Good Boy

ch2/ch4

summary: You’d sworn you didn’t want anything to do with your father, or with your family business. You’d left the country for college, and by the time you’d started your second year of grad school your old life felt like a distant untrustworthy memory.

So when he calls you in late November to tell you he’s dying, your carefully constructed boundaries crumble. You agree to come home for Christmas, on the condition that you help him sort out his will.

By the time your plane lands, it’s too late. He’s died under mysterious circumstances while your plane was in the air. Chaos ensues, when millions of dollars, thousands of weapons, and a thriving criminal enterprise are willed directly to you - and your husband.

Just one problem? You’re not married. Yet.

genre: fluff, smut, angst

cws - mafia tropes, guns, threats, violence(physical), yan!oikawa for plot reasons, blood mention, drug mentions, reader’s father is dead, and in this chapter we have his funeral and she eulogizes him. All characters in their mid twenties. f!reader. reader’s skin shows bruises(sorry couldn’t get around this for plot reasons), readers celebrated christmas as a child.

Ch 3: Kuroo I

There’s an awkwardness as the meeting breaks up, it’s clear you’ve never received so much male attention, from your averted gaze and nervously dancing hands. People resist the urge to walk right up to you, so you take Kuroo’s drink out of his hand and sip it. He shakes his head,

“Kitten,” he snatches the drink back, somehow not spilling it on his perfectly pressed suit, “I thought you were too pure to steal.”

“I’ve stolen things!” You retort, non crutch hand flying to your hip in protest.

“Ah,” You hear behind you. You turn and see Akaashi, an apology clear in his gunmetal eyes. “I’d love to borrow the lady.”

“I’m sure you would.” Kuroo smirks. “Lyvochka can babysit.” Lev stands, pouting a little.

“Being your bodyguard is actually a demotion, just so you know,” he mumbles to you and Kuroo just shakes his head and waves you off. You crutch forward, moving awkwardly through the private country club room over to the bar. Lev follows, but Akaashi helps you into a tall stool handing your crutch to the huge blonde, then sitting next to you.

“So,” he says, shifting his weight. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.” He gets the waiter's attention, ordering a round of drinks with a wave.

“How are you?” You say, and he furrows his brow.

“It’s odd, to have you ask me that.” He looks out the window for a moment. “I’m alright, I suppose. I’m quite worried about you.”

“Am I um,” you lean forward, “What do you think of Kuroo?”

“He’s certainly been a trusted ally over the last few years.” Akaashi muses. “But he’s a dangerous arms dealer, no matter how charming he might be, there’s blood on his hands.” You feel Lev stiffen.

“Akaashi,” you say quickly, quietly, “If um, if you still, I mean if you ever, you know, loved me, I need your help.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he takes both your hands, “Of course I’m going to help.” You look out over the room, nodding.

“I need to know what to do.” Your voice is a teakettles whisper, high pitched and pained. “And I’m so scared of um, of what could happen if I choose wrong.” He takes your good hand. “I need you to tell me what to-” he cuts you off by bushing your hair out of your face.

“This is not a place we can discuss it.” He leans in, so close to you that you can count the freckles on his nose. “You’re alright, he’s treating you alright?” You feel his hand brush your waist and something heavy drop into your pocket. You don’t react at all, just nodding.

“He’s been a gentleman mostly.” You shiver. “He’s a little honest, but I suppose, ah, that’s not a terrible thing in a husband.” Akaashi does a little head shake, surprised.

“You’re thinking of picking him?”

“I am.” You take a sip of your drink. “I always liked dark hair.” The smallest smile crosses his face. “Plus, he’s smart, an ex med student, I could talk to him about my work, and about chemistry, and he’d be able to follow.” You blink a couple of times, remembering, “Oh wait, I’m so sorry, how’s your family, I should have asked, I’ve been so preoccupied with-”

“You buried your father today.” He says, a hand coming to rest on your knee. “I don’t expect you to be concerned with me,” he looks into your eyes, the delicate softness there is like running his hands over the lightest filigree sheets. He wonders, after all these years, if the scars and calluses would catch, and tear holes in you. “But of course you are, because you’re still you.”

“Are you still you?” You ask quickly, feeling the alcohol bringing the blood to your cheeks. You glance down at the scars on his hands, the bulge of the guns in their holsters on his shoulders. “Are you still um, you know, after everything, are you, still-”

“Sometimes.” He says, and the admission is painful, the words sharp enough in his throat to draw blood. “Sometimes I am.”

“I understand.” You say quietly, as he reaches out and inspects your bruise.

“I’ll kill him.” Akaashi mutters. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Please don’t.” You say quickly, and he cocks his head. “I mean, um, I just, I don’t want you to kill anyone.” He looks uncomfortable. “Not for me, at least.” He goes to respond but a Lev places a hand on your shoulder.

“Kuroo wants to leave.” He hands you the crutch. Akaashi gives you another quick hug.

“I’ll see you shortly.” He says. “I promise.” You nod, and Lev helps you out of the room, followed by the rest of Nekoma.

“Not going to let anyone else talk to me?” You say, when Kuroo takes his place at your side.

“I think it was rather generous of me to let you speak with Akaashi.” You slip your hand in your pocket, feeling something cool and glass. Akaashi had slipped you a cell phone. You do your best to keep your reaction from your face. Kuroo helps you into the car, your nostrils filled with the scent of clean leather again, as he pulls you next to him. “So,” he rolls up the partition, “Did I come through or what?” You nod slowly.

“You did for the most part.” You shift uncomfortably. “Oikawa is going hurt me. For sure.” You let out a long shaky breath and Kuroo inspects you for signs of acting, signs of a larger game, and finds none. Only genuine terror.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He says seriously.

“Not that I’m not grateful, but why?” You look up at his handsome face, he’s perfectly clean shaven, you realize, not a nick or a missed spot.

“Because when we’re married,” he says, and your mouth drops open, “I want you to remember what a good job I did taking care of you.” He picks you up and sets you in his lap with a soft grunt. “I want my wife to like me.”

“You do?” You give him a half smile as you stretch a bit to straddle his long legs in your tight black dress. His hands come to rest on your thighs.

“I do.” He says brightly, before leaning in to speak directly in your ear, “Which is why you’re going to show me what Akaashi slipped in your pocket, and I won’t punish you for not telling me the minute we got in the car.” Your blood runs cold,

“Kuroo I-”

“Shhh, Kitten,” He opens his hand, “It’s alright, like I said, you’re not in trouble, I’ll give it back, but I’d appreciate honesty from my fiancee.” You swallow and place the cell phone in his palm with trembling hands. “Oh,” he looks at you, sharply, seeing the fear on your face, “Oh you’re trembling, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He reaches out and cups your face with his free hand. “I’m going to do my best to take care of you, so any help you can offer would be appreciated.” You nod.

“What um,” you ask quietly, still in his lap as the car starts moving away from the country club, back to the city, “What does a punishment from you look like?” He considers.

“I’m a confident man.” He says, after a long period of silence. “I like to be in charge, and if we were married, to a degree, I would expect you to submit to me.” He says all of this without a hint of embarrassment or contrition. “Not I mean, day to day, I’m not going to tell you what to wear, or what to eat, unless you want that. But specifically, in the bedroom.”

“That’s so old fashioned!” You protest, and he shrugs.

“I think you’re going to find very few heads of mafia houses that don’t have similar tastes to me, and besides,” He straightens a little, “Tell me you don’t get a little turned on when I give you an order.” You shake your head, sighing. “Just tell me you don’t like this,” he says, reaching up and wrapping a huge hand around your neck, not squeezing, it’s very gently possessive. He smirks. “Your pupils are so dilated, kitten, it’s okay to say you want me to be in charge.”

“I hate you.” You mutter, looking away, and you feel him tighten his grip and pull your face closer to his own.

“See that kind of insubordination I just can’t tolerate.” He tightens his fist until you’re gasping.

“Kuroo, please,” You wheeze.

“Tell me you want me to stop.” He orders, and you bite your lower lip. He crows with laughter. “Should we see if you’re enjoying yourself?” Your eyes dart over your shoulder, and he shakes his head. “First of all, focus on me, second of all, I don’t give a shit who hears.” His tone gets cold for a second, “Sit still.” His fingers ghost your panties, slipping them to the side. “Awfully wet, kitten,” he purrs, basking in his victory as you shudder in anticipation, “Whatsa a matter, afraid they’ll take away your feminist card if you call me daddy?” Your mouth drops open,

“I’m not going to, ah,” he tightens his grip on your neck again. “Kuroo, I’m,” you gasp, “That’s,” your eyes start to water as you meet his burning amber gaze.

“I can do this all night,” He says flippantly, “You, not so much.”

“F-fine,” you croak, and he relaxes again, letting you breathe, his other hand still barely brushing your sex. He follows your gaze.

“No, if you want more,” he says, “You need to ask for it, and it’s a testament to my good will that after so much resistance I’m still interested in your pleasure at all. That will not always be the case, you have my word.”

“Please,” you beg, “please touch me.”

“A good start.” He says, eyes glinting. “But you’re a smart girl, right, you know what I’m waiting for.”

“Please touch me, daddy.” You plead with him, and he chuckles.

“You are just as cute as I thought you’d be, saying that.” He pushes a single finger inside you, and you nearly double over, but remembering what you’d learned in your limited experience, instead of catching yourself you wrap your arms behind your back, holding onto the opposite elbow. “Look at you!” Kuroo crows, “For that, you can cum when you want to, Kitten, I won’t make you beg.” He slips a second finger inside you, scissoring them a little. You gasp, and lean forward, “Sit up,” he says, “This time I want to watch you.” He’s incredibly skilled, making quick work of you, he’s already got you moaning softly, with gentle reminders to look at him, not to break eye contact, when he starts rubbing your clit with his thumb in addition to finding the spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll. You try your hardest to be good, to listen, but your eyes keep flicking to his muscled forearm, tensing as he fucks you with his long fingers.

“Oi,” He says sharply, “Final warning not to break eye contact with me.”

“Y-yes,” you choke out, “Daddy, thank you,” He softens a bit at the title,

“You’re getting close, I can feel it,” You nod emphatically, “Ask permission.”

“Please can I cum daddy,” the words spill from your lips and he smirks,

“Hmmm.”

“Please.” You beg, and he sighs, forcing another moan from your lips when he presses up against the spongey spot inside of you.

“Cum for me.” He orders, and you do, vaulting off the cliff of your orgasm, Kuroo lets go of your neck, and guides your face into his chest, “What a good little kitten,” he purrs as you tremble in his arms, dangling his fingers in your face, and to his shock and delight you seem to understand the implicit command, sucking his fingers gently until they’re clean.

“You just got lucky,” you mumble into his neck, “That I happen to be submissive most of the time in bed, you could be with someone who only likes to peg you.”

“I could sense it.” He brags, “Plus there’s no woman I can’t dominate, you’re all putty in my hands.”

“I think your feminist card is gonna get revoked.” You grumble. He shakes his head.

“Men get to keep ours no matter what, for letting you vote!” He boops your nose, and you roll your eyes, “Ah, ah,” he catches your chin gently.

“Fine.” You grumble, climbing off of him.

“So,” He hands you his cell phone, “I’ve been looking into volcanology programs in Tokyo, I’m not sure how your grades are but these seem to be decent.” You look up at him eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

“Ah,” you choose your words carefully. “Two things. One, um, you really think I’m going to choose you?”

“No one is going to give you as much freedom.” He shrugs. “And that’s what you want, I can tell. The second thing?”

“I think I’m struggling with the tension between the man who wants me to submit to him and the man who picked out two excellent volcanology grad programs for me based on a passing comment?” He shrugs.

“I looked into sedimentology,” He says, “But you’d need somewhere with a specific kind of coastline to get practical field experience in uh, the kind of facies profile, and uh,”

“That was very close.” You smile at him. “But yeah.”

“I have,” the car pulls into the mansion driveway. “Very little use for things that don’t have utility, beautiful women are nice, kitten, good to look at, enjoyable to fuck, but I could never love someone that was simply beautiful.” He pauses, “And listening to you talk today, about your parents, about the love you dreamed you’d have, if you choose me, I will endeavor to give that to you.”

“And the volcanology?” You say, he thinks about it, before opening the door.

“You may have witnessed love as a kind of worship, a kind of radical devotion, in the love your parents had for each other. For me, love is about a deep understanding one person can have of another.” He opens the car door. “You look surprised?”

“You’re still a brute.” You say, after a moment. “Still an arms dealer,” he chuckles, “Even if you’re smart and charming.”

“Sounds like you’re reminding yourself, and not me.” He hands your crutch to one of his men and plucks you off your feet while you squeal. “I have some work to do.” He says, opening the door to his home with his elbow, snow falling around you. “Unfortunately, due to your little untruth, earlier, I suppose,” he couches, when he sees your face fall, “A lie by omission is still a lie, kitten, I will have to restrain you, it’s just a formality, and I promise not to be more turned on by it than would be appropriate.”

“Kuroo!” You protest, and he chuckles.

“You’re adorable when you think your indignance is righteous, but I’ve already promised not to enjoy it.” “You said more than would be appropriate.” You squirm in his arms but he only holds you tighter, carrying you up the ornate staircase.

“And that would be very little, considering the circumstances.” You’re struck now, that you’re no longer in shock, how cozy Kuroo’s mansion is. The wood floors are a golden oak, the walls are soft cream adorned with art, and there are dark complex oriental rugs underneath the dark furniture. There are fireplaces crackling in nearly every room you pass, and the house is completely decked out for the holidays, pine branches adorning bannisters, filling the house with the sparking scent of christmas trees. Kuroo notices you looking. “Do you like it?” You feel a twinge of sadness.

“It looks like Christmas on TV.” You murmur, leaning against his broad chest.

“Did your father not celebrate?” He asks, as he elbows his way through a door to a more discreet stairwell.

“Not as a family, really. Especially after my mother passed.” He gives you a little squeeze. “I love Christmas though, in New York.” You sigh, “It’s like the whole world comes out, and everyone who lives there complains about the tourists, but I, I love it. The light is softer, and the snow gets gross but it’s just,” you struggle to find the words, “Sorry, it’s a feeling, I’m, I don’t have the words.”

“I’ve been to New York, but not for Christmas.” He says, reaching the top of the stairway to the third floor.

“Ah, am I being moved from where I slept last night?”

“Yes.” Kuroo says, opening another door with his elbow. “This is my room.” You look around, the walls are a deep green, with raw dark wood molding, and a huge wall of bookshelves. There’s a window seat that faces the front yard and the street, and you can see the snow swirling on the roof.

“Oh,” You look up at him.

“I won’t touch if you if you tell me you don’t want me to.” He says cheerfully. “But I think given what a sweet little thing you were in the car,” you feel your face burn, “There’s little danger in that.” He deposits you on the bed, being careful not to touch your wrist or foot. “I’m not sure, if you’re planning on sleeping your way through the most powerful men in Tokyo,” he goes over to dark wood antique armoire and starts rifling through the drawers. “But it’s not something I would hold against you, just so you’re aware.”

“Really?” You cock your head at him and he turns around, placing a hand over his heart.

“Do you really think me so petty that in my jealousy I might think less of you?”

“Kuroo we met twenty four hours ago.” He screws up his face.

“I keep forgetting. That’s a good sign, though I think.” He pauses for a moment. “I don’t think experience diminishes a woman, and furthermore,” his lips curl into a smirk, “If you were to, sleep with the rest of them, and decide I was the most skilled-”

“There it is.” You jump in.

“Kitten!” He pulls something from the drawer, a length of red rope. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you.” He says, as if he’s just deciding this now. “I like it, don’t get me wrong, but, I look forward to seeing what else it’s good for.” You laugh.

“You’re absurdly confident.”

“I know.” He says, gently moving you so that you’re lying on your side. “I’m not about to tie rope over your broken wrist,” he says, when he sees you flinch. Instead he carefully ties your elbows together in front of your face, and attaches the other end of the rope to the headboard. “It’s a little uncomfortable I’m sure.” He says, still cheerful. “But that’s what makes it a punishment.” You stretch a little and he carefully arranges your hair so that you can see. He then takes a pillow, and slips it under your broken ankle.

“Ah, Kuroo.” The adrenaline of the meeting and the funeral having worn off, you were in pain again. “The pain meds?” He thinks about it.

“You can’t have them unless your blood alcohol level is below a certain threshold, you had two drinks, straight liquor, one of them, very quickly,” he shakes his head at you, “Scotch is not meant to be gulped, by the way.” You roll your eyes at him and he chuckles dangerously. “Oh that’s such a bad idea for you, I’m keeping track of how many times you do it, by the way.” He looks up and to the left, doing some complex math in his head. “And, you may have one percocet in an hour. I’ll have Lev bring it up to you.”

“Why not now?” you ask, trying not to whine as the pain in your foot grows worse by the minute.

“Because you can’t mix alcohol and painkillers.” He says, “Sorry I don’t want you to die, I’m a spoilsport like that.” He pauses when he reaches the door handle. “Is there anything not drugs that I can have someone get for you?”

“Um, dinner?” He blinks a couple times.

“Of course.” And like that, he’s gone. Kuroo bounds down the stairs, stopping to give instructions to one of his servants before opening the secret paneled door to his study, where the rest of the men are waiting.

“You should have just kept her.” Kenma says, voice barely above a whisper as he pours over paperwork, sipping a glass of bourbon.

“I’m not fussed.” Kuroo shrugs. “She likes me.”

“Yeah,” Lev says, a note of annoyance in his voice, “I nearly crashed the car, those partitions aren’t exactly soundproof you know.” Kai looks sharply at Kuroo, who flops on the couch.

“Did you have sex with her?”

“No,” Kuroo shakes his head, pouring himself his own drink. “Just demonstrated to her that I was a person who would be interested primarily in taking care of her.”

“She’s right,” Lev grumbles, “That you’re just lucky that she’s submissive, Kuroo there are women who switch, and dom.”

“You’d know all about that.” Yaku says dryly.

“And so would you!” Lev grins, and Yaku’s face burns, “Nothing to be ashamed of,” he ruffles the shorter man’s sandy hair, “I love a woman who takes control.” He considers, “Sometimes it’s nice to just throw them where you want them though, that makes sense Kuroo.”

“Ah,” Kuroo says, “I know professional work environment went out the window when we started running guns but perhaps I don’t need to know the details of-”

“You fingered a girl to completion in the backseat of a car I was driving after her father’s funeral, and you made her call you daddy.” There’s a silence, Kuroo blanches, “Yeah, I think you might be going to hell.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Kuroo mutters, ears reddening.

“Oh my god,” Yaku says, “Kenma look, he’s actually capable of shame.” Kenma lifts his head, inspecting his friend and leader.

“We should be plotting our next move.” He says,and Kuroo nods.

“I have a point of order.” He turns to Lev and Yaku. “I want you to find out what happened between Oikawa and our guest.” Kenma sighs. “I assumed she was exaggerating when she arrived here, perhaps in shock due to the death of her father. But I pointed a gun at him and told him to leave her alone and he nearly didn’t back down.” He sighs again. “Shippments running smoothly?” Kenma nods.

“I’m moving them extra cautiously due to the general unrest after the stuff today,” He mumbles, “It’ll slow us down but it won’t cost anything.” Kuroo smiles at the younger man, who doesn’t return his warmth.

“Alright, everyone out.” There are a few grumbles, but Kuroo catches Kenma. “Except you.” Kenma nods, brushing back the strands of his hair that have escaped from his bun. Kuroo waits until they’re alone to speak.

“I need you to get on board here.” Kuroo says, sitting in front of his childhood friend, knees resting on his elbows.

“I’m on board.” Kenma lifts his head.

“I can tell that you aren’t.” Kuroo sighs, “Listen, I know-”

“You have to do this because of me.” Kenma says, and there’s a rare raw emotional edge to his voice, “This is my fault.”

“Absolutely not, you did what you thought was right-”

“But I was wrong, and you had to clean it up!” Kenma hisses, “I don’t, I’m never wrong.”

“There was no way for you to know he’d retaliate to something like that,” Kuroo rolls one of his shoulders, stiff from the time spent in the pew. “And, it’s not your fault you were taken, and of course I came for you, and,” he notices Kenma look away, “Look at me when I say this.” Kenma lifts his head. “I would shoot that bastard again. Right now. If he were here, for putting a gun to your head.”

“You’re going to marry his daughter.” Kenma whispers.

