to date, it will be different than if you just liked each other. You will have to act like a girlfriend and not his friend and you didn’t know how to be a girlfriend. Was it any different than how you acted now? Plus, kissing and hand-holding. God, you want to kiss him.

You both stop at the gate of your house. The lights in the living room are on which means your parents are up waiting for you.

Touya drops your backpack at your feet.

There is a beat of stillness between the two of you, the tension rising with every second. You had not spoken a single word to each other the entire walk home and you don’t think you will even say goodbye. Touya offers you a tight smile and steps back, confirming your suspicions of a silent goodbye.

"Hey, I need to tell you something." You blurt out the words, not wanting him to leave just yet.

"Yeah?"

"I…umm," you stammer, slipping your hands into your jacket pockets. "I know it's your birthday in a few weeks, so I wanted to know what you want as a present."

"That's a question, Chihiro” Touya's mouth lifts at the corners. “You said you needed to tell me something."

“I got mixed up." You amend.

"You sure? There isn't anything you need to tell me?" Touya pushes, taking a step to close the gap.

"I'm sure. I just got confused" You nod, affirming your choice of words. “What do you want as a gift?”

"Hmm,” He pauses and takes a few more steps closer, lips pursed as if deep in thought. “Well, I want some of those cookies your mom makes." 

Touya stops a few feet from you, close enough for a hug but not close enough that it was weird. 

You laugh. "Really? That's it? You don't want a proper present?"

He nods. "Wrap it up, and it'll be a proper present.”

“Okay, cookies it is” You mirror his nod and smile. Your palms start to sweat, cheeks and ears begin to burn as you look up at your best friend.

“Any more questions?” 

You shake your head. “Nope, that’s all.” 

“Okay, well I’m gonna go 'cause I should have been home ten minutes ago but you are such a slow walker” he teases, bouncing up on his toes. 

“I-Um,” you stutter, unable to come up with a snappy comeback due to his proximity. “Go home before you get into trouble.” 

“I’m gonna.”

He makes no move to go.

Silence fills the gap.

“Ahh, well I’m going to go since-“

You’re interrupted by a soft kiss against your cheek. 

You still, unable to move at the realisation that Touya had just kissed you. 

“Okay, I’m going.” He announces and takes a step back. “I’ll see you on Monday?” 

You nod, raising a hand in goodbye as he starts back down the street.

“I hope you like me too, 'cause that kiss made me late and my dad’s gonna kill me!” he shouts back, already halfway down the street. 

“I do…like you…back” you shout awkwardly, feeling every inch of blood your body had flood into your cheeks. “Good luck. Hope your dad doesn't kill you!” 

------

November 30th 2467 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged fifteen

You speak at Touya’s funeral. 

The third speaker of the ceremony, having been urged on by Fuyumi and Natsuo despite your protests, and the one to close off the day before his ashes were taken home. You tried not to cry, bottom lip wobbling all day and you would have made it had you not been shoved on stage, microphone held to your face as you unfolded the crumpled sheet you had stuffed into the pocket of your coat.

The rest of the day was a blur as was the week,  then the month and only after six full months of grieving daily, crying god only knows how much, did you finally start to see the light at the top of the hole you had buried yourself in but unlike the times you and Touya would play together, his warm hand wasn’t there to help you back up.

------

January 4th 2477 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged twenty-five

You think about Touya Todoroki often.

How your best friend had been killed in some freak accident. How despite his father rushing into the flames to save his son, had come out unscathed yet all that was found was Touya’s jaw bone. It didn’t make sense and you had driven yourself crazy with theories surrounding his death. It was an accident, they had all said. Even if it was an accident, Enji Todoroki was not innocent.

You think about the kind of man Touya could have been if he had lived, what kind of hero he would have become. How he would save the day then turn and smile at his adoring fans, blue eyes blazing bright with pride. You often think about his eyes, remembering how they softened whenever he would smile at you, brighten as you offered half of whatever snack bar you had that day. You think about him enough that you think you’re going crazy when you look up into the eyes of a stranger and see Touya staring back at you.

"Touya?" you whisper as you stare at the strange man.

You had walked headfirst into their chest while crossing the dark street, ducking under awnings to avoid the winter rain. Hoping to cut ten minutes from your usual walk home, desperate to beat your roommate home and into the warm embrace of your apartment’s limited hot water, you took the risk of walking down the alley; what you weren’t hoping for was to bump into your best friend’s dead brother. There was no way it was him, maybe he was a distant Todoroki. Enji did seem like the type to spread it around so maybe a few illegitimate children were running around with the eyes of Endeavour.

His hand reaches out to grab your arm, nails digging into your exposed flesh. You want to wince, to cringe away from him but something within you is telling you to hold your ground. The stranger pulls you closer, all false bravado leaving you as you realise what’s about to happen. Your body tenses, hands uselessly curling into fists at your side.

"Who the fuck are you?" a harsh whisper cuts through the quiet patter of rain.

The hand your arm tightens when you take too long to respond. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” Your answer whooshes from you, all air leaving your body in a single sentence.