“And I’ll spend the rest of my life atoning for-”

“Love isn’t atonement, you can’t pretend that those emotions are going to coexist, that you’ll, that you’ll find peace, living like that.” Kenma interrupts him. “You didn’t want to get married.” Kuroo shrugs.

“Honestly,” His lips quirk into a half smile. “I like her. More than I should. She’s beautiful, sure, but she’s smart, nice birthing hips.” Kuroo teases, and Kenma full on shudders. “It’s important to me,” he says, pausing, choosing his words precisely, “That you know that I don’t take killing to save your life lightly, but that I’d do it again.”

“And now you’re going to go,” Kenma’s eyes burn with tears, “And fuck his daughter.” Kuroo stands groaning loudly.

“I like her, more than plenty of women I’ve fucked!” He pleads with Kenma, “Sometimes, things have to be done, and I can see, when I look at her, I can see the future, I can see breakfast, I can see fresh squeezed orange juice, I can see her teaching our kids to play piano, I-”

“She’s going to hate you, when she finds out.” Kenma says, bitterly.

“She’s not going to find out.” Kuroo rubs his face.

“You can’t keep a secret like that from the woman you intend to marry,” Kenma shakes his head.

“I want her,” The butterflies in his stomach are making him dizzy, “She’s, you saw her today, speaking in church, she wrote that eulogy in 12 hours, barely awake, slightly concussed, she’s getting an advanced degree in science and she desperately, desperately needs someone to take care of her.” Kenma shakes his head.

“You shot her father.”

“It turns out that was more complicated than we originally thought.” He rubs his eyes. “Listen. Don’t feel guilty. I like her, this is a great outcome for me. Possible stress relief, a wonderful woman who willingly engages with me intellectually, she even likes chemistry.” He pats Kenma’s head. “And I’d do it again.” There’s a pause, Kuroo walks towards the door, then stops. “But we have to,” he glances out the window, “We have to take responsibility for our actions. Whatever Oikawa’s got planned for her, she wants no part of it. We should assist in her avoiding that fate, regardless of what she can do for us.”

“You’re a saint.” Kenma says dryly.

“Hardly.” Kuroo’s tone has less humor in it. “I’m not a superstitious man, it pays in my line of work not to believe in an afterlife, or hell,” he shudders, “But today in church, listening to her speak, and sing, I just,” he considers, “That’s who I want eulogizing me.” Kenma looks at him sharply. “And I’ll give her excellent stories to tell.”

“It’s not like you to fall fast.” Kenma leans back in the couch, his suit wrinkling a little.

“It’s not, it’s not just romantic,” Kuroo pauses, “I feel a sense of responsibility, and I’m an excellent judge of character. I know who she is, and I like it. Also, you saw the way she was shaking when she turned up on our doorstep.”

“It would make me a bad advisor,” Kenma reaches out and takes a sip of whiskey, “If I didn’t point out the possibility of her having her own agenda.” Kuroo nods.

“I’m not blind to it. I promise.”

“You can be!” Kenma grins, “That’s what I’m here for.”

Kuroo makes his way up the stairs quietly, hoping not to disturb you, but the second he pushes the door open, your eyelids flutter, and you stir.

“Ah, sorry.” He says, ducking into his private bathroom to wash up.

“It’s okay,” you say, your voice more tired than you expect. “Are these your normal hours?”

“I don’t really keep normal hours.” He responds, splashing cool water on his face before reaching for his bottle of listerine, “I have painkillers for you though.” He dries his face and spits the mouthwash in the sink, slipping out of his loafers. “I have to admit, I’m a little nervous.” He watches you muster a smile. “Oh,” he sighs, realizing, “Oh, kitten, you’ve been crying, hold on,” He fumbles in his pocket for the little bottle of pills, he rushes to your bedside as you hide your face in the pillow.

“Sorry,” You say, throat painfully tight, “I just, my dad,” you sniff. “And everything hurts, Kuroo, and I’m scared, and I’m vulnerable, and I hate being vulnerable.” He dashes to the bathroom and comes back with a glass of water.

“Open your mouth.” He says firmly, and you obey, letting him place the purple pill on your tongue, then tip the glass of water into your mouth. You’re still dutifully attached to the headboard and he takes a moment to pat your head. “Just sit tight for a moment, and I’ll be there.” He rips himself out of his suit, tossing the clothes on an armchair and coming back over to the bed in only his boxers.

“I-is that how you sleep?” You choke out and he shrugs.

“It’s how I prefer to sleep, yes.” He reaches over and quickly unties you, letting you fold in on yourself. “Oh,” he coos again, “Come here, I’m so sorry, alright, I’m so sorry.” You sob against his bare chest.

“S-so embarrassing,” you get out between sharp breaths.

“It really isn’t.” He rubs your back. “The things you’ve been able to do today, speaking up at the meeting, eulogizing your father at all, coming here, even the decision to try and hide the phone from me-”

“I didn’t,” you sob, “Decide that, I was barely thinking at the time, I just,”

“Shhhh,” He rocks you back and forth, “When my father passed I was inconsolable for a week.” You snuggle against him, trying to modulate the ugly sounds coming from your throat. “You’ve been so strong, and you’ve been in so much pain, you’re going to sleep well tonight.” He kisses your forehead. “You know you’re safe, right?”

“Yeah,” You warble, “I know I’m safe with you, Kuroo.” You feel the painkiller numbing your limbs, making your head feel lighter as he kisses your head again. “Can I ask you something,” you say, and his heart jumps to his throat, could you have heard, somehow could you know- “Are you going to sleep with the lights on?”

“Ah no.” He says, barely maintaining his cool as he gets up and flicks the lights in the room off. “You’re fine with this amount of darkness?” You nod, stretching across the bed.

“Your sheets are nice.” You wipe your tears a little.

“Of course they are.” he climbs back in bed, joining you under the covers. “I told you, I like beautiful things that also have utility.”

“Okay follow up question,” you say, when you’re lying down together, “And then I’m done talking because I can feel myself unmooring from reality and I don’t want you to interrogate me while my subconscious is accessible.” He chuckles. “I feel like you’re being too kind to me. This feels like a trap.” He nods.

“I did tie you down?”

“Right but you keep comforting me.” You scoot a little closer. “And it doesn’t feel manipulative, but that means it probably is, I just, I keep trying to imagine and predict the actions of people around me I want, I want to be safe, and I want to do it myself.”

“And it’s the last point that’s sticking, isn’t it?” He props up his head on his palm. “That you want to save yourself, you don’t want me to protect you, or Akaashi, or Bo or Oikawa, you want to be back in your apartment making what, minimum wage, TAing three classes a semester, all because in that life you didn’t have to rely on anyone else.” You lie there in stunned silence. “I can tell that part of it is stubbornness, perhaps your father would have called it grit, or something American like that.”

“I can empathize with the need for independence,” He continues, “But what I don’t understand is denying yourself comfort and success in order to achieve it.” You sigh deeply, and even in the low light he can see that your eyes have glazed over. “So tell me the truth,” he reaches out and cups your face, stroking your cheek. “Why won’t you let me take care of you?”

“You’re an arms dealer.” You slur a little.

“And you’re that moral?” He watches you flop on your back, clearly you’re feeling the side effects now, moving more freely than he’s seen.

“I stole a toothbrush once.” You mumble, and he sits up, grinning. “No, none of that,” you swat at him absentmindedly. “I thought about it for months, years maybe, and I didn’t even do it on purpose.”

“I’m sure whatever corporation made that toothbrush really hurt from the ten cents loss.” Kuroo offers, smiling, but you scowl.

“That’s not the point, the point is that as soon as I was old enough to know what my father did was dangerous and illegal I was terrified for him. I didn’t want to join clubs, or make friends, for years I just completely isolated myself out of fear that if I didn’t my father could get hurt, or people I brought into my life could get hurt.”

“Oh shit,” Kuroo murmurs, floored, “You’re thinking about your kids.”

“Like you assholes don’t want to have your own goddamn kids. I’m not ready by the way,” you say, a slight slur to your words, and he chuckles darkly.

“We all do illegal things though.”

“Some of you do less illegal things, right, there has to be a scale,” you say desperately, “I don’t want to be taking my kids to visit daddy in jail!” His lips curl into a smile.

“First of all, love that you referred to me as daddy-”

“I didn’t-”

“Second of all, you and I are people of science. So let’s set benchmarks, and turn this into a set of actual criteria that you can use to know data wise who is the right person for you, so that you can ignore the data and follow your heart into my arms again.” You shake your head but when Kuroo flips the lights on he sees the smile you’re fighting. He grabs a notebook from his bedside table, and a pair of glasses.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, sitting up, and he smirks a little.

“Try not to drool, kitten.” His joke doesn’t have the effect he’s used to though, with the slight fuzziness of the pill you’ve taken it seems like you’re having a hard time controlling your genuine reactions in favor of snippy comebacks.

“Kuroo, when does an arms dealer have time to go to the gym?” He shrugs, smirk widening at how you can’t take your eyes off of his abs.

“I have a gym at home.” He explains. “I played volleyball at a pretty high level in high school and college, so I go crazy when I don’t work out.”

“Gym in the basement huh?” You scoot up on the bed and he takes the hint, moving you so that you’re nestled against his chest.”

“Is your foot okay?” He asks and you nod. “And no, the basement has other purposes.”

You shudder against him and he rubs comforting patterns on your upper arm. “Alright, so degree of illegality is important.” You nod. “What else?”

“I’d like to be romantically and intellectually attracted to them.” You mumble, and Kuroo nods. “And um, the amount of freedom they’d allow me, that’s important too.” He nods, scribbling on the pad. “What else,” He feels you relax against him, with your head on his chest, “Do you think is important?”

“Well you’ve said you’re not ready to have kids, right?” You nod. “How long they’re willing to wait, because most of them are going to assume you’ll be ready right after the wedding.” You shiver again and he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. “Daichi and I will look after you, alright?” The words fall from his lips before you can stop them, but he’s not entirely sure you understand. “No one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, as long as I’m alive.” You blink up at him, eyes unexpectedly wet.

“I just don’t understand why you care.” You whisper.

“Does it matter?” He stops rubbing your arm for a moment.

“I need to understand things.” You complain, melting against him again.

“We’ll use your ex as a benchmark.” He says quietly, changing the subject. “Rate him for me in those things out of ten.” You screw your face up.

“He wasn’t illegal,” you mumble, “So zero.”

“Really?” Kuroo says dryly and to his shock you consider.

“He wanted to be a politician,” you slur a little again, “So a two.” Kuroo laughs genuinely. “Give him a 6 on intellectual and romantic attraction, and a 7 on freedom, and a 4 on willing to wait till I was ready to have kids.” Kuroo notes it in the legal pad, and you yawn again. He reaches over and flicks off the light. “I’m surprised,” you mumble, “That you aren’t trying to seduce me right now.”

“You’re in no shape to have sex.” Kuroo says firmly. “You have at least two broken bones, and you’re definitely too incapacitated to consent.”

“And you care about that?” He reaches down and pinches your arm playfully

“Of course I do.” He pauses. “Are you scared, for tomorrow?” You swallow nervously.

“Akaashi seems different.” He nods.

“I’m gonna give you the phone back, but with our numbers in it. You can text Lev for minor issues, and me for major ones.”

“Minor issues?” You settle under the blanket next to him as he lies down again.

“I’m,” he pauses, “Sensitive to the fact that you’d likely have a female friend to discuss these matters with. Lev’s all I have to offer you, and I promise he is as simple as he looks.” You laugh lightly. “But if you’re in a situation where you’d like me to come save you, like the pretty little damsel you are,” you groan loudly, “You may reach out to me. Now sleep, Kitten, that’s an order.” You obey surprisingly quickly, the drugs in your system making you nearly pliant. He watches you for a bit, watches the muscles in your face relax, your breathing soften, and tries to imagine spending the rest of his life crawling into bed with you.

“You know,” he says quietly, knowing you can’t hear him, “You’re too smart for your own good.”

His windowseat faces the east and sun spills through it onto the stained wood floors, warming the room with a golden light. You stir, the painkillers having worn off, your foot and wrist throbbing gently.

“Mmm,” Kuroo groans softly. “Don’t move.” You realize you’re still nestled against his chest, cheek pressed to him, one hand resting at the center of his ribs, his arm wrapped around you, hand resting on your hip.

“Can we sleep in?” You whisper, and he nods without opening his eyes.

“Someone comes in to wake me up when things are important.” You sigh happily and close your eyes again, the tiniest alarm bell going off in your brain at how comfortable and safe you feel in his arms. You wake a few hours later, and untangle yourself from his limbs, hobbling to the bathroom while he snores softly. You brush your teeth and use his mouthwash, cleaning your face with his skincare, picking up one of the nearly untouched bottles.

“Kuroo,” you call, one hand on the counter so you don’t have to put any weight on your foot. “Do you even use this stuff?” He groans loudly.

“I don’t know what any of it’s for, it’s been sitting there since my birthday in November.” He rolls out of bed and follows you into his bathroom. “I hope you’re not putting weight on that.” He eyes your foot.

“I have to get around a bit!” You protest and he shakes his head.

“Hopefully the others will scare you into obedience so that I don’t have to.” He reaches for the first bottle. “So what does this do?” You snatch it from him, and examine the label.

“This is toner.” You set it back on the counter. “You have to wash your face first.” He grins.

“Do it for me.”

“What?” Your mouth drops open as he sits on the closed toilet, still shamelessly just in his briefs.

“You heard me,” He says, a lazy grin stretching across his handsome face. “I want you to wash my face for me.” You roll your eyes and he chuckles dangerously. “God you’re lucky you’re injured, I’d take you over my knee for that.” You squeak with fear and he nods. “There, that’s a healthy reaction. You shake your head, reaching for the cleanser and reading the label.

“This isn’t probably what I’d pick for you,” You explain, “Because your skin looks healthy and this is kind of astringent but ah, I’m not an expert.” He nods sagely, watching you squirt some of it onto a clean washcloth, then wet it. You hobble over to him, bracing your weight against the marble counter of his sink. He pats his thighs, and you hesitate for only a second before sitting on his lap, straddling him. He holds you steady, strong hands resting on your waist.

“Ooh,” he hisses, “That’s cold, Kitten.” You gently dab at his face with the soapy end of the washcloth, careful not to pull or put too much pressure on it. “Actually,” he mumbles, “That feels very nice.” You take the other end of the cloth and clean the soap off of him, then go to stand, but he holds you tightly.

“You have to let me get the rest of it!” You protest and he thinks about not letting you go, enjoying the warmth of your body on his thighs, but he releases you after a moment, and he watches you peruse the other bottles. You take your time with each step, and his hands drift lower, coming to rest on your hips, then your ass, by the time you’re gently working an oil-free sunscreen into his skin. “Okay,” you say, with as much cheer as you can muster, “You are free to go.” He takes you by the thighs and yanks you closer, so that your chest is flush against his.

“Yes, but you aren’t.” He says, standing, holding you by the thighs as he walks you back to the bed. You reach up and brush away the hair in his eyes.

“Your bedhead is wild.” he laughs, laying you down on the bed, looking, almost vulnerable for a moment.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and you look so surprised for a moment he wonders if you understood.

“Ah, sure.” He laughs and climbs on top of you, carefully avoiding your wrist and ankle, but holding your free hand, pinning it to the mattress as he presses his lips to yours, and your struck immediately with how deftly and tenderly he kisses you. He moves his lips carefully, occasionally you feel the scrape of his teeth against your skin, immediately soothed by a swipe of his tongue. You grind your hips up against yours and he groans into your mouth.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He mutters, “Someone’s coming to get me for a meeting in,” he glances at the clock, ten minutes.”

“Better make me cum before then,” you whisper, and he laughs loudly before shoving you roughly back on the bed.

“Who said,” he leans down and growls in your year, “That I give a shit about your pleasure,” you moan, almost involuntarily as he rips your pajama pants off you and parts your folds, “Lucky I’m even gonna prep you,” he buried his face in your neck, pulling more music out of your mouth, “Insubordinate,” you feel him bury two fingers inside you and curl them, you gasp at the odd mixture of pleasure and pain, “Fucking bitch.”

“Fuck,” you swear, as he starts pumping them inside you, “Daddy, please,”

“Daddy please,” he repeats, mocking you, “Think that’ll save you? Remembering what you call me is the bare goddamn minimum, kitten.” You’re warming up, slowly he can feel you start to drip around his fingers as he sinks his teeth into your neck.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, clinging to him, raking your nails down his back, the way his fingers are pressing against that one spot inside you, setting off fireworks on the back of your eyelids, your back arching off of the mattress. He leans back, conscious of the time, done prepping you, your ankles around his shoulders as he peels his boxers down and pumps his cock a few times, before pressing the tip of it to your folds, teasing you, despite the limited amount of time.

“Birth control?” He asks and you nod.

“Nuva ring.”

“We can fix that,” he says, with a manic glint in his eye as he shoves his entire length inside you, robbing you of the air in your lungs. He watches your face twist with pain, then melt to pleasure as he moves just a little inside you, a loud groan stuttering from his lips, “Oh my god,” he leans down again over you, “Oh my god, it feels,” he closes his eyes, “Fuck, can I move?” The squeezing of your walls around him, so wet, so warm, is making him dizzy, so when you nod, eyes squeezed shut, it feels like he’s been granted a goddesses blessing.

“Fuck,” he snarls, rolling his hips against yours, “Relax a little for me, alright, can, I can barely move in there,” you try your best, letting out soft whimper that drives even more blood below his waist.

“Daddy,” you warble, your beautiful eyes welling with tears as he fucks you, “Daddy, please,” He looks down at you, so beautiful, so helpless like this, the sunlight outside reflecting on the snow burning through the window, an illusion of warmth, of brightness in the window. He reaches down and palms your chest, rubbing then pinching your nipples, pulling a sharp keen from your lips as you struggle to form a sentence. “Please,” you get out again, all resistance forgotten, the early morning light making his eyes shine like embers, “Choke me, please, m’so close, wanna-” you're cut off by a huge hand curling around your throat, cutting off your air supply.

“You cum when I say so.” He orders, luxuriating in the feeling of being buried to the hilt in you, of having you writhe beneath him, so reactive to his touch.

“Ah,” you gasp, the tears in your eyes spilling over as the loud smack of his hips against your ass fills the quiet morning.

“M’gonna,” he grunts, “Gonna send to Bo with a pussy full of my cum, you want that?” You nod emphatically. “Beg for it.”

“Please,” your voice is small and hoarse, he tightens his grip, “Daddy, want, want your cum, please,” He reaches one hand down and rubs your clit while pounding into you and you can’t help it, your back practically arches off the mattress,

“Cum for me,” he orders, “Tell me who you belong to, and cum for me.” He takes another moment, committing this to memory, your blissed out face, teary cheeks, the sound of your voice when you say,

“You daddy, m yours please, please, please cum in me.” He groans loudly as you vault over the cliff of your orgasm muttering holy ecstasies in his ear, as he gets even harder inside you, before finishing with you, thrusts sporadic as he carries you through your high, before flopping, sweaty on the bed next to you, just as there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Ten minutes.” He calls, and then turns to you, desperate to observe you in one of the few moments he could be absolutely sure you weren’t playing him. You smile softly at him, and shudder as you feel the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Be a good girl for me,” He says, “No unnecessary risks before you come back to me.” You laugh lightly. “I’m serious, come back to me relatively unscathed and I’ll give you a reward.”

“Ooooh,” you coo, “A reward?” He nods. “And can I assume, if the inverse proves true, I’ll be in for a punishment?” He cackles like a hyena.

“You’ll be all healed up then, kitten, so don’t push me.” You sigh deeply.

“I can’t believe I have to trust you.” You stare at his ceiling. “You’ve given me nothing but good reasons to believe you’re well intentioned, and I have almost no other allies in the entire country, and I have to trust you, of all people, exactly the type of man I’d cross the street to avoid.” He rolls over to look at you.

“And what type is that?”

“You’re all together too confident.” You mutter, still staring at the ceiling. “Every part of this feels like a trap, except,” he watches you catch yourself.

“Except what?”

“I can’t say it to you.” You mumble. “It’s naive.”

“Do you think I’d think less of you,” He reaches over, and fixes your hair, “If you were a little naive?”

“I don’t know.” You swallow. “I don’t know why I care what you think.” You groan, rubbing your eyes with your good hand. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He sits up a little. “I can’t believe my father doomed me to this.” You sit up, and pull your pajamas back up, reaching for your bra. “He must have hated me after all.”

“I”m sorry.” He says quietly, and you sigh again.

“If you were really sorry, you’d drive me to the embassy and let me get on a flight home.”

“Oikawa would have you in whatever dungeon you’re so afraid of in minutes.” He springs up, getting dressed. “I’m sorry that I can’t do more for you, I am, genuinely, kitten.” You sigh again, wriggling into a comfortable t shirt and leggings that Lev had grabbed for you, “And,” he says, raising a long slender finger, “You aren’t running away anyway, until you find out who killed your father, isn’t that right?” Your mouth drops open. “I’m an excellent reader of people.” He says with a shrug.

“If we’d met under any other circumstances,” You collapse into a chair, adjusting the brace on your wrist. “We would not be friends, I’m telling you this now, for your own good.” He chuckles, glancing at the bed.

“You knock out a quickie with friends often?”

“Go to hell.” You feel your pulse quicken, expecting swift retribution, but he just laughs.

“I’ll do ya better when you’re mine for real, promise.” He stands in front of a mirror, tying his tie. “Akaashi and Bo will be here for you in about half an hour,” he opens a drawer, “Here is the cell phone, with our phone numbers.” You remember something.

“Is Lev coming with me?” You ask and Kuroo shakes his head.

“Someone from your next place will be there, from Date Tech, I’d have to hazard a guess at Aone, maybe? If they could spare him.” Kuroo shakes his head. “He’s giant, like Lev but ah, wider?” You shudder. “Oh he’s very polite, and if he isn’t, you just give daddy a ring and I’ll-”

“Absolutely not, you may not refer to yourself in third person as daddy.” You interject and he smirks.

“Isn’t it wonderful how you have absolutely no say in the matter?”

Kuroo leaves you in one of the front sitting rooms with Lev, and Kai catches him on his way back to his office.

“You’ve slept with her then?”

“Only mostly literally,” Kuroo shrugs. “I don’t know. She’s resisting trusting me, but I think she’s getting there.” He rubs his eyes. “I,” he pauses, “I’m feeling unusually conflicted about lying to her about things. I find myself, doing everything I can to avoid it, changing the subject, pretending I didn’t hear her. It’s, it’s strange, it feels involuntary in the moment.” Kai shakes his head.

“That is unusual for you.” He muses, warm brown eyes searching his friend's face. Kuroo rubs his eyes more.

“I’m going to miss her, when she’s gone.” He leans against the wall and Kai smirks. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

You’re laying on the couch in the main room about an hour later, with a suitcase of the things Kuroo bought you sitting next to you as men bustle in and out of the sitting room. You’re halfway through Oryx and Crake, propped up on some pillows, when Kuroo rushes in, clearing his throat. The room empties of people immediately.

“They’ll be here in a few.” He says, and you nod. “I'm serious, if you need anything, please, please text one of us.” He hands you the phone. You smile at him.

“I will.”

“And remember what I said, about a reward for returning to me unscathed.” There’s a honk in the driveway and Lev sticks his head into the drawing room.

“They’re here.” He says.

“I remember.” You say quickly and Kuroo stands as you all hear, Hey hey hey!

“Bo came?” Kuroo says, and Lev shrugs. You glance out the window, Bokuto and a man you don’t recognize are sitting in the front seat of a vintage luxury car as Akaashi gets out of the backset. “Shit sweetheart,” he says to you, helping you to your feet. “You oughta feel important.”

“Trust me,” you look out and catch Akaashi’s eyes, reading his genuinely relieved expression. “I do.”

I love this so much <33

SUPER LIKED;

pairing: kageyama tobio x f!reader

genre: college!au, enemies to lovers!au, social media!au, series

warnings: swearing, suggestive language, possible alcohol use in the future

current status: on-going!

synopsis: l/n y/n has been lucky with two things; good grades, and good friends. she also has been unlucky with two things; keeping plants alive, and dating apps. after many and many failed attempts at getting a decent date from tinder, her friends took her phone and deleted the app. perhaps it was time for some self-discovery, that lasted for two weeks. the unthinkable happens when she accidently super likes the person who hated her the most in high school, kageyama tobio. maybe she should’ve listened to her friends and kept the app deleted…

meet the squads:

y/n’s fanboys 

kageyama’s simps

chapters:

1). rip to y/n

2). care to make a bet?

3). old war time lovers

4). she used my government name

5). be our manager?

taglist: [CLOSED]

fracture II

haitani ran x f!reader

summary - you spend the day at bonten headquarters, and ran makes a choice.

cw - drugs, smut, guns, murder, praise, degradation, dub!con, reader is a sex worker w a sick brother. ran likes you!!! likes you a lot!! too much probably, probably far too much. he's possessive! and ill behaved! my beloved.

prev / next

You sleep with him, and he curls his long body around you, burying his face in your shoulder. When he moves in the night he pulls you with him, and when you wake you find your face in his chest, his hands tangled in your hair. He stretches, picking his phone up off the nightstand, then glancing back over at you, bleary eyed. You’re still bruised, and the side of your face is even worse than the day before with the marks jaundicing slightly as they heal. He reaches out and brushes some hair from your face. You stir, and he leans over, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

“Ready for work?” He asks and you nod, even though you have no idea what he means. You’re still in no shape to have sex, or even to pleasure anyone else. He gets up and thumps off to the bathroom, tossing you a gigantic shirt to wear. “You’re coming into the office with me.” He says brightly, “Since apparently you can’t be left alone.” You sit up, the shirt covers most of your body, hanging down around mid thigh. 

“Do you have my suitcase?” You ask and he shrugs. 

“I think you look good like that.” He says casually, and you shake your head. 

“I, I, I need pants,” you manage, “I need-” 

“I said I think you look good like that.” He responds, shooting you an icy glare. You shut your mouth. “Good girl,” he coos, reaching for the bottle of pills, “Open.” You let him place the small purple pill on your tongue. He leans down and kisses your forehead as you let it dissolve. He pulls you to the bathroom and you brush your hair, applying minimal makeup, not bothering to try to cover the bruising, which looks even worse today. You catch Ran looking at you with mild concern, catch the way his eyes flick to the little cut on your face, to the bruises around your neck and down your chest, but he doesn’t say anything. 

You’re followed out of the apartment and into the elevator by at least four heavily armed men, and on your way to the office they open doors for you both, drive cars, walk in front of you and behind you. Ran boosts you up into the backseat of a sleek black escalade. He pulls you most of the way into his lap and you shiver, nuzzling into him for warmth, the cold piercing right through the shirt he’d given you.

“It’s freezing.” You whisper, and he wraps two arms around you, tucking your face into his neck. 

“I know, just get close to me.” He says, his voice is almost kind. If you were more sober maybe you’d wonder if he’d done this on purpose, kept you almost naked and vulnerable so that you’d be forced to hide and take refuge in him. Instead, you watch a light snow fall outside the car, feeling the circles he’s rubbing in your thigh. Bonten’s offices are above an old Italian restaurant, and he leads you through it, letting you hide your face from the waitstaff in his big blue suit jacket. You come up the stairs right behind him, holding onto his hand for stability, his silver rings cool on your skin.  The stairway is narrow and carpeted, and the office seems normal enough if it weren’t for the constant presence of security, the oddly expensive looking art on the wall, the little minifridges filled with booze, monster and red bull, and the slight smell of cigar smoke. 

“And who’s this?” You hear, and peek out from behind Ran. A huge man, tall and thin with dark hair gives you a predatory smile. 

“Bitch shot two guys in my apartment,” Ran says, fumbling in his pocket for his vape, patting you affectionately with his free hand. “I dunno what they’re after me for this time but I told her she could stay with me till shit calms down.” 

“Hanma Shuuji,” the tall man says, extending a tattooed hand. You reach out and accept it, taking just the slightest step away from Ran, and revealing more of your face. “What the hell happened to you?” He recoils initially, then bursts out laughing. “Didja learn to fight from Haitani or something?” 

“Shut up.” Ran snips, pulling you away from Hanma. 

“She fights better than Ran,” you hear, and see a younger man, with long pink purple hair framing his face. He has the same gentle sloping nose as Ran and the same light eyes. “She actually hit the guys she was shooting at.” 

“I, I wasn’t,” you pipe up, and then wonder if you should have asked permission to speak, “I didn’t mean to hit anyone, sir.” Ran takes a puff on his vape, rolling his eyes as he’s momentarily overtaken by a grape flavored cloud. 

“You got your ass kicked a lot, Rin, I don’t wanna hear shit from you, and you,” he turns to Hanma, “Don’t scare the bitch, she’s gotta get back to work for us when she’s all healed up.” He hits you lightly on the back of the head. “Got an email from your boss on the way over here, she said your regulars are complaining.” 

“Let ‘em complain.” Hanma says, smiling again in a way that feels distinctly unwarm, his stare making you shiver.

“That is bad for business.” Ran says, tugging you along the hallway and away from the other executives. You feel the purple haired man, Rin, Ran had called him, you feel eyes on you, sure that in the fluorescents Ran’s shirt was translucent. “C’mon. You gotta meet the others, they’ve each got their fun little thing.” Ran pulls you into what looks almost like a conference room, but you’re 90% sure there’s a woman's thong sitting casually on the table in between an empty scotch glass and an ashtray. Rindou and Hanma follow you inside, and Ran makes a show of introducing you to people. “That’s Kokonoi, he likes money more than he likes people. That’s Sanzu, he likes drugs more than he likes people, and Mikey, over there, more than he likes drugs. Mikey doesn’t like anything, and neither does Kakucho.” 

“Are you finished?” Mikey says, leaning forward in his chair, scowling. Ran just shrugs. You take a step back from the blond, his dark eyes covered in shadow. 

“I don’t think so,” Ran rubs his chin, “Did I introduce you to Rin or did he just insult me?” 

“Haitani Rindou,” the purple haired man says, stepping into the room and rolling his eyes. “Now she’s met me, can we sit down?” Ran sighs dramatically, plopping into a chair and yanking you into his lap hard enough to make you gasp with pain, a sound that the group largely ignores. Mikey, however, frowns.

“I’d prefer you not make her do that again.” He says, and you look up at him but he’s holding Ran’s gaze, not yours. “What happened?” The others take a seat around the table, some of them are drinking, and some of them look crumpled and disheveled like they’re still up from the party the night before. 

“Someone broke into one of our establishments,” Ran says, “Tried to kill her to send a message to me,” he glances down at you, “But she’s tougher than she looks, he about kicked the shit outta her but she stabbed him.” 

“Is that why she’s in your lap?” Kokonoi says dryly. “So that if she stabs someone this time it’s you?” 

“She’s in my lap because I want her there.” Ran says, still in his lazy drawl but with a dark undercurrent. 

“Keep going.” Mikey says, sounding bored. 

“I took her back to my place, for obvious reasons,” you’re still half hidden in his chest, “Can ya look at the people, sweetheart?” You nod, and obey, turning your face fully out from his chest for the first time. You get the sense that even in a room full of people who’ve seen terrible things, done terrible things, your face still looks pretty bad. 

“Embarrassing.” Kakucho mutters eventually. “Hitting someone who can’t possibly fight back.” Ran shrugs. 

“I mean you can’t say all the fights I picked were fair but I did win them.” He grins, “You can go back to hiding, I’ll let you know if you need to speak.” They all watch as you obey, still high, wrapping the inside of his jacket around yourself. “Anyway, she came back to my place, I asked for two decent guys,” he glances at Rindou, “Which I thought my dear brother was capable of providing,” Rindou scowls, “But someone broke in, kicked the shit out of them, and she shot ‘em.” Mikey rubs his eyes. 

“And they seemed only interested in you, not in us?” He asks, and Ran gives you a little nudge. 

“They said it was about something he did in Roppongi.” You murmur, peeking out to look at Mikey. 

“That could be almost anything.” Kokonoi takes a sip of his drink, it’s cherry red, and you imagine it’s syrupy and sweet. “And nothing to do with you?” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Piss off one of your johns, princess?” You open your mouth to speak but Ran chuckles. 

“She’s actually very well reviewed.” He says, and you feel your face burn. “But don’t get your hopes up boys, she’s got three broken ribs.” 

“I mean,” Sanzu speaks for the first time. “We could get her high enough so that she doesn’t feel it.” You shrink even further into Ran. 

“Every day that she’s not in her little room downtown we are bleeding money.” Ran shakes his head. “Which is why I would like to find these people quickly.” He slides some paper across the table. “I think honestly I know who it is.” Rindou looks up. “I mean, who hates me personally more than Daito.” 

“Hmmm,” Rindou rubs his chin, and for a moment you’re struck with the mannerism of Ran’s he’s unconsciously mimicking. “Daito Yagami, shit.” 

“Are the two of you speaking in your own cute little language or do we all get to know what’s happening?” Hanma drawls. 

“We killed his brother.” Ran explains, “When I was sixteen.” He feels you tense in his lap, “Oh baby,” he coos, looking down at you, “Does that scare you?” You don’t respond and he chuckles. “I’d never hurt anything as defenseless as you.” You don’t look convinced and there are a few laughs from the group. “I’ll have my men look into that, but it could be new rivals, could be Taiju, or somethin’ else entirely.” He leans back in the rolling chair, testing to see if you’ll keep taking refuge in him. You do, following his movements no matter how he shifts. They spend the meeting planning something but you’re too high to hear what’s happening. You’ve got two little fistfuls of Ran’s shirt, he’s got one hand on the back of your head, petting it softly. “Sweetheart,” he says, and you’re not sure how long it’s been when you blink back to reality, the light in the room has changed and there are more drinks on the table, more cigs in the ashtray. You blink a couple times. 

“She’s fuckin’ gone.” Sanzu mutters. You rub your good eye, head pounding. 

“You hungry?” Ran asks, and you nod dumbly. “You want another pill?” You nod again and he digs in the pocket of his suit jacket, producing the bottle. He takes a pill out and you open your mouth, he puts it directly on your tongue, and before it can even dissolve you’re back to hiding in his jacket. 

“You’re gonna have to give her back,” Mikey says coolly, “If she’s really as high an earner as you say she is.” Ran shrugs. 

“I’m thinking about promoting her.” He shrugs. “Considering she’s technically already completed initiation.” Kakucho looks troubled, but Mikey leans forward, his thoughts plain on his face. 

“She could probably come and go from different places without being suspected,” he muses, “Of course, when she’s not,” he gestures to the bruises visible all over, “Like this.” He stands, “Sanzu, Haitani and I have some business, you’ll watch the girl.” 

“I don’t think she’ll go with him.” Ran says quickly. 

“I said he’d watch her.” Mikey says coolly, eyes narrowing. “Is there a problem?” The room drops several degrees in temperature, all conversation stops. Ran doesn’t appear affected by it though. He shrugs. 

“Let’s give it a shot, boss.” He peels you off of his lap, your eyes go wide with fear. “You’re gonna hang with Sanzu, baby, can you handle that?” You frown. “Gonna miss me?” He teases, but you hear the implicit threat and answer immediately. 

“Yes.” You whisper. He cackles, pushing you towards Sanzu. You crash hard against his chest, and he rights you without care for your injuries and you suck in a sharp breath at his touch to your waist.

“Why,” Mikey pinches the bridge of his nose, “Haitani why isn’t she wearing pants?” Ran takes a puff on his vape before responding. 

“Because I didn’t give her pants to wear.” He grins, turning to Sanzu. “Try and keep her in one piece for me?” Sanzu grins, lifting you off your feet, cradling you to his chest. 

“And shoes, Haitani.” Mikey seems genuinely annoyed. “It’s snowing.” 

“If you care so much, do something about it.” Ran takes another drag on his vape, “Are we gonna go or nah?” Mikey nods, leading the lavender haired man out of the room. Sanzu bounces you like you’re a child he’s trying to soothe. He smells different than Ran, sweeter, a honeyed smoke. 

“Haitani’s little plaything,” he says softly, and you lift your head to look at him. His eyes are a crystal clear blue, light and haunting as a wide open sky. You feel him looking at your bruise, examining your injuries as the rest of the men file out. “Losing a fight’s no fun, huh?” He says and you nod, unsure if you’re being encouraged to make conversation with him. You don’t have to wonder long because he looks away and carries you out of the conference room, down the hall. He has his own office. The desk is a mess of papers, there’s a couch and coffee table, and a window with the blinds closed. He sits you on top of the papers, and you blink a few times, trying to focus. Your head is spinning, this feels stronger, different from the painkillers.

“What,” you mumble, and realize your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, “What did he, what did he give me?” Sanzu glances at you and shrugs. 

“Dunno.” He says, and you run your fingers through your hair, trying to focus. “Don’t fight it though,” he advises, “Just relax and enjoy sweetheart.” You take a deep breath, your nails digging half moons into the skin of your palm. “You eaten?” You shake your head. He picks up the phone on his desk and you think he orders food, but you’re not entirely sure, floating in and out of the conversation. 

“Sitting up hurts, please, god.” You barely manage the words, your voice tight and pinched, and evidently you’ve interrupted him mid sentence because he cocks his head at you.

“I fucking forgot,” he cackles, “That’s what I told Ran I wanted bitches to call me,” he laughs like a hyena, running his fingers through his already wild cotton candy colored hair, “Whaddya want me to do about that?” You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek. 

“I,” you take a gulp of air. “I could lie down on the floor.” He cackles again, but the offer was genuine, you start to move. He gets up quickly, stopping you. 

“I was kidding, I,” He helps you onto your feet but you can’t tell if he’s purposely touching your tender spots or if he’s genuinely clumsy, and you can’t bite back the gasp of pain that rushes from your lips as he guides you by the waist to the soft leather sofa. You curl into the fetal position, tears sparking in your eyes, every sensation heightened as Sanzu squats down next to you, studying you for a moment before brushing some hair from your face.

“So sweet,” he coos, “Sweet little girl.” You moan softly, it feels nice and safe. “Does it hurt baby?” He asks. 

“Mhm.” You whimper. He keeps playing with your hair, like he’s fixated on it, sitting on the ground next to you while you float in and out of consciousness. You’re not sure how long he does it for, the repetitive motion and the drugs is making you feel soft and warm. It must be a long time, because when your eyelids flutter open the light has changed and he’s still there, scrolling through his phone with one hand and massaging your scalp with the other.

“Why did you do it?” He asks, so quietly you nearly ask him to repeat himself. 

“Do what?” 

“Why didn’t you stop fighting?” He asks, and he holds your eyes, stare intense but not cold. 

“In, in my room I,” you sigh, “I just, when he said he was going to kill me I could have screamed,” you roll onto your back, eyes drifting shut. “I had a moment where I could have screamed, and someone would have come.” He withdraws his hand from you. “But I couldn’t find my voice, I,” you laugh lightly and then moan in pain as it blooms uncomfortably in your chest, “I reached for it but I was so afraid I couldn’t speak. So I decided I’d have to save myself.” Sanzu nods. You reach up and run your fingers through your hair. 

“Haitani called you a tough bitch.” He says, and you look at him again, pressing your lips together. “You don’t like that, being called a bitch?” 

“I’m not strong.” You clarify in a high pitched whisper. “Just, just trying not to die, I, I have people, people I care about.” He nods absentmindedly, setting his phone on the table and reaching down to touch your bare thigh, you hear him grunt a little as he stands. He pushes your legs apart, and you feel his fingers on your panties. “I, I don’t know if, If Mr. Haitani-” 

“I don’t care.” Sanzu interrupts you, and you feel him slip them to the side. “I’m just looking, anyway,” you feel him part your folds and you try to sit up but you can’t. “Do you not want me to, sweetheart?” He asks, and you shiver. 

“I’m afraid it’s going to hurt, god.” You whisper, and he chuckles. 

“Of course it’s going to hurt,” He coos, “It’s definitely going to hurt.” Your eyes widen. “Shhh,” he breathes, “Shhh, if you’re gonna cry don’t get too loud, I, I’ll try to be gentle, I will.” You swallow, steeling yourself, closing your eyes as your hands curl into fists, your nails digging half moons in your palms. You feel him part your thighs, and can’t even conjure the embarrassment at being so casually on display, “Such a pretty pussy.” He says, marveling at you. “You work for Bonten, you know that kinda makes you my property.” You don’t respond. “Kinda makes this pussy,” he mutters to himself, as he pushes two fingers inside you, “Kinda makes this pussy my property, what do you think about that?” You breathe in slowly, but you know an order when you hear one. 