The stranger ducks his head to get closer to yours and you turn your face away, afraid to look into the face of the man who had the eyes of a long-lost love. This had to be some sort of joke, right? You were not about to be assaulted by a guy who had Touya’s eyes, there was no way the universe was that cruel.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to I’m sorry, please.” Hot tears roll over your cheeks, your bottom lip quivering as you fight the frown wanting to form. You were not above begging despite knowing it wouldn’t do any good, if there was some way to get out of this situation alive and unscathed, you were going to try it. 

“Hey,” the stranger calls to you, shaking you gently. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

Great, he’s playing mind games now. You’ve seen enough true crime to know that there are no good people left in the world, especially the ones who lurk in alleyways.

A cold hand reaches out and grips your chin, lifting your face to his. The gesture is intimate, gentle and familiar.

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it. I'm sorry, I-“You’re sobbing now. 

“Look at me” he interrupts, fingers tightening on your cheeks.

He repeats his order when your gaze doesn’t move.

You sniffle, blink back tears that refuse to stop coming, and focus your attention on the man before you.

“I’m not going to hurt you so stop crying,” his voice is soft.

The hand that was on your arm now cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that coat your cheeks. His skin is rough and warm, but there is a bite of something cold on his palm. He holds you with such tenderness you feel a tug at your heart not for any feelings towards the stranger but because you had never been held like this before. That a complete stranger who was probably a crazy psycho villain was holding you with the care you hold a baby animal with.

“I need you to stop crying and answer me, can you do that?” he asks, nodding as his thumb continues to brush over your cheek. 

You nod, taking in a shaky breath. 

“Good girl.” Heat floods your cheeks. “Now, why is a pretty girl like you walking alone at night?” he asks softly.

You blink up at him, surprised at the switch in demeanour. 

“I just finished work and this is shortcut.” you don’t have time to come up with an elaborate lie. “I’m really sorry about the whole name thing, you just look like a friend who died and I thought that maybe he wasn’t actually- I’m sorry” You feel the tears welling up again. 

“Well, he’s not me.” He sighs, removing his hands from your face. You kind of miss the warmth they had. “I’m sorry you lost someone, but I don’t think accusing strangers of being dead people is a good idea.”

You nod wordlessly, too stunned at his shift in tone to formulate a response. The man reaches up for the hood of your raincoat, pulling it over your head tight to shield you from the rain. 

“I need one more thing from you okay?” he asks, ducking his head to look into your eyes. “You gonna listen to me again?” 

“Okay.” Your voice shakes. 

“Don’t mention that name to anyone else, alright?” 

He waits for your nod and then releases your hood. “You’re such a good listener” The fact he is praising you has your heart spinning. Wasn’t he ready to attack you a few minutes ago?

“Now go home” he nods his head to the exit of the alleyway. You follow his nod and look back at the light-filled street. “And don’t walk down backstreets anymore, you could get hurt.” 

By the time you turn back to face him, he is already halfway down the alleyway arms raised in a farewell. You watch as he turns the corner and only when he is gone do you let yourself breathe. ------

March 6th 2477 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged twenty-five

"Let it go, dude," Natsuo sighs for the umpteenth time as he packs his books away. "You're lucky you didn't get hurt. He could have been a complete psycho."

Your friend is right and has been every other time you have brought up the strange man from the alley and you can tell by the way he shoves the textbooks into his backpack that his patience is running thin. Over the years, you had grown closer to Natsuo, looking at him like a little brother who you could force to hang out with and do things Fuyumi didn't want to. Unfortunately for him, he was the first person you called upon meeting the stranger (Knowing Fuyumi would have had a heart attack upon hearing about your encounter). Initially, Natsuo was concerned, terrified for your physical and mental wellbeing even going so far as to suggest letting his father know about the incident to launch a formal investigation but you were quick to shut that down. You hadn’t been hurt and the man didn’t seem to be skulking in alleyways to assault anyone so there is no reason you should get heroes involved.

"Dude, he looked so familiar! I know him," you press on, hands splayed on the library table as you lean in as if you were about to reveal a secret. "I think he was a childhood friend."

You had purposefully omitted the fact the stranger bore a striking resemblance to his dead brother or how his entire aura radiated familiarity and warmth something you only really felt from said brother.

Natsuo laughs and zips his bag closed. " 'Yumi was your only childhood friend."

"Fine, a neighbour, maybe I don't know, but I know him."

"Should I schedule you with my family psych, or will this fade by next month?" You frown at Natsu, sigh, and then give in to his pronounced lack of interest.

"I don't need to see anyone because I know I'm right," you start to pack up your things. "But, just for you, I won't mention it again."

------

May 17th 2477 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged twenty-five

You feel stupid.

Really fucking stupid.

So monumentally stupid with every single decision that has led you to this moment. Led you to stand before a thick metal door, the sliding peephole pulled back to allow the man guarding the entry a view as to who knocked like some girl scout. The box of cookies in your hands does nothing to evade that image.

“I have a meeting with…Dabi?” you look down at your phone, squinting at the blurry name on your screen then back to the man guarding whatever was in that building. “I think.”

You have no idea if you’re being set up. If the person you had been corresponding with was the infamous villain or just some poser but what you have deduced from your months long investigation is that you had in fact met Dabi in that alleyway so whether it was him or not you were about to meet, he is your only lead into finally figuring out what exactly happened to Touya

“You think?” You hear the smirk in his voice at the uncertainty in yours. “I think you might have the wrong door, sweetheart.”

It is the right door. The creepy encrypted message you received gave you this very location with the exact time to arrive. This was a giant risk on your behalf. Trusting strangers on the internet to give you accurate information as opposed to being lured into a trap for human trafficking but the need to know more about the mysterious man you had met weeks ago was gnawing at your insides so much that you were more need than person. The hunt had begun with a very broad search into Touya’s death and the records surrounding the tragedy before very quickly veering into villain records and archives. There was a small lead with a hospital admittance for an unidentified burn victim in a hospital a prefecture over from Tokyo but that went cold when the body of the patient was identified two weeks post mortem through dental records. You had all but given up when a weird email in your spam box caught your eye. It was from an unknown sender, hence the immediate spam allocation, and had nothing but a link to a chat site. There is no amount in the universe to quantify the stupidity in your subsequent actions from clicking the link to chatting with the stranger on the other side of the screen but they had the information you wanted and so you followed their instructions to a bookstore, then a bar and then finally an internet café where you logged into the already open discord chat that had the location of the final meeting point. You quickly snapped a picture of the chat before it disappeared and three days later, here you stand in a deserted alleyway surrounded by boarded-up doors and graffitied walls.

“This is the address I was given.” You explain, holding up the phone so the guy can get a look at the message. “I promise I'm not with the police or anything, I just have some questions for Dabi and I know that makes me sound like I’m a police officer but I’m not and I’ve been looking for him for weeks so please, let me in.”

Your mouth sets in a frown and despite wanting to look intimidating and rough, you know you look like a child pouting in an attempt to get more cake. “Please, I’ll give you some cookies if you want.” A shitty bribe but a bribe nonetheless.

The man snorts. “You really have cookies in that box?”

“Yes. Fresh and homemade made and some of them can be yours if you let me in” You wiggle the box.

There is a beat of silence then the sliding peephole slams shut.

Fuck.

You close your eyes, disappointed in the fact you had come so far only to be shut down by some guy behind a door. Maybe this was the universe stepping in and preventing you from getting killed or trafficked. Maybe you should let this whole thing go.

Just as the last of your hope leaves you, you hear the click of a lock and then the door is sliding open. The man who you had been speaking to not ten seconds ago stands before you, muscular tattooed arms crossed over his equally muscular chest.

“Choc chip?” he asks, eyes trained on the box in your hand.

You nod.

“Fine, come in” The man tilts his head in a gesture to welcome you in. “Leave some on the counter.”  

You nod again, your pace quick as you enter the building beyond the door.

The hallway is dim and damp, filled with cardboard and wooden crates stacked along the walls. The ceilings are high with exposed piping and hanging fluorescent bars that would have once lit up the entire walkway. Light bleeds beneath the many doors that line the hall, muted sounds following the flashes of colour that leak from the closed-off rooms. The smell is unpleasant, with mildew and mould growing along every available surface but what did you expect a dirty unoccupied building to smell like?

“Where’s the?” you turn to ask about the counter, but the man has disappeared. The door slides shut caging you in from the outside world, from an escape if need be. “Hello?” you call out and take a step back, dried leaves crunching beneath your feet.

Fuck. Fuck.

You turn on your heels, heading for the door you had stepped through a few seconds ago but are stopped by a familiar voice.

“Did you really bring me cookies?”

You whirl, fingers tightening on the box between them. “Yes, but if you don’t want them, it’s okay. I just thought that I might-“

You watch as the man you had met weeks before steps into the dim light. Breath catches in your throat as you are met with the face of the villain that has filled your screen for weeks now.

Dabi.

He is taller than you remember. Towering a full foot over you, his intimidating figure looms in the dim light. Your eyes follow the line of his scarred skin over his cheeks, down his neck, over exposed collarbones before disappearing beneath the neck of his shirt. Heat fills your face at your wandering gaze and you’re thankful for the lack of lighting.

“Who says I don’t want cookies?” Dabi smirks, taking a step out of the shadows.

“No one.” your answer is a broken stammer, earning a bemused snicker from your companion.

You take in a breath and square your shoulders. “I just don’t want to accuse you of anything.” A better delivery.

The villain hums and takes another step closer. “So, it is you then.”

Another foot closer, and when you don’t back away, one more. His steps are careful; small and reserved as if trying not to frighten you anymore than you already are. The routine is repeated, a hesitant dance of pushing proximity limits until he is less than a foot away. Blue eyes narrowed on you, brows furrowed in intrigue. Same blue as before. Same blue eyes as Touya.

His apprehension and fascination leave as quickly as it came, and you're left staring at a man who looks as if he wants nothing more to do with you.

“So, pretty girl, what can I do for you?” tone casual, pet name rolling off his tongue effortlessly. “You’ve gone through all this trouble to what?”

The thought of lying did cross your mind on your way over but you had already jumped through enough loops to get this meeting, you aren’t in the mood to play games and risk his irritation.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Dabi tilts his head to the side the way an animal does to hear better. There is something so unsettling about the he moves, something not entirely human.