“P-please,” you muster, “Please use your pussy, god.” He cackles again, utterly tickled at the sacrilege. 

“Are you damaging our property?” You hear a new voice, Rindou, and when you look at him he’s leaning against the door frame, an utterly neutral expression on his face. 

“Fuck off,” Sanzu says, without missing a beat, pulling a soft moan, half pain half pleasure from your lips. “M busy.” 

“She needs to go back to work.” Rindou presses, but you’re having trouble focusing on it. Sanzu shrugs. 

“Not my problem,” He leans over you, “Is it my problem sweetheart, no, no it isn’t.” He reaches out and cups your bruised face, “You’re gonna sit still while I use you, aren’t you baby?” You nod, gritting your teeth. Rindou sighs deeply, but feels the odd power dynamic at play, clearly more logical, clearly more centered but also, in Bonten, he’s clearly out ranked. “You wanna watch,” Sanzu grins, “You sick fuck.” 

“I want to make sure you don’t kill her.” Rindou protests, but you don’t have time to process that because Sanzu’s thrown your legs over his shoulder and is easing himself inside with a soft groan. 

“Fuck, yes,” he hisses, watching the pain bloom on your face with his first thrusts, “Fuck that’s my girl, that’s my pretty girl, huh,” you let out a whimper and he picks up the pace, but you’re grateful he keeps from slamming his hips against yours, only jostling you a little bit. Tears still pool in your eyes, even as he reaches down and plays with your clit, even as you gasp and clench around him. 

Rindou’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t move, waiting for Sanzu to finish, unable to tear himself away from you. With the light coming in from the window it’s almost like a renaissance painting, Sanzu is beastly, tyrannical, scarred and wild, and you arch your back dutifully, unable to keep still, perfect lips parted as he coos praise at you, tears falling from your eyes. 

For you, the pain has given way to pleasure, and you’re lifting your hips to the best of your ability to meet him, his hands digging into your hips, occasionally reaching up to wipe some of your tears. 

“So sweet,” he coos, “So good for me, hm, is that why they like you so much, you’re a good girl?” You swallow, unable to respond, he doesn’t seem to expect you to. He lets out kind of a strangled snarl and pulls out, cumming onto his hand and grabbing a pile of napkins from his desk. You let out a low cry of pain as he lets your legs fall onto the couch, but try to focus on breathing. 

“Has she eaten?” You hear Rindou ask. 

“Oh shit,” Sanzu says, “I ordered food and then I ate it, nah you should probably take care of that.” You feel strong arms lift you up off the couch, tucking you into their chest. “Yeah just bring her back,” Sanzu says, tossing the napkins in his office garbage can. “I’m supposed to be watching her.” 

“Yeah.” Rindou shrugs. “Whatever.” You open your eyes and lean into Rindou’s chest, he carries you down the hallway and sets you on the couch in his office. You float out of your body, high out of your mind, and the last thing you feel is a blanket being tucked around your body. 

You hear his voice on the phone, arguing loudly with someone, something about billing and private information. You open your eyes just once, and he scowls at you, tucking the phone back into his neck. 

“Go back to sleep.” He snaps, and you do. 

____

“Oi,” you hear, “Heard you skipped lunch.” You open your eyes and Ran is in front of you, his shirt somehow even more unbuttoned than it had been earlier, a single tuft of purple hair flopping on his forehead. You struggle into a seated position, feeling a bit better, he pushes something into your hands and you hear a crackle of plastic. It’s dark out, but the office is light in the hallway, you glance around Rindou’s office, wondering if he turned off the light so you could sleep. 

“Thank you, sir.” You whisper, and peel the plastic off of the onigiri, stomach growling. Ran nods, inspecting you. Even after a few hours, you look a bit better, eyes more clear, bruises having retreated even by a degree. 

“Look good,” he grins, plopping on the couch next to you. “Know what we’re gonna do tonight?” You shake your head. “You up for a party?” He boops your nose. “You’re my plus one.” You look down at your clothes, you’re still dressed in his shirt and you have no idea what Sanzu did with your panties. “We’ll change at my place, I had them send over some options.” He stands, and lifts you, putting you on his hip like a child, one arm hooked around your waist. “Hold onto my neck,” he instructs, and you feel his gun in its holder on his belt, digging into your thigh. “Let’s go.” He leads you through the office, which is largely empty. You pass a room where Mikey and Kokonoi seem to be having some kind of argument, and you catch the blonde’s dark eyes for a moment as you pass, shivering and hiding in Ran’s shoulder. Ran looks down at you, about to speak, when the conference room door opens behind you. 

“Wait.” You recognize Mikey’s voice even before Ran turns around, adjusting your weight on his hip. 

“What’s up, boss?” Ran says, oozing nonchalance in a way that feels nearly, like it could be, just a degree performative. There’s something about the way he says boss, maybe it’s the pop of the b sound, the hiss of the ss. You can’t quite put your finger on it. 

“I promoted you.” He says, holding eye contact with you. You swallow. “You won’t be going back to your,” he pauses, and you wonder if he’s avoiding the word whore, avoiding the word slut, avoiding the word prostitute. “Previous employment.” He says eventually. “Haitani has informed me you have some debts that we’ve taken care of.” You raise your eyebrows, looking sharply up at Ran, whose face remains placid and unreadable. “You’re now,” a little smile, “An executive assistant. Better pay, healthcare, no more spreading your legs for men with money.” Your mouth goes dry, you wonder if he expects you to thank him. You find your voice. 

“Thank you, Mikey.” You say softly, and feel Ran tightens his grip on you. Mikey shrugs. 

“Technically,” He gives you a lazy smile, “You completed our initiation ritual twice, in protection of an executive, and ah, the men whose lives you saved now report to you.” 

“I, I won’t know what to do,” you blurt, and Ran gives you a squeeze. 

“I gotcha, sweetheart.” he says. “That it boss? Idiots forgot to give her anything to eat all day.” Mikey sighs deeply. 

“Of course they did.” He shrugs. “No. Whatever. See you tonight.” Ran turns and takes you back out through the restaurant. You hide your face in his chest again, conscious of how much of your bruised body is on display. He helps you into a car and the driver takes off, you feel his lips on your cheek as the engine purrs. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, sitting you on his lap so that you’re facing him on your knees. 

“Better, sir.” You say softly, and he takes your face in two large hands and kisses you, it’s soft and deft, he moves with more skill than you expect, and you’re suddenly reminded that he’s a few years older than you, as you feel one of his hands cup your ass, you feel the cool of his rings through your shirt. He hums with satisfaction, pulling away and tucking you into his chest. 

“I don’t care, by the way, that Sanzu touched you.” he says, one hand on the back of your head as he pushes your face into his neck. You stiffen, in your experience, that usually meant men did care, very much. “It’ll never happen again.” Ran says, still sounding calm, still speaking like he’s discussing the weather, or lunch plans. You snuggle into him, he’s so warm, and you’re freezing. “If anyone else touches you though,” he says, rubbing the back of your head, “I want you to tell me. Understand?” You nod. 

“Yes, sir.” Your head finally feels clear, and your ribs don’t ache as badly as they did that morning. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure.” He leans back, holding you tightly. 

“What did you give me, today?” 

“Oh,” he has to think about it, “Mostly downers with a little upper to keep ya conscious, what’s up though, you want more?” You shake your head. “Aw, what’s wrong, didn’t like napping?”

“It was hard to focus,” you explain, “And I,” he feels you wrap your arms around his neck, genuinely holding him back for the first time since he’d first touched you, his heart hammers in his chest. “I want to focus, when I’m with you.” You feel his lips on the top of your head. 

“Can’t believe Sanzu couldn’t just get another fucking whore,” Ran complains, and the 

scent of artificial grape fills your nostrils, and you know he’s taken a hit of his vape. “Your fucking ribs are broken.” You don’t speak, understanding that likely you’re not supposed to. “Whatever, though,” he softens, and it seems genuine. You feel his 5 o’clock shadow prickling against your face as he swallows. He reaches up and squeezes your arm, feeling the way you’re genuinely clinging to him. 

“What happens now?” You mumble. 

“You’re my executive assistant,” He explains, “You’ll help me with my schedule, attend meetings with me, get me drinks when I tell you to get me drinks.” You don’t have to ask if that means you’ll be staying in his bed, sleeping at his apartment. “You’ll have some ah, men reporting to you, you can think of them like bodyguards but trust me I’ve threatened them within an inch of their life, they know what happens if they touch what’s mine.” Logically, that should make you nervous, you realize, that he was so possessive, so willing to threaten, but you only feel a warm relief spread across your chest. 

“Good.” You murmur, lifting your head, looking up at the only person who’d ever saved you from anything. The only person who’d ever bandaged your wounds, who’d ever cared if you’d eaten, ever cared if you’d rested.

“Yeah?” He says, a smile spreading across his face, his canines glinting as a panel of light passes over his face, the driver pulls up in front of his apartment complex but he doesn't move. You nod, and he runs his knuckles down your cheek, “Such a pretty girl,” he breathes, “Such a pretty, pretty girl.” You squirm with pleasure at his praise, and then wince. “Alright.” he grins, more businesslike. “Let’s getcha some food, and then dressed up, huh?” He ruffles your hair. “I wanna see how you clean up.” 

___ 

Security is omnipresent, you realize, they’re there in Ran’s kitchen, standing outside his bedroom, one of them, Shion, you’re told, stands with you in the bathroom as you style your hair, and attempt to paint makeup over your broken face. You don’t speak to him, afraid at first of getting him in trouble, and then the silence gets comfortable. Ran takes phone calls as he gets dressed, apparently Bonten is acquiring a few new warehouses and they’re haggling the price a bit lower. 

“It’s not a threat, Rodrigo,” You hear Ran say, through the bathroom door, you imagine him partially dressed, pacing in his bedroom. “It’s not a threat, it’s a statement of a fact, you don’t want to fuck us anymore than you wanna get fucked,” there’s a pause. “Tell ya what,” he says, “Tell ya what, let’s get dinner, tomorrow, bring your girl, and we’ll talk it through, see if we can’t come to an agreement.” He laughs, but it’s a joyless terrifying sound. “Well, we’ll see what happens after, we’ll see.” Ran pokes his head into the bathroom a moment later, you’re adjusting your eyeliner. 

“Sweetheart, we’ve got dinner plans tomorrow, don’t let me forget.” 

“Could I,” You turn to him, and his mouth waters, despite the constellation of bruises still visible, your form in the tight, red velvet wrap dress is positively intoxicating, your eyes are wide and a little fearful, he realizes what animal you remind him of now, doe eyed and skittish. “Could I get a notebook, something to write these things down in?” Ran shrugs, and glances at Shion. 

“Yeah, get her whatever she wants.” He says, shrugging, and Shion takes a phone out of his pocket, “You wanna meet your bitches, baby?” He coos, offering you an arm. You’re still barefoot, your dress drags on the floor but he smirks at the haste with which you move to be close to him. 

“Yes, sir.” You beam at him. He’s nearly dressed, for once in a full, dark suit and crisp white shirt. He’s so tall, you imagine everything has to be tailored and custom. He’s got another silver chain around his neck, his shirt only mostly buttoned, his hair coiffed. He shaved again, at some point, you realize, and he catches you staring. 

“Eyes up,” he says, directing your gaze out to his living room. You almost don’t recognize the space as the room you’d shot two men in, but you absolutely recognize your bodyguards. “Boys,” Ran drawls, “Think you might owe the lady something.” 

“Thank you.” The one of them with raven hair, and some kind of a panther tattoo on his neck steps forward, looking at the ground. “For saving my life.” 

“Thank you Yuuta!” Ran crows, and the first man, Yuuta, takes a step back. “And you, Isami, anything to share?” 

“Thank you,” the second man nods a bleach blonde head, “Thanks for saving my life.” 

“Good.” Ran says, grinning. “Now, if anything happens to her you know that neither of you has any use to me, correct?” 

“Yes sir.” They both say in unison. 

“And you know what happens to things that have no use to me?” Ran presses, rubbing a circle in your lower back as he casually threatens their lives. You lean into his touch. 

“Yes sir.” They say again. They’re both tall, you realize, though shorter than Ran, they’re more broad and muscular. 

“Regrettably, I can’t spend every minute of every day with you,” Ran explains, “But they will,” he pauses, glancing around, looking annoyed, “Didn’t she ask for a notebook? God.” he runs his fingers through his hair, and it’s another few minutes before a leather book is pressed into your hands. Ran takes another phone call before you leave and you wait for him on the couch, sitting in between the large men. You look up at them. 

“Ah, Yuuta, and Isami?” You ask, and they nod. “Okay,” you take a shallow breath. “Can I ask one of you to get me a drink, or do I-” Yuuta steps away immediately, returning in seconds with a glass of chilled white wine. “Oh, ah, I prefer whiskey, actually,” you look up at him and he shrugs. 

“Mr. Haitani specified what we’re allowed to give you.” He says and you chew the inside of your cheek, taking a sip of the wine. It’s grassy, maybe something from California, or southern France, you wonder if you’d live to see those places. It’s winter now, icy rain beating against Ran’s wall of windows, and you wonder, shivering, surrounded by these men with guns, if you’ll live to see spring, to feel a warm breeze again. Ran saunters back into the room before you can start to catastrophize, handing you something. It’s your cell phone. 

“A little embarrassing for you that there are no notifications besides work and your little otome game,” he teases, “But I assume based on the call history you call your brother most nights around 9PM.” 

“That’s right before he starts chemo.” You say softly, taking it in your hand. “He’ll be nervous that I didn’t call yesterday.” Ran sighs deeply. 

“Yes, well if Yuuta and Isami were capable of doing their jobs,” his words slice through the artificially heated air, “You’d have made that call.” You give him a little smile, and reach for him experimentally. He takes your hand, pulling you into his chest. 

“Be nice, maybe?” You try, looking up at him with just a bit of pleading in your face, he leans down and kisses you. 

“No,” he says when he pulls away, smiling widely in a way that conveys not a drop of warmth. “Lion can’t change its spots sweetheart.” You have one moment where you consider correcting him, but don’t bother. “How about, I don’t throw their worthless bodies in the river, and you,” he pauses mid sentence, kissing you again, “You just sit there and look pretty. I’ll be done soon.” You pout a little, sitting gently back down on the couch. 

“I’m not quite, pretty again.” You murmur, your bruised face fresh in your mind. He shrugs. 

“Look fine to me. Call your little brother.” You put on a big wool coat, it’s black with fur cuffs and a fur collar, you’d have to ask Ran if it would be possible to exchange it for something faux, wondering if he’d care. It’s freezing, and you’re barefoot, but you pad onto the stone, flanked by your new security. 

“Hey,” you hear, there’s a little crackle, reception in the hospital was always bad. “I was worried, when you didn’t call?” 

“Oh yeah,” you play it off, something about the warm familiarity of your brother's voice after the chaos of the previous days makes you want to cry. “I got into a bit of trouble, it worked out but ah, I got a new job.” 

“Really?” You hear him shift a little in bed. 

“Yeah, just admin work instead of cleaning, so um,” you tuck your hair behind your ears, “Scheduling, that kind of thing.” 

“You’ll be so great at that!” He says. “I’m, ah, I’m proud of you. I wish I could help out more, I know you’re really on your own right now.” 

“I’m not on my own,” you protest, just as Ran cracks the sliding door to the balcony to eavesdrop. “I’m not on my own, dummy I have you, and ah, I think with this job I might make some friends, so there.” 

“Who would want to be your friend?” He teases, and you both laugh.

“No idea.” You wrap an arm around your ribcage. “You feeling okay?” 

“Sure.” He says, “Sure never better.” 

“I’ll come see you,” you promise, “I’ve been saving up, it’s just a three hour train up to-” 

“I’m the reason you can barely afford a train ticket,” Your brother says, and Ran watches your face fall, “You don’t have to come see me.” 

“I want to.” You try. “I want to come see you, I’ll um, I’ll text you, okay?” 

“Yeah, alright, I’m um, I’m pretty tired.” He says, “They’re gonna take me in soon. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” You barely get the words out before the phone goes dead. “Okay,” you say out loud to yourself, shivering in the cold, “Okay, I’m, I’m okay.” You glance over at the bodyguards and nearly catch Ran snooping but he ducks away just in time. “I’m alright to go back inside.” You say softly and one of them opens the door for you. The second you step back inside Ran sweeps you into a hug, pressing his lips to the top of your head. 

“Everything alright?” He asks, and you nod. 

“Would it be possible for me to um, to visit him?” You look up at the executive who remains inscrutable. Ran considers, possible, yes, but it was a bad time for him to leave Tokyo, and a worse time for you to be out of his sight for more than a few hours. 

“I’ll think about it.” He says. “It’s dangerous right now.” You nod, snuggling into him. “Are you worried about him?” He tries, testing the water, remembering the little whimpers you’d made that first night when he’d pressed on a bruise. 

“Yes, sir.” You don’t let go of Ran. “Also I need to know the details about the dinner tomorrow, so um, so I can make sure you remember.” He grins at you. 

“Of course.” 

_____ 

The party is loud, and there are cries of joy when Ran walks in, immediately some gigantic man embraces him, and takes your hand, bringing it to his lips. You hold his gaze for a moment, and he offers you a wide smile. 

“What did you let happen to such a pretty little thing,” He says, speaking to Ran, who raises a single eyebrow before forcing a smile. “You know, all of my girls are-” 

“Routinely vaccinated against various viruses,” Ran cuts in, smirking, “I know.” 

“Haitani,” He shakes his head. “You never change, and you,” he looks back at you, “Can’t blame a man for trying.” 

“She’s actually my assistant.” Ran says smoothly, his grip on your shoulder tightening. “Not one of our girls.” 

“Ah, that’s not what I heard,” He releases your hand, “You can call me Benkeii.” His voice is deep, a little booming, you have to fight the urge to cower. He takes a step to the side. “Make your rounds and then come see me.” You get the impression he’s talking to Ran, even though his eyes haven’t left you. Ran nods, pulling forward into the crowd. There are rows of velvet booths with curtains, a populated dancefloor, and a dark wood bar that Ran pulls you to, ordering himself a scotch and another glass of white wine for you. He doesn’t ask you what you’d like, and you don’t comment on it, glancing at Yuuta and Isami behind you. Yuuta looks calm, if tired, and Isami looks annoyed, you wonder if bodyguards who resented their charge were worth anything. 

“Unfortunately I can’t babysit you the entire night,” Ran boops your nose, “And,” he takes a step forward, speaking in your ear. “You’re working.” You keep your face neutral, and then smile a little, as if he’d said something intimate. 

“Of course,” your drinks arrive, Ran intercepts them, inspecting yours before handing it to you. 

“I’ll letcha know what I need in a few,” he downs his drink, and pushes off into the crowd. As soon as his silhouette is obscured, your bodyguards step closer, and you wince. The wine is terrible, tasting sweetly cheap. 

“How are you feeling?” Yuuta leans down and speaks in your ear. “Are you in pain?” You nod, you can still feel the dull throbbing of your ribs and head but it’s not prohibitive. “We can find you a place to sit.” Yuuta points, and not for the first time, you notice how much they go out of their way not to touch you. Somehow, they guide you to a booth where you sit by yourself, staring out at the throng of people. Normally, if you were working, you’d be making conversation with the richest looking man in the room. The girls used to try and guess who that was, based on bespoke suits, jewelry, and pure aura. You’d never had much luck, despite your brief brush with childhood wealth you’d spent your life on the outside of that world looking in. You take another gulp of wine, and finish the glass, pushing it away from yourself to find it nearly immediately replaced by a passing waiter. One of the bodyguards takes it before you can, looking at it before handing it to you. You consider taking your phone out, you’re in too much pain to dance, not that it would be allowed you assumed. 

Your hands shake on the table, and you force the rest of the wine down, as you take a deep breath in through your nose. You see him then, indisputably, the richest man in the room. It’s not the suit, which has to be hand dyed, you decide, in order to get that purple that was nearly black, almost black, so deep and rich. It’s not the rings decorating his hands, or the flash of the heavy chain around his neck. It’s not the intricately beautiful tattoo work on his chest, curling up onto his neck. It’s not his posture, his smirk, his delicate features. 

No, it’s the way he looks at you, the way he returns your gaze like a panther in the forest, the way he sizes you up, the little smile, intensity burning in his eyes, barely visible under a mop of light blonde hair. It’s the way he walks to you, swagger is the wrong word, his movements are sure. Deft. Intentional. You’re fully aware that he’s walking across the room to speak with you, and the crowd parts for him, his lazy smile hiding the intensity of his presence. He holds a hand out to you, his eyes flicking to the bruises around your wrist and on your clavicle. 

“Wakasa Imaushi.” He says, and your bodyguards take a slight step to the side, allowing you to take his hand. “You look miserable.”

if you enjoyed pls consider commenting, reblogging or sending me a lil ask <3 thanks.

hey friends just wanna quickly put it out there that if you pull shit like this with a blank blog:

and i give you a nice and polite response, saying how the way to get people to stay is to reblog and like their stuff, not just to demand them to stay when you have never fuckin interacted with anyone before,,, and your response is "ah alr"

i will block you without a second fucking thought. it's so entitled and selfish to pull a stunt like this. fuck off.

4play Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro, Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/reader (haikyuu!!) word count: 8.2k rating: E (18+, minors DNI) tags: gangbang, dry humping, oral f!receiving, edging, unsafe sex, creampie, mentions of alcohol, consensual sex while mildly under the influence, voyeurism kinda?, makki and mattsun are bad roommates a/n: this is the filthiest thing i've ever written! sorry!

CROSSPOSTED TO AO3

Through the trials and tribulations of first-hand experience, you’ve come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a good roommate or a bad roommate — instead of a binary, it’s more like an ever-fluctuating spectrum that exists between the two.

Some roommates are tidy but loud; others are messy, but beyond the disaster they leave in the kitchen after every meal they cook you hardly notice they’re there; some roommates respect your privacy and belongings, but insist on keeping their lube in the fridge next to your orange juice.

In short: it’s never black and white.

Ultimately, living with roommates is just an unfortunate inevitability — though if you could afford to live alone as a broke university student, you would — and you have to learn to adjust your lifestyle to cope with it.

Living with strangers is a bit weird, like your first roommate freshman year: a tiny girl who was perfectly pleasant to cohabitate with, and said almost nothing beyond the absolute nightmare fuel she used to mutter in her sleep on the other side of your shared shoe-box of a dorm room. You, decidedly, preferred living with friends whom you knew and trusted not to tell you they were going to kill you in their sleep.

Which is precisely how, after moving out of your dorm first year after realizing residence just wasn’t for you, you ended up moving in with two of your best friends from high school: Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei.

Living with members of the opposite sex presented an entirely new spectrum of difficulty, to be sure. But you knew Makki and Mattsun, you’d been friends since you were 15, and you’d long grown used to their antics and eccentricities. So all in all, the three of you made a pretty solid trio of housemates — so solid in fact that your cohabitation somehow managed to endure all the way through to your senior year.

Which is how you find yourself on the phone with a friend in the kitchen of your three-bedroom apartment just off campus in the early afternoon, AirPods in, tidying up some dishes that someone (probably Makki) left out that morning before heading to class. Your lab that morning was cancelled, and rather than make your way to campus for the one other class you had scheduled that day, you decided to treat yourself and play hooky for once.

“His name was soooo long, too,” your friend’s plaintive voice sighs from the other end of the call, in the process of regaling you with the story of a dating app hookup gone wrong the evening prior. “And I only called him ‘daddy’ because I didn’t know if we were close enough to nickname him, and somehow that felt less personal!”

You huff out a little breath of air, halfway to a chuckle, twirling the slightly damp towel that you’d just finished drying the dishes with between your hands. “What’s the point of a boy even having a name if it isn’t moanable?”

Your friend’s tittering laugh resounds through your headphones and you giggle along with her, a sly smile pinching at your cheeks at your own joke.

Movement in the corner of your eye startles you, and you whip around suddenly to see Hiro (aforementioned dish-leaver and everyday bane of your existence) leaning in the doorway as though waiting for you to notice him, both hands tucked down the front of his grey sweatpants. He looks at you with a single eyebrow drawn up.

“Jesus christ, make your presence known you creep — No, not you,” you assure your friend on the other line when she makes an indignant, confused noise. You roll your eyes after tossing a brief glare at the boy still standing in the doorway, looking as pleased as ever. “Makki was lurking behind me.”

You quickly end your call with your friend once you realize that your nosy roommate has no intention of going anywhere anytime soon, popping your headphones out from your ears and turning to look at him with an unimpressed scowl on your face.

The corner of his mouth quirks up, the exact opposite of your own.

“So, moanable names, huh?”

You huff, annoyed that not only was he eavesdropping but now he was trying to make some sort of group discussion of the indignity. “Fuck off.”

“No, no. Tell me more.” Makki slides a little further into the kitchen, grinning down at you. “Is my name moanable?”

“Makki, I swear to god,” you try to sound threatening but it just comes out exasperated. You’re used to his antics — you’ve been friends for long enough that you’ve simply become acclimatized to the garden-variety chaos he seems to exude at all times, but this conversation felt like it was toeing a lie that you didn’t want to cross.

“I didn’t even know this was something girls care about, so help me out here,” he said, cajoling you further. “Friend to friend, I gotta know. Tell me.”

“No.”

“No as in it’s not moanable? Or no as in you won’t tell me?” he pesters on, and you only get more flustered and annoyed as he bullies you a little further into the corner of the kitchen where the counter meets the stove in an L-shape.

“No as in there’s no way in hell I’m having this conversation with you.”

You hit him with the dish towel in your hands, though not hard enough to do any real damage, and he yelps but he’s still grinning all the while.

“Now what’s going on in here?” a deep voice full of mirth pries your attention away from the strawberry blonde crowding over you, and your gaze lands on your second roommate.

Mattsun is leaning against the doorframe in much the same way Makki had been only a moment prior, still wearing his jacket — he must have just gotten back from his morning class, though you hadn’t heard him come in.

If you’d been hoping for salvation in his sudden appearance, the smirk on Matsukawa’s face all but dashes that aspiration.

Once Makki gets him up to speed, he all too delightedly joins in.

“It’s really not that hard of a question,” Mattsun drawls, cocking his head to the side. He’s still on the opposite end of the room, a full six feet or more away from you, but his presence is just as stifling as if he was hovering over you like Makki presently found himself. “We’d tell you if you were the one asking, you know.”

Your lips part a little, and a terrible, treacherously inquisitive voice in the back of your mind tells you that you should ask — that you want to know if they think your name is moanable.

You bury the thought as quickly as it surfaces, choking it back with your indignation.

“Well I’m not asking, and I have no plans to — now or ever,” you shove a little against Makki’s chest to give yourself a bit more space. He hardly budges.

Why are your friends all so fucking tall?

“Well, it is.”

You blink, eyes flickering up towards Hiro who had said the words.

“Your name,” he explains, pressing the tip of his pointer finger to the furrow that had made itself known upon your brow, reading the signs of your confusion without you needing to openly express them. “Super moanable.”

“Agreed,” Mattsun pipes in unprompted from the doorway, and your eyes flicker over to see his smirk had given way to a full-on grin — wolfish though it may be.

You snap out of your stupor and smack Hiro’s hand away, throwing your dishtowel right in his face as you shoulder by him towards the door, glowering at Mattsun on your way past for good measure.

You storm off, footfalls heavy on the floor of the hallway as you go, and slam the door behind you once you make it into the sanctuary of your own bedroom.

You’re mad at both of them — borderline fuming as you throw yourself down atop your unmade bed.

Because it’s awkward.

And annoying.

And unnecessary.

They both have perfectly moanable names.

You know it.

They know it.

Hell, you hear their hookups do it often enough through the paper-thin walls of your three-bedroom to say it with an almost unfair degree of certainty. Walls so thin it’s like you can see through them — can see all the ways the two boys you’ve known for years are making those girls you’ll never actually get the opportunity to properly meet scream.

Admittedly, you hear cries of Issei more often than Hiro, but the latter is always more ragged, more desperately obscene than the former. The sounds echo through the apartment so clearly that not even your noise cancelling headphones are enough to drown them out some nights, and you find yourself falling asleep to the mortifying thought of what it might be like to be the one who was screaming their names.

You bury your burning face in your pillow at the thought and resist the urge to shriek.

The rest of your day is spent hiding in your room; watching Netflix on your laptop, taking sporadic naps, and rationing the water in the bottle you kept on your bedside table to stave off the need to leave your bed for as long as humanly possible.

There’s a bit of noise that drifts into your room throughout the afternoon, specifically in the evening as two familiar voices join the other two that had been in the apartment for most of the day. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were supposed to come over to drink and play video games that night, and their arrival had crept up on you faster than anticipated.

About half an hour after they land, you get a text from Iwa asking if you’re gonna come out and join them, but you ignore it and pretend to be asleep.

Eventually the water bottle goes dry, and you can’t ignore the grumbling of your stomach any longer, and when you think the coast is clear — shouts in the living room telling you that the boys are likely distracted by whatever game they were playing —you slink out of your room to grab a snack from the kitchen.

You’re quiet as you pry open your bedroom door, careful to avoid the parts of the floor along the way which you know are a little creaky and might give you away. You’re so focused on where you’re stepping that you don’t notice a figure stepping out from the bathroom until you’re colliding with a broad, muscular chest that smells like expensive cologne and fabric softener. You squeak in surprise, looking up to see Oikawa grinning down at you.

“Going somewhere, sleeping beauty?” he teases you, and you stumble back from him.

“I was just, uh, I just wanted to get something to eat,” you say quietly, nodding towards the doorway to the kitchen at the other end of the hall.

Oikawa takes a step forward, bullying you with his much larger frame back towards the living room.

“We’ve got plenty of snacks to share,” he says with a knowing smirk that makes your skin prickle, and you wonder just how much of your altercation earlier in the afternoon Mattsun and Makki had already shared with him. “And now that you’re awake you can join us!”

You sigh in defeat, following along behind him to where the other three boys are waiting in the living room.

The coffee table is already covered in empty beer cans and bowls of half-eaten snacks, and your eyes immediately hone in on a bowl of the pretzel sticks you’d been hoping to snag from the kitchen on your pilgrimage that had been unceremoniously derailed.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Oikawa chirps as he flops himself back onto the couch next to Issei, whose attention remains focused on the screen in front of him as he and Hiro (who was seated in the chair beside the sofa) went 1v1 on some combat game you never really got into.

Iwaizumi looks up from his place on the floor, spotting you hovering in the doorway and shooting you a little smile. He pats the open space on the floor beside him and you resignedly shuffle over to join him.

“Did you have a good nap?” he asks with a laugh as you sit crosslegged to his left.

You nod curtly. “Can you pass me the pretzels?”

You settle in with the bowl in your lap once he hands it to you, popping a salty snack into your mouth and risking a glance at your two roommates on the other side of the room. Neither of them appear bothered or otherwise moved by your sudden appearance, and they seem to have let your earlier conversation go. Mattsun even brings you back a beer after his next trip into the kitchen, which you accept — cracking the can open and carefully sipping the carbonation that fizzles up over the rim.

Your empty stomach from barricading yourself in your room all afternoon means that the beer hits you faster than the pretzel sticks you and Iwa were sharing, and before you know it all the tension you’d been feeling in your shoulders has fizzled away like the bubbles in the beer you’re all drinking.

You really should have seen it coming.

“So,” Oikawa drawls, draping himself over the arm of the sofa overhead, leaning towards you. “Do I have a moanable name?”

And you’re mortified.

Makki does nothing to conceal his laughter at your horrified expression. Mattsun’s smirk is thinly veiled at best. Iwa (the only one you’re leaving in your will, decidedly) tells them to fuck off and drop it, his voice gruff and firm.

“I think as a friend we have a right to know these things, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa counters his friend’s command, holding a hand to his chest. “Don’t you want to know?

“I don’t care,” Iwa bites back, but there’s the slightest waver in it, the furtive way that he steals a glance at you that betrays the comment’s sincerity.

Oh.

“God, fine!” you huff out, exasperated and embarrassed and ready to just put this entire conversation to rest once and for all. “I’m sure you all have moanable names — happy now?”

The boys take pause at that.

“But which one of us has the most moanable name?” Makki asks with a smirk, leaning forward in his seat to leer at you. The look in his eyes is predatory, and makes something in you rise like panic, but without the actual fear of any danger.

Anticipation, you realize. That’s what you’re feeling.

Their video game has been abandoned now, one controller dangling loosely from Makki’s hand while Issei’s has been discarded on the coffee table.

Their eyes are all on you.

“I- I don’t know that, you perv!” you squeak out, heat climbing so quickly in your cheeks it’s making you dizzy, and you’re uncertain if it’s the beer or the blood rush that’s to blame. Maybe both. “Who am I to judge that?”

“Could you?”

Your eyes flicker to Mattsun.

“Judge it, I mean,” he adds when he sees the blank look on your face.

“Wh- how?” you squeak out, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. The atmosphere in the room has changed, become charged, in the few moments since the subject had come up.

“Moan for us,” Oikawa says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You blink, absolutely bewildered by the request.

“Moan for us, please?” Oikawa stretches forward, his hand cupping your cheek. He looks so sweet and beseeching as his thumb presses down into your bottom lip.

“Why me?” you manage to ask through the pulse pounding in your throat.

“You’re the only girl, so you’re the only one who can do it, y’know, authentically,” Makki says from his seat. Your eyes flicker over to him, Oikawa’s thumb still prodding against your mouth. “Plus you’re hot.”

You roll your eyes, but you undeniably feel a shiver run through you when none of the other men in the room make any efforts to dispute his claim.

“So?” Mattsun asks, and the single word is so loaded that you feel like it sucks all the air from the room.

Oikawa finally pulls away from you, and the five of you sit quietly for a moment.

“Okay.”

You have no idea what makes you say it. Maybe it’s the alcohol in your bloodstream, maybe it’s something more depraved that was already inside of you long before you brought the can of beer to your lips that evening, the same thing that occasionally had your fingers creeping into your panties on the nights that your headphones aren’t enough to hide the sounds coming from your roommates’ bedrooms.

Something shifts in the room the minute you agree, like a spark catching on a pool of gasoline.

Oikawa laughs, the sound absolutely delighted and conniving, from his seat on the sofa.

“How far are we taking this?” Iwa asks gruffly, your eyes flickering over to him as he sits beside you. He looks reluctant.

“That’s up to her,” Makki says, nodding in your direction.

“Whaddya say?” Mattsun asks, eyes trailing all the way up your body before landing on your face. A little twitch at the corner of his already smirking mouth, ticking upward to make the curl of his lip a little more feral. “It’s your call: how far will you let us go, sweetheart?”

Your mouth feels too dry to form a response.

“First base?” Oikawa asks sweetly, leaning over the edge of the sofa once more as his fingers skirt up your arm. His touch ghosts over the swell of your breasts, right where the neckline of your tank top dips down, but only grazes you lightly enough to leave you squirming and unsatisfied.

Your breath hitches as you feel the warmth of his lips on your neck, your head lolling to the side instinctively — but the touch is so brief that you’d almost consider it chaste if not for the way his hand had slithered down to cup your pussy through the material of your leggings, brazen and self-assured.

“Second?” he poses a another question, murmuring the words directly into your skin, even though you’d never responded to the first.

He pulls away when you say nothing, your thighs clenching unconsciously to trap the pressure of his hand where it rests between your legs. His eyes are alight with something entirely too devious to look so tender as he locks gazes with you.

“Oh, you’re letting us go all the way,” he breathes the knowing words out like a prayer, honeyed and exalted.

“Don’t assume things, pervykawa,” Iwa snaps, but his voice is tighter than it had been a moment prior.

“Go on then,” Oikawa urges you, nosing at the edge of your jaw before pressing another featherlight kiss to your throat. “Tell us.”

You let a little noise out at way he presses his hand down a little firmer between your legs, your hips rolling against the pressure instinctively. Your eyes flutter closed, and when they open again, you’re acutely aware of the four men whose attentions are intently focused on you.

You swallow hard, fixing your eyes on the floor to avoid their esurient gazes.

“You can do whatever you want.”

They draw pretzels to decide the order. Four broken sticks held tight in Iwaizumi’s curled fist for them to pick from. Longest stick goes last, and the shortest first. You feel the blood drain from your face when you see who’s holding up the fated stub to start the endeavour off.

Matsukawa seems far less hesitant than you as he beckons you over into his lap. You shakily crawl a bit closer to him across the floor and then pause.

You’ve made out with Mattsun a few times over the years, mostly when you were high or a little tipsy — but it was always lazy and pointless and just for fun.

This was different.

There was a purpose to this — a goal that effectively erased all of the boundaries that normally existed between you and your friends.

“You, I-I… you can’t go first,” you say, your tone panicked as you slowly process the facts in front of you.

Mattsun smirks at you from his place on the couch, leaning down so his face is closer to yours.

“And why’s that?”

Your eyes widen, flickering to the other boys around the room who are watching you squirm with varying looks of interest - Oikawa’s smirk in particular is acutely sadistic from the other end of the sofa.

“You’re too big,” you say quietly, too much breath behind the words to make them anything more than a whisper.

You’ve heard the conversations they’ve had about the size of Mattsun’s cock over the years, and though you’ve never seen it in full view, you’ve caught him half-hard in his sweatpants first thing in the morning enough times to know they weren’t exaggerating when they called him massive.

“What was that?” Issei feigns ignorance, holding a hand up to his ear. “Repeat yourself, so we can all hear you a bit better.”

“You can’t go first,” you repeat yourself adamantly, but it’s not the part that Matsukawa wanted to hear you say, and he clicks his tongue admonishingly.

“Sure I can,” he drawls, holding up the piece of pretzel that he’d pulled, by far the shortest of the four that had been tucked into Iwaizumi’s curled palm, “it’s the luck of the draw.”

Issei extends his hand to you, and eventually you take it, allowing him to guide you up onto the sofa so you’re straddling his lap. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs dipping under the hem of your tank top to brush against the skin underneath.

“There you go,” he says, smiling up at you toothily as you brace yourself on his broad shoulders. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

This is familiar enough. You’ve sat on his lap before, felt the way his palms flatten and slide down down down to palm your ass through the material of your leggings. He’s not smiling anymore as he peers up at you — no, that look has been replaced with something hungrier as his eyes flutter down to your lips.

You lean forward and kiss him.

Issei is a good kisser.

He has been since the first time the two of you made out in the backyard of a house party in high school when you were both drunk off of pitifully meagre amounts of liquor you’d convinced one the boys’ old volleyball senpai’s to buy for you. His lips are just as soft as they were back then, and he takes his time — focusing on your lips for what feels like an eternity before even thinking to swipe his tongue forward, pressing into your mouth gently in a gesture you’re all too happy to reciprocate.

Your lips start to burn from the way Issei nips and sucks at them, pulling away and watching with a heavy-lidded fascination as he lets your swollen bottom lip snap back into place as it slips from his teeth. You writhe in his lap.

You feel hot.

Too hot for someone who lives in a drafty apartment and isn’t wearing that many clothes to begin with.

You feel like you’re melting when Mattsun leans forward and presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat, his teeth biting down into the skin.

“Issei,” when his name finally slips out from your parted, stinging lips, it’s a whimper more than a moan. You head lolls back as your eyes flutter shut.

“Come on, that doesn’t count and you know it, sweetheart,” he says, the words smug and smothered by your skin between his teeth.

“He hasn’t even touched you yet and you’re this whiny,” Oikawa chuckles breathlessly from the other end of the sofa, and for the first time you remember that the two of you aren’t alone. Your eyes flash over to the young man only a few feet away from you, watching your face carefully.

“Hey,” a hand on your chin guides your face back towards the boy whose lap you’re perched on top of. Issei’s dark eyes bore into yours, his lips pink and swollen in a way that you’re sure yours also mirror. “Why are you looking at him when I’m right here? You distracted or something?”

Issei places the hand not holding your chin on the small of your back, pulling you forward at the same time that he ruts his own hips up. You gasp as you feel the pressure of his hard cock pressing against your clothed cunt. Even through the layers of clothing separating you, you can feel just how big he is.

“O-Oh my god, Issei, you’re…” you let out a strangled yelp, your train of thought lost as he repeats the same roll of his hips as before.

“Seems like I’ve got your full attention now,” Mattsun laughs, but his words are a little hoarser than they were before, a little more laboured. He grunts as you press your chest into his, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him again, your hips continuing the same steady pace that he’d set for you both.