“Talk about what, angel?” his eyes blaze blue as he notices the twitch in your lips at the byname. “About the league? About you? Me?”

“About you.”

Heat pools in your stomach at his affectionate pet name, embarrassment following suit. You should not be letting him get to you the way he is, but it could also be a good bargaining chip. If you couldn’t afford his services monetarily, physical payment would not be entirely painful.

“We can talk about me but first, I want to ask you something.”

“Sure.” The false confidence you had summoned before has not left you yet.

The insincerity of your act is palpable, but Dabi lets you go, lets you take this small win.

“How long did it take you to find me?” his question is genuine, interested in just how exclusive access to him is.

An exhausted sigh leaves your body at the mention of the time that you had put into locating him and his lips quirk at the gesture.

“Four months and 2 weeks, I think.”

An irrationally long time but there are questions that demanding answers.

“So, you’ve spent almost five months thinking about me?” he taunts.

Me. The emphasis on the pronoun doesn’t evade you but you don’t have time to dwell on his excitement.

“Yes. And now I’ve answered two of your questions, can I ask one?”

Dabi shrugs and reaches for the box in your hands. Rough fingers brush against the back of your hands, goosebumps skittering over your skin at the contact. He takes his time opening the small white box, bottom lip pulled between his teeth in contemplation at the contents before him and after a full minute of silent deliberation, does he pick one. Slender unscarred fingers dig into the box, fishing out the biggest and most chocolate filled treat.

“Did you make these?” Dabi holds up the choc chip cookie, inspecting the biscuit in the low light.

“That’s three questions now.” you announce as the unofficial score keeper. “and yes, I made them this morning.”

The making of the desserts had been a coping mechanism on your part. Too nervous to sit still but not so overstimulated you were willing to exercise to shake off the extra energy, you turned to an activity you hadn’t touched since university. The recipe was one you know by heart, having it gifted to you by your mother on your eighteenth birthday, you were free to think as your body worked through the motions. However, the purpose behind you baking said sweets was not entirely self-soothing.

Dabi nods and bites into the biscuit.

“I know you already said you don’t know the guy I mentioned when I first met you and I haven’t mentioned him to anyone again just like you asked me, and I figured with you being a villain, you might have connections that I don’t have and you can access more information as to what happened to him and I promise that I can pay. I’ll pay whatever you want but I don’t really have that much but I’ll pay in food, and that’s kinda why I brought some cookies to show that I can bake but that will only be a small amount because I’m good for a couple thousand-“ you reach into your back pocket to fish out your wallet. “I promise, I won't ever mention this to anyone, but I just really need your help, Dabi.” The juxtaposition of your pastel purple Kuromi wallet holding thousands of dollars as payment for a villain’s services almost makes you chuckle but the lack of recognition from your companion causes you to pocket the purse.

Dabi’s stare is unamused as he chews.

“Why is this guy so important to you?” he asks around a mouthful of chocolate. “You’re willing to blow thousands on some dead guy, not to mention you’ve risked your life coming here, so why is he so special?”

Your fingers curl into a fist, nails digging into your palm before you relax and answer.

“Because he died in a really weird way, and I need to know if there was anything I could have done to prevent it.”

“That’s a stupid reason.” Dabi spits out.

A frown tugs at your mouth.

“He’s dead. Who cares how he died and whether you could stop it or not.” He continues, rolling his eyes as your pout forms. “What’s the real reason you’re looking for answers? There’s something else.”

“It’s stupid.” You mutter, suddenly embarrassed at the reasoning for your investigation.

“Ohh, it can’t be that stupid if you’ve put all this effort in.” Dabi croons. “Come on, angel. You’ve gotta tell me why if I’m gonna do all this work looking for him.”

You take in a deep breath in hopes of smothering the tears that are threatening to spill but the lump sticking in your throat has other plans.

“Because he was my best friend and I loved him and I never got to say goodbye.” You sniff, nose starting to run as the tears build. “Please.”

Dabi stares at you.

“You made these?” the question comes out of left field.

You blink at the villain, unaware as to where he is taking the conversation but answer him nonetheless.

“Yes, I did. It’s stupid I know, bringing cookies as a bargaining chip but I-“

“Your mom’s cookies are better.”  Dabi interrupts.

My what? My mom?

“What?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry but your mom’s cookies will always be the best.”

Your jaw slackens as you stare at the man before you.

“My mother?”

“Yes. Your mom made better cookies and it’s not for lack of trying, yours are really good but they’ll never beat your moms.”

Is he fucking with you? Is this some elaborate psychological warfare that he enacted on all his victims? Are you about to die? How does he know about your mother’s cookies?

“Aww, don’t get upset Chihiro. I'm just being honest.”

The nickname rattles your soul.

Touya.

Before you can even register that you are moving, you have crossed the space between your bodies and swung at the villain.

Your clenched fist collides with his jaw, surprising him out of his teasing. Arms wrap around your waist as you collapse against the villain. Your knees break the fall, bones screaming out in pain as they slam into the concrete, and you brace for further impact but it never comes. There is a moment when you truly believe you are going to be killed, incinerated into nothing but ash for your assault but nothing happens and so you are left with no other choice but to get answers from the man under you. There is no clear choice as to why you chose violence, some primal part within you acting out of instinct. There isn’t enough time for you brain to catch up or even process that information that had been thrown at you. . In most high pressure situations, you would retreat inwards and carefully unpack each and every detail of the occurrence like you were a kid under a Christmas tree; not a package left untouched, but you don’t have that luxury in the current moment.