You should be embarrassed how quickly the knot in your stomach builds up while you grind against Matsukawa’s lap, or at the very least embarrassed that you have an audience to the entire spectacle, but the heat thrumming through your veins makes you shameless and desperate. Mattsun moves with purpose and an almost inhuman precision, riling you up so fast that you find yourself on the brink of cumming and all of your clothes are still on.

His teeth bite down into the flesh of your shoulder at the exact moment the outline of the head of his cock ruts directly against your clit.

“Issei!” you throw your head back, gasping at the feeling.

“That was a moan!” Oikawa says with a sudden sharp clap of his hands, shattering the intimacy of the heated moment.

Before you know what’s happening you’re being pulled off Issei, who can only groan in response, his hands trying to cling to you as you’re pried from his lap.

“No, no, please I-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good, too. Better even,” Oikawa smiles at you as he cuts off your desperate babbling, but it’s sharp and predatory as he lays you out on the sofa, flat on your back.

Your thighs are shaking, panties sticking between your legs as he crawls over you.

“Isn’t that right, Cherry-chan?”

You have half a mind to kick him off the couch just for the nickname, and call the whole thing off.

You dated Oikawa in high school, much to both of your dismay now that you’re older and wiser and not virgins. And he’d started calling you the pet name not long after you’d started seeing each other — citing the way your cheeks would always flush a telling, rosy hue at the slightest bit of provocation. You’d actually found it sort of sweet, until you learned (way later than you should have) that the nickname came from the fact he popped your cherry, not because you looked like one.

But you’re too worked up to do either of those things, and instead you fist the material of his t-shirt and pull him down towards you to crash his lips to yours.

Oikawa shows none of the patience that Mattsun showed in the preamble, immediately working the waistband of your pants down over your hips, underwear along with it. Before you know it, you’re naked from the waist down and Tooru is sinking to his knees on the floor between your parted thighs.

He wastes no time. Oikawa Tooru is a man who knows what he wants, and he has been for as long as you’ve known him.

Driven.

Unyielding in the pursuit of his goals.

And what he wants right now?

To break you apart.

Maybe it’s because of how worked up Mattsun had gotten you, maybe it’s the skillful way Oikawa uses this mouth, but in no time at all you find yourself on the edge.

“Oh my god, oh — haa — my god,” you’re babbling as the boy between your legs sucks your clit into his mouth. You’re trying your best to be quiet as you speak, all things considered; not quite moaning yet, though you’re uncertain as to whether or not it’s because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction, or that you know the moment you do you’ll be denied yours again.

“You taste so good.” Tooru licks a long stripe up your pussy with his unfairly talented tongue, flicking the tip against your sensitive clit as he reaches the top. “So sweet.”

You keen, back arching up off the sofa as he curls two long fingers inside of you without much warning beyond the brief glimpse of him wetting them with his mouth.

You’re going to cum.

You’re going to cum.

“Then do it,” Oikawa says, peering up at you lustfully from his place between your thighs, his tongue flicking out to lave against your clit again. You didn’t even realize you’d said it out loud.

Tooru spits into the hand that’s not currently three knuckles deep inside of you, and shifts slightly as he reaches down out of sight. The slick sound of him pumping his cock fills the room along with the obscene noises of him lapping at your cunt. The fact that he’s getting off on this as much as you are makes you feel even more unhinged.

When you finally cum, you feel like you’re going to die.

“Tooru!” you cry out, unable to hold the moan back any longer even in spite of your best efforts. Your thighs clamp around his head as your hips buck up against his face, back arching like a bow string drawn taught. Your hands tangle in his soft brown hair while you ride out the wave of heat that rips through your body.

You’re too far gone to worry that you’re going to be interrupted, but it doesn’t matter: the boys around the room are watching with such a fascinated intensity that none of them dare to interrupt.

“Look at that,” Makki breathes.

“Shit,” Mattsun grunts out an agreement as you struggle to catch your breath.

Oikawa’s hand has sped up it’s frantic passes along his cock, and when he shifts up to his knees on the floor below you, you catch sight of it for the first time since you were a teenager: still long and curved and nicely pink at the head, glossy with the precum oozing out of it.

“Like what you see?” he rasps out when he catches the way your eyes have travelled down to his dick, the muscles in his abdomen clenching to make them even more defined in a way that you’re uncertain is intentional or instinctive.

You nod weakly.

“Cum on me, Tooru.”

His muscles tense again.

“Where?” his pretence of nonchalance is fractured by the way his voice cracks, a pretty hand wrapped around the base of his equally pretty cock to keep himself from cumming before you tell him exactly where you want it.

“My tits,” you breathe, eyes flickering up to his feral gaze, “cum on my tits.”

One of his hands wraps around your knee, tugging you to the edge of the sofa where you’re still lying flat on your back. Your shirt rucks up slightly in the scramble, but his other hand tugs your tank top the rest of the way up over your chest, positioning himself over you between your spread legs as he pumps his hand hard and fast one, two, three times more before you feel the first spatter of cum hit your sweat-dampened skin.

You watch as he rests back on his haunches, reaching up to push his ruffled hair back from his face.

Tooru smirks, dragging a long finger through the mess he made on your chest — probably writing his name in it — as he speaks again.

“I don’t remember you being so lewd when we were in high school, Cherry-chan.”

“I don’t remember you being able to make me cum when we were in high school, either. Guess things change,” you say, and your words would have been more cutting if you were a little less breathless. Your hand reaches up and cards through Tooru’s impossibly soft hair, but what could have been a tender moment turns cutting when you curl your fingers in the tresses and tug hard — Oikawa looks like he’s holding back a moan. “And stop calling me that.”

“Here,” a voice says softly from beside you, pulling your attention away from the obnoxious boy who’d just made you cum. You let your head loll to the side to see Iwa handing you a bit of tissue. You have no idea when or where he got them from, but you thank him, watching the way his eyes follow your careful motions as you clean yourself up.

“You missed a spot,” Oikawa says, dipping down and dragging his tongue across your breast, maintaining eye contact with his best friend while he does it. You whimper a little at the way his teeth graze you when he suckles your nipple into his mouth — just for the hell of it.

“Alright, enough rekindling that old flame,” Makki says, eager for his own turn, before grabbing Oikawa by the collar of his shirt and dragging away from you. The brown-haired boy makes an indignant squawk as he’s so unceremoniously uprooted, but you have virtually no time to process it before Hiro is pulling you up to your feet and maneuvering you over to his seat, flopping down and pulling you into his lap along with him.

“Take this off,” he says, tugging at the shirt bunched up over your chest. He helps guide it up over your head properly and then he appraises you for a moment, moulding his hand to the shape of your breast.

He sighs, and it sounds soft and almost dreamy. You don’t trust it at all.

“Perfect.”

If Issei and Oikawa had been determined to unravel you as quickly as possible, Hiro is the opposite — he touches you like he wants to drive you to the brink, but never quite allow you to go over.

“‘Atta girl, just like that,” Hiro breathes as his thumb rubs infuriatingly slow circles into your clit, his other hand guiding the thick head of his cock through the slick of your slit. His shirt is long gone, but his sweatpants had only been tugged down around his knees — unsurprisingly he’d not been wearing underwear beneath them.

He’s been teasing you like this for what felt like an eternity, painstakingly circling your clit, rolling your nipples between his teeth, laving his tongue over the bite marks he’d littered across your collarbones to match the one’s Issei had made while you mewled. He appeased your needy whines with the occasional dip of his tip pressing into you, a little bit of a burn each time as you adjusted to the intrusion, you still feel too empty.

“H-hiro, please. I need it,” you’re almost sobbing as you plead to him. Hell, you are sobbing — the words mangled and watery as your fingers tangle their way into Makki’s perpetual bedhead.

“Nah, you don’t,” Makki says. “You can cum like this.”

“I don’t want to,” you warble, fingernails raking bluntly over his scalp. “Wanna cum on yo-on your cock.”

That makes him falter, slipping a little bit further inside you due to nothing but pure shock. You feel his cock twitch as you sink halfway down it.

“Oh I felt that,” you keen, tossing your head back and dropping your hips down onto him as much as his vice grip on your waist will allow — which isn’t much. “Please Hiro. I know you want to.”

“‘Course I want to,” he groans, thrusting shallowly into the tight heat between your legs. “But you’re so pretty like this, all wrecked and desperate. Who’re you begging for?”

“You,” you murmur, kissing up his throat to his jaw, sliding little pecks all the way across to his mouth. “It’s for you Hiro — so please just fuck me.”

“I don’t have a condom on,” Hiro hisses out through clenched teeth. “And I’m out.”

“I’ve got some,” Mattsun drawls from his spot on the couch and your half-lidded gaze lands on him. He licks his lips as you make eye contact, your walls clenching around the tip of Hiro’s cock that’s still half-inside you.

“Fuck you,” Makki spits, not to you, and you all know why. Mattsun is the only man in the room that would fit into the king size condoms tucked into his bedside drawer.

“I don’t care,” you keen, head lolling back.

He’s halfway in already, no condom in sight. Was it your finest hour? The most shining example of reason you’d ever set? No. But you were three quarters of the way through letting your four best friends have their way with you, so it’s fair to say that logic and reason were well beyond you by that point.

“Really?” Hiro’s voice is comically pitchy as he croaks the question out, desperate and hopeful.

“Just don’t cum inside me, ‘kay?” You nod, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his. He rolls his hips a little deeper than before, not all the way, but fuller than he’d been filling you up until that point.

“You got it, princess.”

Makki’s cock may not be the most impressive in the room, but god does he know how to use it. The first thrust to the hilt he makes has you crying out — a pitiful, broken sound that rips from somewhere deep in your chest.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” Hiro moans, pulling out just to repeat the same toe-curling accuracy he’d executed on the first thrust. Three more and you’re ready to snap, and the softest pressure of his thumb on your clit has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Hiro, H-Hiro, Hiro!” you moan his name as you come undone, nails digging into the soft flesh of his shoulders as you scrabble for purchase in the pale skin.

“Fuck, fuck,” Hiro chokes out, managing two more sloppy thrusts through your orgasm before he’s pulling out of you and cumming all over his own tightly-drawn abs.

You crumple forward, hands gripping the back of the chair as your sweat-slicked chest meets Makki’s. His hands immediately reaching around to stroke your back as the two of you struggle to catch your breaths.

It’s an unusually gentle gesture, and you find yourself melting into his touch — though careful not to get the cum splattered across his skin onto yours.

“Wow,” he says with a huff of a laugh, the warm breath fanning against your ear. “Your pussy’s unreal.”

You pull back, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

Way to ruin the moment.

You flick him on the forehead, right between his brows.

You stand up onto unsteady legs and almost immediately stumble, but a strong arm around your waist keeps you upright.

You turn in the aforementioned grip to see Iwa supporting you.

“Hi, Iwa,” you say softly, for lack of anything better to say, a delirious smile on your flushed face.

“Hi,” he repeats the greeting with a sweet chuckle. He says your name quietly, and you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach. “You good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, with a little nod, very aware of the way his stiff cock is pressing into your hip as he holds you.

You wait for a second before stretching up to press your lips to his.

He freezes momentarily — like even after everything he’d just witnessed he wasn’t quite expecting it — before responding in kind, kissing you deeply and holding you a little bit tighter.

You stay like that, making out in the middle of the living room, before Iwa sweeps you up into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist as he holds you like it’s effortless and carefully he leans down, laying you out across the floor — hardly breaking the kiss all the while.

Iwa steals a pillow off the couch — you think it’s Oikawa who hands it to him but you can’t be sure — nestling it under your hips to angle them up and protect them from the hard floor underneath.

“Is this okay?” he asks, though he barely separates from your mouth to speak the words, so soft and quiet and close that it’s like you’re the only person in the world who’s meant to hear them.

You nod a little bit, your fingers tracing through his short hair while he’s hovering over you.

“We can stop here, you know,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “You’ve done so much already.”

You panic a little, your grip on his hair tightening.

“No,” you say, voice pitching up in your fluster. “Please, Hajime. I want you to fuck me.”

Iwa swallows hard, leaning back on his knees as he tugs his sweatshirt up over his head.

You’re wet and more than ready for him when he finally presses in — but there’s still a delicious stretch as he carves his way inside of you that has you arching up underneath him, grabbing his corded shoulders to ground yourself.

“Oh,” Iwa gasps out as he feels the way you’re wrapped around him, sucking him in.

You whimper as he pulls back only slightly before rutting into you again, sending you sliding up on the carpet, the burn against your shoulder blades little more than a dull ache even if you know you’ll feel it acutely in the morning.

“More, Iwa,” you plead to him breathlessly. “I want you.”

“You’ve got me,” he replies hoarsely, but he still obliges your request readily, looping your knees over his forearms and bending you in half. The change forces a sound out of you that’s so carnal it even takes you by surprise.

He’s so deep at this angle, you swear you can feel the tip of his cock hitting your diaphragm — anatomical possibilities be damned. Your throat is tight, breath hitching with every slow, calculated thrust inside of you as he takes his time.

“Ha-“ your moan is cut off before you can say his name, his hand pressing against your swollen lips to trap the word behind them unspoken.

“Sorry, baby,” Iwa murmurs, eyes tracing over your wrecked face. “I just don’t want this to end too quick, okay?”

You can only nod underneath his palm as it covers your mouth, tears of exertion gathering along your lash line and dripping back towards your temple.

“Be good for me,” his words are strained, tendons in his neck flexing as he swallows hard and rolls his hips down into yours once more.

If any of the boys want to complain about how this is breaking some unspoken rule, they don’t. A silence so profound has settled over the room that you wonder if they’re even breathing.

Iwa fucks you languidly — tenderly. Like he’s savouring every slick slide into your cunt for all the moment is worth. He’s groaning openly, the sounds occasionally muffled by your skin as he presses hot open mouthed kisses to every inch of it he can reach - your mouth is still covered by his heavy hand, so he focuses his attention on your jaw, your throat, your tits.

He doesn’t care about the competition, the way he’s taking his time makes that clear, but when he finally removes his hand and you moan — properly moan — it’s a sound so high and sweet you can almost feel the shiver that runs down the length of his spine.

“Hajime.”

“Shit,” the grunted curse isn’t from Iwa, who is still rocking his hips into yours, but rather Makki — who had begun shamelessly jerking himself off again on the other side of the living room.

You cum for the third time that night, but it’s no less impressive than the first two. Your vision goes from black to white with how hard your eyes squeeze shut, and Iwa moans your name out when he feels the way you clench around his cock — so tight he can barely keep fucking you through it. Your legs wind themselves around his hips and keep him still as you writhe through your peak.

“‘M gonna cum,” he grunts out through clenched teeth, hands moving to try and pry your legs away, “baby, I’m gonna cum, you gotta-“

“Inside,” you keen, “cum inside me, Haji.”

With a defeated, wanton groan he nods, rolling against you again— it’s harder this time, more frantic.

“You sure?” he manages to bite the words out though it seems to take every last ounce of resolve he has, hands pressed into the carpet on either side of your head as he leans over you fucking you into the floor.

You nod frantically, tears still rolling down your cheeks. Your hands press weakly against the smooth planes of his chest as you feel the first pangs of overstimulation, your fingers scratching into the skin beneath them a little more on every thrust. You loosen the lock of your legs, allowing Iwaizumi a bit more leeway to fuck you harder, and after only a few more bruising thrusts you feel him cum, cock throbbing and filling you up so well that you feel on the verge of bursting.

Iwa collapses on top of you, his face tucked into the crook of your neck as his heavy weight bears down and crushes you into the floor — but you don’t quite mind it.

He gets his bearings soon enough, as though realizing for the first time he might be harming you, rolling onto his side.

His eyes are a little hazy as they rake over your features, a look of concern pinching his handsome face. You can tell without him saying it that he’s worried he went too far, so you reach up and cup his face in your palm with a weak but genuine smile.

You feel a pressure on your knee unexpectedly, gently nudging your legs apart. You look down to see Hiro’s foot coaxing your thighs open, eyes fixed to where Hajime’s cum is dripping out of you. He’s tucked his cock away and pulled his sweatpants up again, meaning he must have finished again at some point, but his lip is stuck out in an obnoxious pout as he looks at you.

“How come he got to nut inside you but I didn’t?” Makki whines, and Oikawa reaches out and smacks the back of his head lightly — shooting him a look that you don’t quite understand.

“I’ll go get a warm cloth to clean you up,” Iwa says to you, pulling your attention back to him as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. He clears his throat a little. “Okay?”

You nod weakly, your exhaustion having finally crept up on you.

“Iwa-chan, get one for me too! My face is still all sticky!” Oikawa calls after Iwa’s retreating form.

“Get it yourself!”

“But Iwa!” Oikawa complains, standing and shuffling after his friend, grumbling about the injustice all the while.

“You need some water?” Makki asks, standing from his seat and peering down at where you’re still laying flat on the floor of your living room. He stretches his arms up over his head, the muscles of his upper body flexing under his skin as he does so. You nod, hissing a little as you pull yourself upright.

“Yes, please,” your throat is hoarse so you say the words a little weakly, and you wince as you feel more cum seep out of you and smear along the tops of your thighs. Makki nods and saunters off towards the kitchen, but you could have sworn you spotted a little blush along the tops of his cheeks before he left.

You sigh a little bit, blinking away some of the residual wetness in your eyes.

A figure appears in the periphery of your blurry vision, and you turn, peering upwards.

Mattsun grins down at you, his towering height only amplified by your position on the floor. He tilts his head to the side.

“Kinda unfair that I’m the only one who didn’t get to cum, you know.”

He crouches down beside you, his eyes trailing all the way up your body until he reaches your flushed, tearstained face. He cups your cheek in his hand, the pad of his thumb swiping away a lone tear still clinging to your skin. He brings the thumb up to his lips, and you watch raptly as his tongue sweeps out to taste the brine from his fingertip.

Your stomach clenches.

“Think you’re ready for me now, sweetheart?”

None of you even seem to notice that the competition had been all but forgotten.

BLUE L0Ck ♡︎ 彼は進化している。

⚠︎ masterlist contains dark content ⚠︎

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY

Works are exclusive to iwaasfairy on Tumblr and AO3 only. No replication consisting of copying, extracting, translating, audio fanfics etc. permitted. Action can and will be taken accordingly.

.:♡︎

ITOSHI RIN

┌ “ ! ˓〃 two of cups | tw incest, love triangle (ft. sae) part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 complete

Loved it so much 🥺 👑

Lineage (M)

Pairing: Duke Yoongi x Princess Reader

Word Count: 6.7K

Summary: When an engagement locks you, the 8th and forgotten princess, to the duke infamous for his cruelty, you find yourself counting the days until your inevitable death. It’s terrifying to think of your end, but when you arrive at his territory, you realize there’s a more morbid reason behind your marriage, and that the duke is much worse than the rumors have painted him out to be.

Warnings:  HEAVY yandere themes, mentions of gore and death, near-death experiences, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, dubcon smut (reader is a virgin, fingering, unprotected sex), 18+, explicit language

A/N: Part 1 of Lineage! Took 3 months, a messy outline, and 2 drafts that I decided I hated halfway through writing and deleted before starting over to finish one part. Tags of people who replied to the preview will be added in a reblog. Thank you for everyone who has been waiting and has shown support for the preview of Lineage and my writing account overall! This is inspired by the multitude of Korean webnovels I’ve been reading during quarantine. If you like it, please leave a comment because I will cry out of joy and this took me a WHILE to get out of the drafts. Enjoy!

‘‘Duke,’’ the king’s teeth chattered in terror as he spoke, his voice low. “What have you come to visit me for?”

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly as if he was in thought. Normally, he’d be furious at the lack of efficiency, but something stopped him from simply slicing the fool’s head off with his sword. After all, there was a much more important matter at hand that he needed to deal with.

‘‘My king, you do,’’ Yoongi spoke slowly,’’ remember our deal, don’t you? I win the war against the bordering kingdom and give you a considerable sum, and you…’’

Yoongi directed a pointed look at the king, and the king flinched before hurrying over to his desk. He fumbled around with the papers on it, even knocking down a stack of sealed and stamped documents with his shaking elbows, before extracting a small silver-framed portrait.

Yoongi could see the tremor in the man’s hands as he handed him the portrait, but Yoongi only exhaled softly, almost as if he was relieved, as he took hold of the small painted picture.

Pretty long-lashed eyes that warmly sparkled despite paint being the only medium used, curved lips like budding flowers, and silky tresses that swooped past her delicate shoulders. The maiden etched into the canvas was not known as a beauty compared to her extravagantly dressed older sisters, but to Yoongi, she was worth much more than the other princesses combined. Yoongi gripped the portrait a little tighter, his hands slightly clammy.