Hot fat tears stream down your face as you grip Dabi’s cheeks in your hand, his skin rough beneath your fingers.

“You’ve been alive this whole time?” you cry, fingers digging into the gaunt flesh and when no answer comes you ask again, the palm of your hand connecting6 with his cheek in a sharp slap. “You left me to think you were dead, but you’ve been alive?”

Below you, the villain stares up in disbelief. Eyes wide at the mad woman above him, screeching like a banshee let loose. His thin shirt is scrunched tightly between your fingers, pulling the material taunt against his body. You have no control over your actions, feral and bowing to your emotions. You watch as your hand slips to his neck, pushing at the base of his throat.

Finger wraps around your wrist, pulling your weight off his windpipe and then the world shifts.

You are flipped over as easily as a leaf in the wind. Now on your back, the dust that had been kicked up from the floor sticks in your lungs and you cough as you cry.

Dabi hovers above you. Legs on either side of your hips, hands pinning yours above your head preventing you from causing any more harm to him. You try to kick, to wrench your hands from his grasp, throw him off you with your hips but nothing. You fight back against your opponent, teeth gnashing as you desperately try to find purchase on skin but he has done this too many times before to leave anything to chance. All points of access to an injury on his behalf are sealed up, held high above you and there is nothing you can do to reach.

Your cries are loud and deep and aching. Air leaves you with each heaving sob and you fear you may never breathe again. Spit and tears mix in a hot mess across your cheeks and you would wipe away the mess if not for your hands held above.

“I hate you so much.” You seethe, teeth clenched as you breathe in. “I fucking hate you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You hear Dabi apologising over and over again.

A hand brushes over your forehead, then your cheeks, then your jaw.

“You left me.” You wail. “You left me there, all alone.”

Your chest heaves, air being gulped down as if you had been held underwater to the point of drowning and it felt like you had been. You had been held under for so many years and now you were getting a moment of air, and your brain could not process it. 

You take a few more breaths, calming the blood roaring in your ears and pounding heart and finally when your breathing returns to a semi-acceptable rhythm, do you finally acknowledge the man above you.

Dabi glides his palm along your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone before resting his fingers along the side of your neck.

“I’m so sorry.”

A frown pulls at the corners of his mouth.

There is no longer a villain before you. Dabi does not exist. The boy above you is Touya. Your Touya.

You knew it. You knew it was him all along.

“Is it really you?” your voice is hoarse from crying.

“If I answer, you need to promise to keep it a secret,” he whispers, free hand curling in the ends of your hair that lay splayed out beneath you.

“Promise.” You nod and hold out your pinkie the way you did so many times as children.

Touya interlocks his pinkie with yours.

Fresh tears prick at your eyes.

“Hi, Touya,” you whisper.

“Hi.” He whispers back, hand pulling away from yours to glide over your jaw and slot into the hair at the nape of your neck. “I missed you.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and pull his body against yours in a bone-crushing hug. A laugh leaves your friend as he loops his arm around the back of your neck, holding you close. You pull back, face now centimetres from him and wait for him to make the next move. Your body follows his breaths, following his lead just the way you would follow him all those years ago. A lump forms in your throat and you know you look insane; hair mused, cheeks flushed and soaked in tears, eyes still red and crying.

Touya closes the distance, mouth hovering above yours and you think he is going to kiss you but nothing comes.

“Did you really love me?”

A sob leaves you involuntarily.

“I loved you so much, you have no idea.” The truth spills from you. “I love you so much.”

At the confession, Touya kisses you.

His mouth is soft on yours in the gentlest of kisses, almost as if he was afraid that you would fall apart if he pushed any harder. You part your lips to test the waters and when Touya follows your lead opening his mouth against yours, you grip onto the shirt bunched up around his waist. He lets you lead, lets you take control and set the pace for the first few minutes. Following your moves and pressure against your body to not push you any more than you already had been but as you whimper beneath him, his demeanour shifts.

Fingers tighten in your hair and the hand that had been holding himself up comes to rest on your waist, slipping beneath your body to pull you closer to him. Your mouth opens wider beneath his and you feel his tongue trace your bottom lip before flicking into your mouth. Menthol and chocolate fill your senses and you scramble for more, hands gripping his face as you desperately try to get your fill of him; of Touya. The steel of the staples bites into your palm but you don’t care, don’t care what form you have him in, you have your Touya back.

You’re being lifted off the floor, hoisted to sit on his lap, feeling the entirety of his body against yours.

You pull away to stare at him, not believing this is happening and that at any moment you are going to wake up or snap out of your delusion.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Touya asks, eyes frantically searching for the reason you aren’t kissing him anymore.

Your chest constricts at his concern. The same sweet and caring boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

“I’m okay, I just-“You stroke his cheeks and he leans into your touch, inhaling a shaky breath. “I missed you so much. There was so much we didn’t get to do.”

He frowns and nuzzles further into your palm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want you to apologise, I just want..” You can’t form the words. Can’t articulate the need within you for him. All these years you’ve held a torch for your deceased best friend. All these years you could have had him with you and now that you do, you aren’t letting go. “I just want you.”

Touya’s frown deepens. “Even now?”  His thumbs stroke circles along your clothed skin.

You know he is referring to his crimes. All the bad he has done and probably will do. You do not care. You had long ago abandoned your hope in the heroes of society, having been granted a look into the past of the now top hero. There is nothing for you in that world, nothing on offer that could sway your feelings for the man below you.

“Even now, and tomorrow and the day after that and yesterday and the day before and the month before that” You smile, knowing you weren’t making sense but none of this made sense. “I never forgot about you.”

Touya’s eyebrows knit together in an expression you don’t know and for a moment you panic; worried you had crossed a line that you didn’t know existed. You want to apologise, take back the words that had so carelessly tumbled out but his grip on your body stops you.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he sighs, hands sliding up to press into the small of your back.

“Really?” you beam, unable to stifle the excitement that grows in you at his confession.

You are no longer an adult woman sitting in a dirty and dusty warehouse; you are fifteen and hearing your crush confess words you had been so desperately wishing to be spoken.

Your best friend’s fingers trailing over your spine pull you back to the present.

“Never for a single second,” he tests the waters and slips one hand under the hem of your shirt. “I never wanted to forget you.”

When no protest on your behalf comes, Touya slips his other hand beneath the material and begins to trace shapes into your skin.

“What did you think about?” your question is breathless, head beginning to swim as you feel heat bloom in your stomach.

Touya hums in thought, fingers beginning to climb your ribs. “Good things. Great things actually.” hands splay over the band of your bra. “some bad things but that isn’t important.”

Your thighs slip further apart at the implication; weight now fully resting atop his hips. There is no doubt that he can feel the heat from between your legs, the warmth that had begun to pool in the seam of your panties.

“Bad things?” you ask the question without knowing what kind of answer you would get. “I was nothing but nice to you, what bad things could you be thinking of?”

You feel his cock twitch at your innocence. Perfect.

Your answer comes in the form of an action. Touya leans forward and captures your mouth in a searing kiss. All teeth and tongue as his fingers pressed hard into your spine, holding you against his body as if you are a buoy and he is lost at sea. Your own hands begin to wander, sliding from where they came to rest on his neck, into the hair at the nape of his neck and as he digs his teeth into your bottom, you pull at the strands between your digits.

Touya pulls away, breathless.

“I always kept an eye on you, you know.” he pants, pushing your body away only enough to ogle you freely. “And I’ve gotta say you grew up so well.”

There are two thoughts that cross your mind in that spilt second. One: to bring up the fact he has kept you within his sighs for years, has been in the shadows of you life and how there is a part of you, not that big but enough to plant a seed of betrayal, that you can’t forgive him for that. Two: to throw caution to the wind and give into the part of you that aches for him.

The latter wins out.

“I did always think that Dabi was really handsome” you admit, an air of nonchalance in your words.

“Oh yeah? Even with all the new mods?”

“New mods?” you laugh. “Why do you make it sound like you’ve upgraded a game or something?”

Touya laughs with you.

“I’m serious,” vulnerability swims in his eyes as he looks up at you waiting for praise. “Do you really think that I’m still handsome?”

You nod and duck your head closer to his. “I still think you’re so handsome and you will always be handsome, which is really unfair.”

His lips are pressed against yours in a soft kiss. It's gentle and sweet, with no hint of the darkness lurking just below.

“Even after all these years how do you manage to make me so weak?” Touya pulls away to admire you.”You, my pretty girl, are my weakness.”

He tucks your hair behind your ears, holding your cheeks in his cupped hands and pulls you back in for a kiss and you melt into his touch at the possessive compliment.

“All these years, I never thought I’d get to talk to you again let alone touch you.” His mouth moves to your neck, pressing sloppy open-mouthed kisses against your skin. “but, fuck, have I thought about it.”

Your skin flushes at his confession.

His teeth sink into your neck, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to break the skin.

“Thought about kissing you like this” his words are slurred.

Slick begins to pool in your panties, the seam of your jeans dampening.

“Thought about having you in my lap, just the way you are and how good you’d feel on my cock.”

Your head swims at his words.

“When I saw you again for the first time a few years ago, it took everything in me to not walk up to you and kiss you right there and then.” He bites lower, nipping at your collarbone.

Rough hands make their way under your shirt, exploring the expanse of your back.

“Thought about holding you and kissing you and taking you home.” he bites again. “God, the amount of time I’ve spent imagining you under me or spread out just for me.” Breathing becomes hard. “All for me, just for me.” He chants your name as if it were a prayer.

You grind your hips over his, feeling his cock hard and aching beneath you. Touya groans against your throat, fingers digging into your skin. Hands begin to wander downwards until they find purchase on the buttons of his pants, stopping at the metal for approval from the man beneath you and when it comes in a rushed yes, please you flick open the clasp. Your movements are awkward and nervous, having never thought this would happen and you can tell Touya is just as jittery. His fingers dip under the waistband of your pants, toying with the soft elastic of the band. Your hands follow his and pull at the material, trying to pull it down but stop at the realisation there is no way you could do this and still look seductive.