‘‘You wanted the 8th princess, Princess [Y/N], as your bride,’’ the ruler before him sputtered. “As soon as you’re ready, I will have the engagement officially announced.”

Yoongi broke out of his reverie and tucked the portrait into the pocket of his coat before getting up from his seat. ‘’Thank you, my King. I will never forget the kindness you have bestowed upon the House of Min.’’

As Yoongi was about to open the door, the king called out once again.

‘‘Duke Min, if I may ask, why do you have so much interest in the 8th princess? I would have never thought she would suit your preferences. If you wanted, you could have the crown princess. Her beauty is known even in distant lands, and she is skilled—”

Yoongi coldly smiled at the pathetically shivering man, interrupting him sharply,’’ Do not interfere in personal matters, my King. Long live the Sun of the Kingdom.’’

The door clicked shut behind him, and the king sagged further into his extravagantly plush ruby couch. For the first time in his greedy life, the king truly felt sympathy for the young princess he had just sold to the notoriously named Duke of Hell.

더 보기

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ELIXIR pairings: mafia hoseok x female reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s, arranged marriage, childhood friends to lovers word count: 22K/tba release date: 02.18.25 beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt 1: "And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows" prompt 2: you were apparently promised to the heir of Jung's criminal empire since birth, not that you ever took that ongoing inside joke seriously. You grew up alongside the said man, yet your mind is conflicted about upholding your part and saying I do until one drunken night reveals a lot more than you'd like.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | explicit language, hurt men's ego, mild yandere behaviour (warnings were reduced to avoid spoilers)

author's note: ionoiafhoianfoaif, yalllll, I was writing this like foreveeeeerrrrr. So this is where it all basically started in my head when I created the retelling of what happened around the year 1996. Still, somehow Champagne Confetti and Anubis got out first, mainly because I will continue them, but this is one shot exclusively (I'm open to filler tho). Why? The story of Princess and Hoseok never dies throughout both the fics that are already out and those that will only come. Mainly with Anubis' chapters, you'll get to see them. I'm just as nervous to put this out as I am with every fic but very excited to throw Elixir in the world. I'm simultaneously working on my MA diploma thesis so bear with me when I'm radio silent, but I love you all! I appreciate you reading my stuff my good little fairies ♥ I'll see ya at Hobi's birthday! ♥ Enjoy!

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, bloodshed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, and old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

main masterlist 𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑

Winter 1995 You spotted Hoseok seated at the table, a serene picture of composure, his fingers curled around a steaming cup of coffee he enjoys in the mornings.

He looked up at your approach, his eyes locking onto yours. There was no trace of anger on his face, no sharp edge to his expression. If anything, he seemed calm, almost disarming.

"Hobi—" you started before he quickly interrupted you.

"Sit down," he said a bit more firmer than he'd want to, gesturing to the seat across from him.

You hesitated for a moment before lowering yourself into the chair, acutely aware of the weight of the moment. A plate of food sat before you, untouched. Your stomach churned, but the thought of eating felt impossible.

"Are you?—"

"I'm not mad, no," he cut you off gently, surprising you, as if he knew what you were suggesting before you even managed to let those words roll on your tongue.

"So?—" you echoed hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what to expect now. Maybe it would be better if he'd be mad and you knew that you have to make it better just like it used to be, instead he is not showing any kind of position in this situation and that was making you uneasy beyond comparison.

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

"You're still here. That's what matters to me for now." He began, his tone measured. For now. Hoseok was always skilled at this—at saying something that sounded kind but felt like a command.

"I panicked," you admitted softly, the honesty slipping out before you could stop it.

"I know, baby, you chose wrong—" he replied, his gaze unwavering.

"—twice," he added fuel to the fire, salt to the wound. But you knew why. He wanted you to submit to him, and he needed to work overtime to do so.

"You need to show me you're willing to make this right, love," you swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it nearly impossible to respond. His aura and magnitude of how he could move you however he liked now was overwhelming. You cannot run away, not when he dragged you back to this place instead of his brownstone at 57th street. You're not only under his surveillance here, but the Kkangpae and the rest of the family.

“What’s it gonna be? Cuz’ I can’t fucking pretend anymore–” 

His gaze dropped to the table for a moment before he reached into his pocket. You stiffened instinctively, already guessing what he was about to do. Sure enough, his hand emerged clutching the familiar black velvet box. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

"Hoseok," you said softly, your voice trembling with unease. "Please—"

"I don't think I will be so forgiving if you'll choose wrong for a third time, Princess." He ignored your plea, opening the box to reveal the ring again. The one you'd angrily thrown at him that fateful night when he tried to force it down your finger after you explicitly said no to him.

The one that symbolised everything you were not ready to accept, but you had to. It glimmered in the soft light of the room, deceptively beautiful.

"I'm done asking," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. Your breath hitched, but before you could speak, Hoseok reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding, yet the weight of his action was suffocating.

You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip tightened—not painfully, but enough to make it clear you weren't going anywhere. With deliberate precision, he slid the emerald ring onto your finger.

"There," he said, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You stared at the emerald ring, your mind racing. It looked almost serene on your finger, as if it had always belonged there. Hoseok sat back, satisfied, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Before you could respond, the soft thuds of certain leather shoes announced another arrival.

"Joon-ah!" Hoseok greeted, leaning back in his chair. "I assume there's news?"

Namjoon glanced at you briefly, then back to Hoseok. "Yes. We've made progress with the Anubis situation. The distilleries have been secured, but the reports of interference need attention."

"Anubis situation?" You echoed Namjoon's words. Hoseok's smile didn't falter, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanour. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might dismiss your question. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers interlacing.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a quiet finality that suggested the topic was closed.

Namjoon, however, wasn't as careful with his expression. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a crack in the façade of calm efficiency he usually wore. It was gone as quickly as it came, but you caught it, and it only fuelled your curiosity.

"Anubis is my responsibility, Hoseok, you cannot—" you pressed, your tone sharper now. You'd learned long ago that brushing things under the rug only meant tripping over them later.

"Not anymore."

Hoseok's words cut through the room with an authority that left no room for argument. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of complete control, his eyes locked on yours with a quiet intensity.

"What?!" You breathed out rather loudly now.

"Not anymore," he repeated, slower this time as if daring you to challenge him. And challenge him you did.

"Hoseok," you tried again, your voice quieter this time, laced with both frustration and fear. "This isn't—"

"I gotta punish you somehow, Princess," his one was calm, almost casual, but the weight behind his words was anything but. Your stomach churned as his lips curved into a faint, disarming smile—a predator's smile hidden beneath a veil of warmth.

"Punish me?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "Exactly for what you gotta punish me, Hoseok?

"For running," he said, the amusement in his voice doing little to soften the hurt he felt inside. "For throwing the ring. For abandoning me this morning after we made love last night—"

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a raised hand. "Don't misunderstand me, Princess. I'm not angry. But actions have consequences."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. His calm demeanour made it worse. It took one wide-eyed glance for Namjoon to excuse himself and quickly retreat to Kkangpae's office to leave you two alone.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Namjoon seemed louder in the heavy silence that followed. Your eyes darted to it, half-hoping for an interruption, but it was futile. Hoseok's gaze was fixed on you, unrelenting and unreadable, trapping you in this moment.

"Hoseok," you began, your voice trembling. "This isn't fair. You can't just—"

"I can," he interrupted his tone steady but brooking no argument. "And I will. You know I don't take betrayal lightly."

"Betrayal?" you repeated, the word stinging as it left your lips. "Is that what you think this is? Hoseok, I—"

"You ran," he said simply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. His fingers interlocked, creating a casual posture that only heightened your unease. "You left me, you threw the ring at me, you abandoned what we're building. Call it whatever you want, Princess, but to me? That's betrayal."

Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "I needed time," you whispered. "Time to think, to—"

No, you needed Mark. But you also needed your best friend.

"Think?" Hoseok's laughter was soft, almost amused, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What is there to think about? You're mine. You've always been mine. And this?" He gestured to the ring now firmly on your finger. "This makes it only official."

"You can't force me to—" you said, the defiance in your voice surprising even you. This was never a discourse you or Hobi ever had. Everything was thought to be just platonic. Not for him.

"To what?" he asked, cutting you off again. His tone was low, dangerously calm. "To wear a ring? To stay by my side? To stop running every time things don't go the way you want?"

You flinched, the truth in his words hitting too close to home. Hoseok sighed, his expression softening just enough to make your heart ache. You were running each time you did not feel like the family was doing you justice. And each time it was Hoseok who came to talk sense into you. But this is different. You are not kids anymore, or teenagers. This is serious. Hoseok is serious this time.

"You know what Anubis means to me—"

"And you still thought it was something you could just walk away from?"

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as the urge to argue warred with the fear.

"I didn't walk away from Anubis," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed space, Hoseok."

"You said you were tired, love."

"You misunderstood—" Hoseok shook his head slowly, cutting you off once again, his gaze hardening.

"I never wanted it to come to this," Hoseok said, his voice softening as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. "But you forced my hand, Princess. And now, you don't get to run anymore. Not from me. Not from us."

"But Anubis—"

"It's still yours. But until you learn your place, Namjoon will suffice."

You bit your lip, caught between the suffocating desire to fight back but all you could do is shut your mouth and obey, telling yourself that this is only temporary.

He was, indeed, not mad.

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟎𝟐.𝟏𝟖.𝟐𝟓

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: if you want to be notified once the full story is up for reading, you can write in the comments and I'll create a tag list!

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

never going back again - 02

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), mentions of eating, nightmares, mention of alcohol, mutual pining

prev part masterlist next part

It was the calmest he'd ever been, lounging around the cottage with you near, he wasn't much for conversation but he enjoyed asking you questions, how long you'd lived there,

"3 years next month, I bought it a while back after moving here on a whim"

What you did all day,

"Garden and read, lots of painting, even more cooking"

It was all so foreign to him, the idea of living one day at a time, not worrying about the outside world or whether or not your life was in danger, he'd realized quickly that this was the first time he felt safe in years, even with the looming threat of enemies outside and the lack of contact to his team. It did occur to him that if he didn't reach out eventually he would be labelled MIA, but to a man who wasn't even legally alive, the prospect of never seeing his team again didn't worry him a bit, what did worry him was the burning smell from the kitchen.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I was trying a new recipe, it's harder than it looks" You rush to turn off the stove, quickly pulling the pan from the surface and using a towel to waft the smoke.

"I thought you were good at cooking"

"No I said I liked cooking, not that I was any good" You huff while reaching to open the small window above the sink, allowing the fumes to migrate through the opening.

He leans his hands against the table "It doesn't look that bad"

"You're a terrible liar, has anyone ever told you that"

"Most say I've got a great poker face" He tilts his head, you respond with an unamused haha,

He stands to his full height, moving towards you "Let me"

"Let you what"

"Cook, I'll make dinner"

"Anything's better than this" You nudge towards the pan of burnt food, straightening your clothes before allowing him the step to the stove. You turn to sit at the table, watching as he moves around the kitchen with ease, grabbing ingredients from various spots while you point him toward the proper cabinets.

"Where'd you learn to cook?"

"Had to figure out a way to feed myself once I left home"

"They don't feed you at work?"

"They do, but it's mostly inedible, more nutrient based than anything"

"Did your mum cook?"

He doesn't respond for a moment, leaving you to realize the words that come from your mouth, your smile fading quickly, "I'm sorry I forgot"

"S'alright, she um, she didn't often but some Sundays she'd make a roast, best meal I ever ate"

He turns to you, his gaze soft as you smile slightly in response,

"Well let's hope her skills weren't wasted on you"

He laughs lightly, a real laugh before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the stove. You watch as he prepares the food for a few minutes, reaching across the counter to add spices,

"So what are you making?"

"I am making" He stops his sentence, turning off the stove and twisting to face you, "French toast"

"French toast?"

"I said I could cook, not that I know a lot of recipes"

You cover your mouth as you laugh, your eyes creasing at the sides as he places a plate in front of you,

"Well, it smells great"

The two of you dig into the food, your gaze focused on the plate as you allow him the privacy to lift his mask up slightly, revealing his mouth, falling into a comfortable silence as you eat, Simon smiles to himself as you make a small hum of approval,

"You can't be serious"

"What'd I do?"

"That's like a cup of syrup"

"So?"

"You're teeth are going to rot from your head"

"What if they already have"

You scrunch your face at the thought, "At least it'd explain the mask"

"You don't have to turn away you know"

You make a small huh? in response,

"When I pull on my mask, I don't mind you seeing parts of my face"

"I just assumed"

"I know, but you don't have to turn away"

"Okay" Your voice is smaller, intrigue and confusion mixed into it as you nod. “How’s your cut”

“Healing, thanks to you, still tender”

“Can I” You turn your eyes to his, standing from the table to kneel by his side, his breath catches in his throat as you lower your body, your fingers inches from his stomach.

He nods lightly in permission, lifting his shirt for you and settling it on his lower stomach, your fingers pressing gently on the sides of his wound as you inspect it. His eyes stare at your face, holding back a smile as you bite your lip in concentration, you stand, turning behind to grab some new bandages from the cabinet behind you before returning to your position in front of him.

You brace your fingers against his skin, tugging at his bandage,

“Sorry”

“Doesn’t hurt”

You tilt your head to him and he’s watching you, his eyes locked on your face, your cheeks flush slightly under his stare, turning your attention towards his wound as you dress it, pressing the bandage into his skin. You let your fingers linger for a moment, feeling his stomach rise and fall with each breath before you slowly pull away, standing up and nodding.

“That should do”

“Thank you”

“It’s nothing”

“Thank you” He repeats in a lower, softer voice as he lets his shirt fall into place.

"Any idea when your ear thing will work again?"

"You trying to kick me out?"

"No" You widen your eyes at your quick response, "Just, want to make sure there isn't someone at home missing you"

"There isn't"

You mouth a small oh before turning your gaze toward the window, "It's late, you should rest"

"Right"

There's tension between the two of you, neither wants to leave the others company yet at the same time, neither of you will do anything about it.

"I'll see you in the morning" You smile, passing through the kitchen towards your room and closing the door, leaving Simon alone.

He wakes in a blind panic, the sky outside still dark as he blinks his eyes, turning his head towards your door, he can hear you shouting, rustling around and without thinking he enters the room. Your limbs are twisted between the sheets, jolting around as you mumble, he takes a step back as you sit up, your chest heavy.

You clutch your chest at the sight of him, lurking in the doorframe,

"You scared me"

"You were having a nightmare"

"Yeah, they happen sometimes"

It's then that you notice he's not wearing his mask, the room is dark but there's enough light for you to make out the curve of his nose,

He scratches the back of his head, "Okay" turning to leave,

"Simon"

He lazily turns his gaze back to you, responding with a small hmm.

"Will you stay, it's just"

He cuts you off, "Easier to sleep with someone beside you"

"Please"

"Of course"

You watch as he crosses the room, looming beside your bed as you pull the sheets to cover you, feeling the mattress dip under his weight as he settles in. He lays awkwardly on his back, his arms crossed over his stomach, you watch his chest rise and fall, without thinking you slide your palm against it, your fingers light on the fabric of his shirt as you move closer, pressing your chest against his side and resting your head on his shoulder. He snakes an arm around you, letting you nestle against him as his hand settles gently on your arm, his touch feather-light as he tries to keep a consistent heartbeat.

You must've fallen asleep shortly after, waking to the sun streaming into the room, your limbs tangled between his, both of you had turned in your sleep, his chest now pressed against your back as his arms held snugly against your waist. You can feel his steady breath fan across your neck, his face close enough that the tip of his nose grazes your skin, he's so warm, the sheets on the bed long forgotten in your sleep and the heat coming from him is more than enough.

You reach a hand to his arm, tracing over the lines of his tattoo and you feel him tighten his grip, his stable breaths now ragged as he wakes up. It takes him a moment to realize the position he's in, his brain doing little to comprehend the situation.

"Do you have something in your pocket?"

He pulls from you instantly, jolting upwards and turning around as you giggle,

"M'sorry" His voice is groggy, his accent thicker than usual.

"It's fine"

He keeps his gaze away from you, anxiously stretching his limbs before you realize,

"I'm gonna shower, I'll turn away so I don't"

"Thank you"

You can only see the back of his head, his blonde hair that's a mess, the outline of his head as he nods, shaking your thoughts as you move out of the room.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, hoping that he didn't get a chance to see you that morning either, your hair was everywhere, the skin under your eyes dark from your usual lack of sleep as you strip your pyjamas, turning on the faucet.

You stand in the warm water, letting it wash over you, hoping it would calm your rampant thoughts as you hear Simon moving around behind the door.

You step out of the shower, wrapping your body in a towel and smoothing your hair back before opening the door, the steam wafting from the small room into the house.

“Where’s the kettle?”

“Top left cabinet”

You stand in the doorway, your hands squeezing the water from your hair as you look at him,

“Thanks”

He turns quickly to you and his body freezes, his eyes glued to your practically naked form as you stand, the beads of water dripping from your warm skin.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yep, just making tea”

“Okay, bags are in the lower cupboard”

He nods awkwardly, furrowing your brows at him before turning around, he lets out a heavy breath as you leave, leaning back against the counter as he drops his head back, staring at the ceiling.

“Shit” He mumbles to himself, adjusting his pants feeling them grow tighter as his mind runs circles around the sight of you, replaying the way your fingers traced over his skin, and scent of your hair as he rested his head against yours. He was awake most of the night, listening to you breath, smiling lightly as you mumble about nothing, you were soft, he’d never had soft before always jagged and dark.

His mind snaps back as you call from the other room,

“Are you any good at fixing things?”

“Depends, what needs fixing”

“The shutters outside, they’re falling apart”

“I could give them a look”

You appear in the entry, smiling at him, now clothed with your hair pulled back, he just watches you in awe, the fact that you could look so perfect no matter the circumstances, you could be caked in mud and still make his heart flutter.

The two of you sit for tea and chat about nothing, asking more questions that he dodges while you openly answer everything he had wondering about.

“I think you’re his new favourite”

Simon makes a small huh before you nudge your head toward his feet, the small cat nestling itself against his calf.

“Strange”

“He’s not strange”

“Not him just, I’ve never had a cat do this”

“Well get used to it”

He smiles under his mask, he could get used to this, spending his days with you, cooking and drinking tea, just enjoying each others company around the house.

“The shutters”

You set your cup down, nodding at him, “There’s some tools in the shed outside, not sure what’s left but maybe they’d help”

“I’ll get right on it then”

It was sweltering outside, the sun beaming down without a cloud in the sky as Simon tries to navigate his way around fixing the shutters. You see him through the window, his arms flexing as he unscrews some things and nails in others, you had no idea what he was doing but he looked good.

I’m hot, he must be hot you fan yourself with your hand, pulling the hair from your sweat glistened neck, eyes darting around the kitchen before an idea clicks in your head.

“Beer”

It’s the only word you can manage to think of as your eyes fall on him, somewhere in the last few minutes he’d stripped himself of his shirt, tucking the loose material into the belt of his pants as his sweat dripped down his skin.

“Cheers, love one”

Your throat dries, nodding as you extend a n arm toward him, the cold glass of the drink transferring to his grip as he tips it towards you in thanks, turning around to lift his mask slightly before taking a sip. Your eyes trailing down his muscled form, roaming over every ridge of his stomach before moving back up.

“Must be hot with the mask”

“Get used to it”

You take a few gulps of your own drink, running the glass across your skin in an attempt to cool yourself. He turns his gaze back to you, watching as you let the beverage run across your skin, leaving a trail of drips behind, he can’t tell if you’re teasing him or this is just how you act naturally.

“How’s it looking”

“Great”

“So you’re almost done”

“Huh?” His eyes pull back to yours,

“Are you almost done, it’s getting unbearable out here”

“Yeah, nearly there”

“Great, I’ll be inside”

The rest of the evening was calm, the two of you doing your best to stay cool in the small cottage as the sun set over the horizon, deciding on cooking something that didn’t involve the use of heat, settling on sandwiches for dinner.

“Mind if I shower, I’m covered in sweat”

“Yea of course” Your mind floods with the sight of his bare form, thankful that the hot air masked the flush of your cheeks, “Towels are in the washroom”

He nods, standing from the table to move toward the shower, closing the door behind him before turning it on. You blow out a long breath, bracing your hands against the table before turning your head at the sound of him wincing,

“You alright?” You call

“Yeah, just sore”

“Well hurry up, I’ll check your stitches”

You sit impatiently as he showers, nervously tidying the kitchen as you wait, your chest fluttering as you hear the shower turn off.