“I’m trying really hard to make this hot, but I don’t think it’s gonna work.” You admit, giggling at the absurdity.

Touya shakes his head, removing his hands from your hips to hold your face again. “I don’t want to fuck you here.” He presses a kiss to your nose.

Before you can ask, he is answering.

“I’m not gonna have the first time I fuck you be on a dirty floor in a random building.” A kiss on your right cheek.

“But what if I want that?” you retort, hand reaching down between the two of you.

His breath catches as your fingers brush against his clothed cock.

“I know you want that,” he pulls your hand away and entwines your fingers. “and you know I do too,” A kiss to your left cheek. “But I had a plan back when we were younger,” he brings your hand to his lips. “and I’ve already had so much taken from us that I’m not letting our first time be taken too.”

Your heart squeezes. He really is the same boy you fell in love with.

“So as much as we both want it, please let me do this, okay?”

You pout, a habit you had formed long ago that usually got you what you wanted from him.

“Please, baby.” The pet name is a gut punch.

 You nod and hold up your pinkie.

“You promise?”

Touya grins wider than you had ever seen and entwines his finger with yours.

“I promise.”

May 17th 2477 Touya: aged twenty-six You: aged twenty-five

-------

ᰔ a/n: NOT PROOFREAD! ohmygosh, this was a long haul. I wrote it and then rewrote it and then rewrote it and so on and so forth till I got here. tiny TINY smut cause i didn’t wanna write a whole ass thing so I might do a one shot of it later. this exhausted me holy- also shout out to billie eilish lmao her entire new album helped me write this mainly chihiro, the greatest and blue but also harry styles' as it was and madds buckley's brother

What is your favorite genre in music?

men whimpering and moaning in my ears

I saw that the blue lock requests are open again (maybe?)

And...I'm just going to throw this here :

Threesome between Karasu/Otoya and reader. 🙏😔

they both drive me WILD thank u very much for this one

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, dubcon (they've been clubbing so all a lil drunk!), threesome, pet names (sweetheart, doll, baby etc.), cumming untouched, throat fucking/oral sex (m!receiving), vaginal sex, slight use of a vibrator, choking, dacryphilia, noncon photo taking! — lmk if i missed any!!

words: 1.6k

“I d-don’t do this often…” you whisper, barely able to speak as two pairs of lips decorate your exposed skin in blooming blue love bites. Your skin pimples over from the chill as the air hits the licks and laves left by desperate tongues. Eyes roll pathetically until your eyes are nothing but white, your vision succumbing to the pleasure of being groped and manhandled by not one but two men. You hadn’t expected what was intended to be an innocent night out with your friends to turn into this.

“Yeah? S’that right? You've had two guys bring ya home before, sweetheart?” Karasu smirks as his hands dip to the small of your back; ultimately deciding to wander in an instant to grip the globes of your ass.

His hands have you reeling as you struggle to decide whether his touch is rough or soft. Perhaps, calculated. He strategically grabs and pulls you closer, almost hypnotising you into raising your leg to wrap around his waist so he can carry you to your bedroom.

Your apartment is silent save for breathy whispers, eager panting and footsteps as Eita searches for your bedroom. His walking halts, a grin and soft chuckle escaping his lips as Karasu gently spreads your ass whilst he holds you. Your body flushes with heat instantly as your sticky pussy following suit and spreading open soon becomes the loudest sound in the fucking apartment.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think there was an echo. The sound repeating incessantly with the sole purpose of humiliating you. It’s dizzying, really, you can barely keep your thoughts aligned as it rings through your ears again and again.

“I meant I don’t bring guys home often,” you say, finally responding to his question in a bid to distract them from the obscene lewdity dampening between your thighs. “I’ve never done this.” you assure them.

“Pretty pussy is soaked already,” Eita smirks. “Where’s your room, gorgeous?”

You point before looking away in shame, your chin soon gently captured by Karasu as he somehow manages to hold your frame with one arm and carry you to where you had pointed. He plants his lips on yours, humiliation soon becoming a distant memory as your hips instinctively roll against the hard on you can feel stirring to life in his pants.

Eita doesn’t shy away from rummaging through your bedside cabinet, distracting you away from Tabito as your attention is piqued. You yelp, quickly, as you feel yourself thrown from him and onto the bed. He eyes you hungrily as he begins to undress, purposefully taking down button after button from his dress shirt. Eita looks over his shoulder with a smirk before he faces you fully, bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue massages yours, and you whine into his mouth pathetically.

“Do you have anything fun we can use to play with you, doll?” he asks, attaching his lips to yours soon after. “If you don’t bring guys back here often, ‘m sure you’ve got some pretty toys.”

You shake your head softly though your skin burns again as you think about your little makeup bag in the top drawer. You’re distracted, momentarily, as Karasu climbs over you again. His pants still on, but unfastened. The peak of his underwear beneath the material makes you all too aware of the sweat beading down your temple.

“T-There’s a bullet… in the glittery silver purse in the top drawer.” you confess, wrapping you arms around Tabito’s neck as you begin to make out once more. You moan into it, it’s so whiny and eager as he begins to rut his hardening cock into your dripping clothed mound.

“Is that all? No wonder you’re so cock hungry if that’s the best you have…” Eita says calmly but retrieves it anyway. You’re barely listening to him, too lost to the feeling of Tabito’s body against your own. He breaks away to dip his fingers beneath the material of your skirt, patience wearing thin as he yanks the black cotton panties from your aroused core.

“Looka that… you’re fucking drenched, sweetheart.” he smirks. He spreads your legs apart roughly and effortlessly moves your body so that his partner in crime can get a better view of your shimmering flesh.

Eita grins as he retrieves the powder blue bullet from the top drawer. Your skin feels electric as you’re put on display, Karasu keeps your legs pried open and your cunt pulses with each breath you take. He’s a tease, too, kissing your inner thighs and taunting you with the notion of placing his lips where you need them most. It’s torture, hearing them both chuckle and tease you as your hole drools more of your tantalising essence.

You wince, but are almost entirely silent as Eita’s heavy hand wraps around your delicate neck. He squeezes, carefully, pushing a button on the vibe until it whirrs loudly. He lowers it to your sex but too far away to feel any benefit. It’s hovering just shy of your clit while he squeezes your throat almost lovingly.

The way they’re both riling you up, you think the way the vibrations adjusting the air currents may be enough to make you cum. He pushes you down by your throat so that you’re flat against the mattress, and your body instinctively begins to jerk.

“Think she’s gonna cum… we’ve barely touched ya, darlin’. Your pretty cunts twitchin’.” Karasu announces. His lips travel up your body and his teeth bite into the seam of your skimpy crop top, pulling upwards until your breasts spill free. He kisses the soft skin before his teeth gently skim your peaked nipple. And, at that, you moan raucously. Otoya still hasn’t granted you the pleasure of the vibration pressed fully against your cunt, and Karasu decides to fuel to fire. His fingers delicately dance against your inner thigh and the crease.

“Fuck!” you cry, their torment becomes too much. You cum practically untouched, your pussy spasming and clenching around nothing as you whine in ecstasy. They both laugh, almost cruelly.

“Desperate little girl… ya really are cock hungry, huh?” Karasu reiterates. “Think we should give it t’her?” you recoil as his heavy palm slaps against your tremoring heat.

“Mmm, move her, want her head hanging over the mattress.” Eita commands. You’re moved with ease, your head lolling over the side of your bed as he looks down at you. Even upside down, you can see a wicked gleam in his eye. He throws his t-shirt over his head and unfastens his jeans. Your eyes almost cross as he reveals his own hardened length.

He's pretty.

Every inch of him is pretty.

He pumps it a few times, pearlescent pre leaking from his slit before he smears it across your lips like gloss. He smirks when you lick them, a sensual bite following soon after as the taste stirs your arousal.

“Dirty girl,” he says. With one hand, he guides his cock into your mouth before wrapping his palm around your throat. He begins to thrust, finally lowering the whizzing vibrator to your pulsating clit. “Ah, fuuuck.” he moans as he feels your throat hum around him.

“Hey,” you flinch as you feel Karasu slap your tits. “Don’t forget who’s gonna cream your pretty cunt, baby.” he says smugly as he guides his thick length to your clenching slot. He throws his head back, the tightness of your warmth hugging him is a sensation close enough to paradise he’d be happy to die right here and now.

“She’s such a little slut, swear she clenched when you said you were gonna fill her up.” Eita smirks, biting his lip as he feels your throat bulge from each roll of his hips. He withdraws his length, cooing as you sputter and drool as he allows your breathing to steady.

You’re almost sobbing, tears spilling from your eyes as Tabito begins to fuck into you furiously, the little toy barely contributing to the overall pleasure you feel.

“Gonna take it, aren’tcha baby? Gonna be my li’l cum whore.” he asks, fingers gripping into your sensitive skin as he continues railing you at a ruthless pace. And you nod, desperately, it’s all you can do as the heady feeling of bliss overwhelms you.

Otoya soon deprives you of your airways again, missing the feeling of your wet throat choking him.

Your body writhes as you feel another orgasm desperate to rip through you. Otoya has abandoned the pathetic little bullet in favour of his own pleasure, it’s all he was ever concerned about anyway.

Karasu moans, almost roaring as his primal instincts take over. He chases his release, and Eita does the same. They can’t help but laugh as you are the first to succumb to it, your little body spasming between them as you get off from being nothing more than their fuck toy.

You feel warm fill you at both ends, Karasu pants heavily as he withdraws his length and watches his seed spill from your cute little hole. Otoya grins as he hears you once again sputter around his length, he pulls away and can’t help but admire your absolutely ruined face as cum dribbles from your lips. Your mascara has smeared so beautifully, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more captivating sight.

“Wasted my cum, baby… at least you look cute.”

Instinctively, he pulls out his phone to take a picture of you. Karasu follows suit, taking a multitude of photos of your leaking hole.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. They’re jus’ for us.” Karasu assures you.

Eita squeezes your cheeks until your lips pucker, they’re so swollen and shiny from spit and cum, your little pout has aided to his favourite photo of the night.

“Good job, pretty girl… not through with you though. I want a turn with your slutty little cunt.”

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