“Figured it’s easier if I just put my shirt on later”

He must be doing this on purpose, once again your eyes roam his form, his sweat replaced by dripping water as his freshly cleaned skin draws your attention,

“Sure, easier”

He sits on the couch, leaning back and positioning his arm against the top to allow you a better view to his stitches, to your surprise they’re doing well, no inflammation or bleeding, they look good.

“S’good, should be able to take them out soon”

“Great”

“Might leave a scar”

“Adds to the collection”

You pass your gaze over the skin of his chest, littered with scars, some small and others long, some old and some new.

“I’m fine”

“I know you are”

“It only hurts a little, when it happens”

“And someone did this to you”

“A few people”

“How many is a few?” You stare at him with rounded eyes,

“Nothing you need to worry about”

You soften your gaze, standing from the couch,

“I guess we should sleep now” His eyes follow your movements, he shifts in his spot trying to get comfortable,

“Simon, would you- nevermind”

“What do you need?”

“I felt bad waking you last night and I was thinking maybe, if we slept in the same bed I wouldn’t have any, you know”

“Yeah, I’d like that- you not having nightmares” He fumbles over his last words, trying to keep himself together at the prospect of once again having you close.

“Okay” You walk nervously toward your room, the simple action now feeling foreign as he trails behind you, “I’ll keep the lights off if you want”

He nods, closing the door behind him as you get into the bed, shuffling around a little before finding comfort in your position, you turn to your side but keep your eyes on him as he reaches to tug his mask off, your mind trying to piece together what he might look like behind the sharp lines of his shadowed face.

He sets himself beside you, moving an apprehensive arm under your pillow, making sure you were okay with it. You push back against him, your body perfectly slotting in front of his as his other arm settles around your waist, you hold it with your fingers, your thumb rubbing against the skin as you let out a small hum of satisfaction.

You’re asleep in no time, the warmth of the air combined with the comfort of Simon behind you lulling you into a dream while he stays up, his arms tucked against you, it was the most comfortable he’d been in years, maybe ever and be didn’t dare move, his body freezing everytime you moved a leg against him or squeezed his forearm lightly, they were like subconscious reminders that you wanted him there and it warmed his heart, melting against you as he tucked his nose against the nape of your neck, your hair brushing against his skin.

He wakes to an empty bed and a weight on his chest, opening his heavy eyes to the sight of Goliath,

“Good morning kitty”

He runs a hand across his back, smiling lightly as he purrs against his touch before he jumps off, startled by the sounds from the house. Simon quickly realizes that he’s not wearing a mask, it’s light out, and you’re not there, a small panic setting into his nerves as he stands.

He tugs on his mask and a shirt before leaving the room, pressing his side against the frame as he watches you move around the kitchen, steeping some tea while you clean up.

“Mornin”

You turn around with a wide smile, “Sleep well?” You ask, leaning against the counter,

“Best in years” He’s being honest, something about you was so comfortable, safe, he wanted to stay forever, if this was what life had in store for him then he’d accept it with open arms.

“Good, cause I think I found that wire you needed”

His heart sinks in an instant, “You did?”

“I think so, was tucked back in the drawer”

“Oh, I’ll see if it’s the right one then”

You smile, turning back to the kettle that had begun whistling as Simon panics, it was too soon, he wanted more time, he needed to figure out a way to stay longer, something good that would keep him here at least a few more days.

“The bathrooms got mold in it” It was the best he could come up with, he hated lying to you.

“Huh?” You turn with your brows furrowed,

“The bathroom, noticed it last night, I can’t fix it if you’d like”

“Are you sure, I didn’t see any”

“Easy to miss sometimes, it’s just near the drain, shouldn’t take more than a day to clean up”

“Yeah sure, just let me know what you need”

He nods, fighting back a smile of success behind his mask, excusing himself from your direct line of sight before internally celebrating, before stopping to think to himself,

Now I’ve gotta figure out how to retile a shower.

Omgggg ur bringing kuroko no basket back!!!! Amazing as always

┌─ “ ! „ WHEN YOU ASK

tw. yandere, dubcon, threats, coercion, some degradation, dom/sub themes, humiliation, noncon voyeurism, former bullying mention, threesome-ish, crying, knife, choking wordcount. 5.5k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by another amazing person ♡ thank you so much for the commission!! i hope you like this one and it lives up to your expectation and i !! ahHH i just always get nervous writing charas i haven't before but I had a blast! mwUah i hopeee you enjoy!!! kiSsES once again thankies to rhi for being best beta hehe

akashi seijuro x fem!reader

See, if someone asked, Mibuchi could say that he’s friends with you.

It wouldn’t be an outright lie -you’ve been in the same classes since middle school, he’s seen how you act around your friends and wave everyone goodbye with a smile- but maybe it isn’t exactly the truth either. Safer to say, Mibuchi knows of you. Would even call you an acquaintance of sorts, and he’s pretty sure you guys were sort of friendly when you were twelve and he sat next you in class for a good couple months — he might even have walked you home at some point.

You could have been friends, if he’d been a little less busy with basketball practice in middle and high school, a little less busy with the team. Because really, he’d have had every opportunity to. You were in the cheer squad for a couple years, and he’s pretty sure you were one of the girls who helped collect funds for the Rakuzan bus rides from and to tournaments- and you always seemed pleasant, kind. If he hadn’t been so focused on his sport career, he might’ve even had a bit of a crush on you.

Not that he plans on making up for it now, but it’s not hard to see or admit that you’re pretty stunning, you were back then— and you definitely are today. Perfectly manicured nails and beautifully glossy hair that makes you look full and warm and modelesque all at once. You shine. It’s hard not to notice someone like you whenever he sees you at their matches. He knows he’s not the only one. College jocks are hardly the picture of self restraint, and if you think signed athletes are any different, you’d be wrong. But all of that doesn’t really matter, because you don’t sit in the stands for him.

The redhead that he has spent the past few years playing alongside is lucky to call you more than friends. He respects Akashi. There’s almost no way around it when you play on a team alongside the guy, that pure, unfiltered resolve he has, and the steely brute force it sometimes takes the form of. Akashi wouldn’t exactly have it any other way too, and though that might get annoying if he were anyone else, Mibuchi isn’t arrogant enough to acknowledge that the guy plays best when he knows people he respects have his back. That type of world-class talent doesn’t come around a lot.

The redhead that has you sitting looking pretty in the stands is the same boy that’d shove you to the concrete in grade 2. The one he saw yank your pigtails and put glue in your backpack, isn’t he? The one who started the talk that you’d kissed a teacher under the bleachers, and stood by when Hayama stuck his hand up your skirt? Yeah, it’s probably because you aren’t friends that he doesn’t understand. All he knows is that kids grow up, and he respects the Captain.

So it’s because he respects Akashi that he finds himself in this situation, isn’t it?

You’re tiny. Well, everyone is sort of ‘tiny’ compared to most professional basketballers… but leaning against the concrete pillar with your perfect outfit and your arms wrapped around yourself, not a hair out of place - it is more vibes than actual appearance that makes you seem small. Compact, tiny, quiet, if he didn’t know any better, he’d liken you to a skittish little animal. You’re waiting, eyes scanning everyone briefly as they stream out. It’s sort of lonely looking, though. His head reminds him it isn't really his problem, but hey, it feels weird to pretend to not see you too.

And he supposes you are kinda friendly, right? As his long legs carry him through the sliding doors of the training center, he plops a sucker between his lips, glances over his shoulder and - makes the executive choice to walk up to you. If only to entertain you a little while Akashi takes his time running through the coaches’ comments, like he usually does. You blank when you notice him walk up, before doing a quick double take at the doors, and he takes the sort of deer-in-headlights look as a question on your end. “Akashi’s probably going to be a little bit longer, if I had to guess.”

“Oh. I see.” You let out a nervous little laugh, and wring your hands together, and he takes a brief second to look at you. Sure, he hasn’t exactly been very chatty when you’ve strolled in during practices with forgotten bento boxes, or when you sit at the very front row during matches with your perfectly presented exterior and a nervous glitter in your eyes, or even when it seems you’ve been dragged along to the teams events— but from what he knows of you… in the past, you’re not the shy little bunny standing before him now. It almost makes him a little self-conscious. Is it him that’s making you hesitate, or are you just… different now? People do change, after all. Still, it doesn’t seem… like change.

“I’m… Mibuchi, I was in the same class as you a lot growing up.” He finds himself explaining, in case you forgot. He wouldn’t exactly blame you if you did. If you managed to forgive and forget for Akashi, you could’ve forgotten most other things.

But you pause, and then your face softens into a slow smile. “I remember you, Reo-kun. We were desk mates in Ms. Tanaka’s class. You were always nice to me.” Right, with your high ponytail and cute bangs and your flowery frilly shirts. Thinking about it harder, he definitely did have somewhat of a crush on you back then. “It’s nice to get to talk to you again, it’s been so long.”

“You still like basketball, huh?” he asks, and you laugh and look at the floor, before nodding.

It takes a few seconds for your eyes to meet his again. “Yes, I guess so. Don’t have much of a choice.” It lingers when your voice goes a little more quiet. Right. Because, your boyfriend’s a pro-athlete. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the games! It’s really nice to get swept up in the excitement of it from time to time.” You sound light, breezy … but almost mournful too. It’s somewhere in your eyes, your long lashes unable to hide the deepness of it. “Honestly, I can’t wait for the season to start again.” Another beat passes, before you seem to snap out of it, and refocus on him. “You’re still playing too.”

Whatever tension crept up in his shoulders doesn’t loosen when he grins. “Almost fifteen years now, can’t let that streak go to waste.” He sucks on the lollipop for a long moment, before tilting his head. “Besides, pretty sure Akashi wouldn’t let me.”

It cracks your carefully crafted expression. For a split second -surprising both himself and you, it seems, because then your smile is picture perfect again. The same perfect smile you give everyone when they say ‘hi’ and Akashi laces his hand with yours. Or when you blow back a kiss across the field. And see, he isn’t too concerned with people’s reactions, usually. But it’s so sudden that it feels … weird. Everything suddenly feels weird. You never wear Akashi’s jerseys, even when he stuffs them into your hand before matches. Not that you have to… it’s just, you used to be cheer captain. It seems like something you’d want to do.

That sits weirdly. 

“You’re definitely right about that,” you agree, but the light of it doesn’t reach your eyes. Before he can think about it, the electronic doors slide open behind him— and as if you’re burned, you take a few steps away and into a new line of sight. “‘Juro, you’re back!”

“Why aren’t you waiting in the car, stupid?” is the first thing that comes out, reaching for you like you’re a lost child, as his mismatched eyes find Mibuchi. His face is perfectly blank of emotion as it always seems to be. “You guys were talking?”

Instantly, your eyes shoot up to his, and you seem to cling a little harder. “No! N-no, just… Mibuchi was waiting with me. We’re done.” You fiddle with the chain of your necklace when your boyfriend stays quiet and stares you down, searching for … a lie? An explanation? Whatever it is makes Mibuchi feel like he shouldn’t be watching. But he can’t pull away from the scene. His teammate eventually leans down to kiss you long and deep, and your shoulders drop a tad bit. Not enough to look relaxed.

“Hm.” If Akashi notices, he doesn’t mention it, and instead brushes his lips along your temple. “We should get home then. You look a little tired.” You don’t agree, but your feet start moving robotically upon the prompt, and the noiret takes that as the only clue he’s gonna get that the conversation is over.

“See you two next… practice,” he starts to say as you two walk off, but quiets down as you turn over your shoulder to look at him. There’s something off about your eyes. At least, he swears— there is. It makes him feel like he’s crazy. Because your pretty smile is right there, and you’re wrapping your perfectly manicured fingers around Akashi’s bicep.

The look doesn’t fade when Akashi simply nods, and ushers you along with a hand that lands in the dip of your spine. “Sure.”

+

The next time he sees you isn’t at practice. It takes him aback a little, putting the weights he was curling down to straighten up for a better view. You’re looking around like a lost puppy, and the reflection on the large glass panes boxing him off hides most of you from view, but sure enough- it’s you. Just you, once more, rubbing your hands along your arms as you wait in line for something.

It isn’t his business. It really isn’t, but- you didn’t show up to any of their matches or practices the last two weeks. Is it so strange that he’s sort of glad to see you alive and well? Not that he’d ever think badly of Akashi, but you’d been in such a bad mood when you left, and it just… didn’t seem right. He takes his water bottle to toss it onto his bag, before jogging on over out of the gates and around the corner right when you slip out of view. A few people walk around him, and he catches a brief look of your face as you hesitantly slip a card into the ATM.

Your hands are shaking. They’re shaking, and your lip is screwed between your teeth and… if it wasn’t you, he’d think you were doing something nefarious. “Hey,” he softly breathes as he walks up, and your jumpy squeak only makes him more uncomfortable.

Your eyes are so wide when you turn around. “Mibuchi! —Oh, Reo… it’s you.” The device behind you beeps. “Sorry, I,” your pretty face paints on a smile as you take out the money and slide it neatly into your purse, “I wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to me.” There’s a moment of silence as he scans you up and down, and that horrible feeling drops back into his gut. He can’t help it, it’s laced in the air between you two, it’s on his tongue, it’s in your eyes when you blink up at him. “Reo? Are you- okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he nods, wiping his hands on his gym shorts. Is— should he say something? Is there something to say? It’s not like he can just … ask if you’re being treated badly. Hell- he’s been friends with Akashi since high school- he trusts the guy! There’s absolutely no reason he should be thinking like this. “You look beautiful,” he ends up blurting out, unable to think of anything else to say. “Me and the guys missed you at practice.”

“O-oh,” you giggle, and shake your head. “I was just a bit… busy at home, that’s all. I hoped Seijuro would’ve told you guys not to expect me.” Either you’re a really good actor, or some of your nerves slide off of you when you look up at him, and this time, he believes the smile. “But I guess I don’t have to tell you what he’s like, he isn’t really the talking type.” There’s a certain fondness in your eyes when you shrug. “You know, Seijuro bought me a ring five weeks into dating, when we were in high school. Said he knew what he wanted, and that he’d make me the happiest wife on the planet if I agreed.” You giggle. “At sixteen years old, he was already that way. I thought it was really romantic back then, his smittenness.”

This he remembers. Akashi talked about it in the locker room once, knowing you’d be cheering in the stands, he’s pretty sure he even showed off the ring despite the ridicule. Did you still wear Akashi’s jerseys back then? He can’t for the life of him figure out why he cares to remember so bad. Your tongue swipes out to brush your lips. “We’re a long ways out from high school now, huh?” Mibuchi’s hand twitches by his side as he watches the smile die out, but what the hell can he say. He wasn’t there for either of you, not really. If something did happen, would he even know?

His eyes sink down your face ever so briefly to your throat when you look off. There’s a mark purple and red where a necklace would have sat, bruised all around, and though faded- he stops smiling.

“What’s that?!” 

You jerk away with an uncomfortable glance, and a shake of your head. Fuck, he wants you to say something. He wants you to tell him some stupid story about a rash or a tumble, to tell him to fuck off and leave you be, because it isn’t his business- but you don’t. Maybe he does consider you a friend. “Hey, if- you ever need anything,” need help, he wants to say, but the word doesn’t make it out of his mouth. “You just have to ask, you know?” He doesn’t exactly expect you to drop everything and beg for aid in the middle of Kyoto, but the pristine calm that washes over you is almost eerie.

Your eyes find his. “Well— I- I want to visit my mom.” The tremble in your voice is soft, but it’s there, squeezing your fingers a little tighter. “Can you drop me off at the nearest train station? Seijuro’s off on a little business trip today, and he’s got his car. I don’t really… want to wait until he’s back.” A nagging little voice in the back of his head tells him not to get involved.

But the voice isn’t loud enough. “Of course, yeah.”

+

Akashi’s passes are bad today. He’s been on edge seemingly all practice, wiping sweat off the back of his neck as he talks to the manager- and Mibuchi doesn’t feel entirely comfortable just walking up to him. They don’t have the friendship they did in high school, and though he still appreciates the guy, there’s a space there that wasn’t there before. As if on cue, the redhead’s eyes flick up and meet his, differently colored eyes scanning him up and down, and Mibuchi looks away. He doesn’t want to seem too interested in your business, he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t want him to be either— but he can’t exactly pretend not to be curious anymore. It’s basically leaking out of him onto the polished floor.

Did you get home okay after? Did you and Akashi talk? Did you fight? 

The first hour results in a record of missed 3 pointers and shitty teamwork, so clearly the tension isn’t just in his head. Even their stern watcher of a coach eventually grits his teeth. “All of you, I want you to regroup before the end of the night, or I’ll have you dribbling until your arms fall off.” Everyone straightens out and gives a quick ‘yes, coach’. His eyes then slide to the Captain, and he crosses his arms. “Akashi, take a rest, you’re all over the place today.”

“You almost elbowed me in the face earlier, dude,” the shooting guard softly mumbles upon the prompt, and it’s barely a second before Akashi’s nose to nose with the man, his fist wound in the sweaty jersey by his throat. Everyone freezes up, and even the long-time coach is caught off guard by the sudden flare of anger. But Akashi doesn’t falter, and hisses out his words.

“Stay out of my fucking way then. This is my court, and you’re on my team. You serve me.”

The gruff older man stands up to separate the two with a short bark of the Captain’s name, as those devilish mismatched eyes flick up. “Akashi! Bench, now. You pull a stunt like that again and you’ll remain there.” It’s like there’s a black cloud over the entire gym that makes them hold their breath, until every so slowly, the fist unfurls and drops. The redhead doesn’t say another word, but his brows are just as furrowed as he steps back, and looks around. Those fiery eyes pass over Mibuchi just briefly, and he swears they stare a little longer than they should. “Now line up, you shitty little brats!”

“Yes, coach!”

Shoes squeak on the floor as they line up, and Mibuchi lingers on the interaction a bit longer. The shorter man catches the ball tossed at him, and slowly straightens up as he clicks his tongue. “Yes, coach.” He can’t shake the glare or the thinly laced impatience in his voice.

+

It displays almost three on the blinking alarm clock when the rattling at his door wakes him. There’s an impatient knock, and then another few ones about twenty seconds later that have him throwing the covers off. The house is as he left it for the night when he drags himself towards the entrance and waits for a moment longer, before a tiny sniffle catches him entirely off guard. It’s a woman. His tired mind still instantly comes upon you, and he unlocks the door when a hand again meets the wood.

The apartment light doesn’t fail him. It is you, though there’s a darkness under your eyes -smudged mascara- and your hands are bound before you, as you’re basically held up by your neck and you’re pushed into the doorway. Mibuchi stumbles as his hands land on your arms to stop your fall, and for a brief moment, everything seems okay.

Until the door is closed behind the three of you and the person who pushed glares with an anger that he can feel burn his skin. Akashi. The normally quiet, demanding Captain doesn’t have much of his usual restraint when he picks you back up by your arm and holds you out as if you’re a stolen toy— and he sneers as the hiss of his voice cuts. “You think I’m fucking stupid? I saw you looking at her all of last season’s practices. But she doesn’t actually want you, does she? She tried her very fucking best to run off, to no avail.” He briefly glares down at you when you whimper, and shake your head against the gag in your mouth. “Don’t pout, slut, you deserve to be punished. Don’t you think?”

You’re crying. Hard, a desperate, trashing cry that’s making his hairs stand upright. And he doesn’t think you could ever look ugly, but you’re definitely crying like you want the ground to swallow you up whole, and like the action of struggling this hard is causing you pain. “No, I don’t wanna.”

The entire scene doesn’t make any sense. Why are you — why is Akashi here? It fries his brain the longer he thinks, and his hands slowly slide off of your arms to take a tiny step back. “Captain…,” Mibuchi starts, reaching out to hold your hand. Akashi should let go of you. You’re hurt.

The movement has Akashi’s irises back on his teammate with fire, eyes wide and accusatory. “Move.” He takes you by your collar and drags you like you’re a kitten, before shouldering Mibuchi out of his own doorway to deposit you on the cold floor. It knocks him out of his daze enough to at least process the situation. This can’t be his former friend pulling something like this— but it’s playing out right before him. What the fuck? “I had to spend the entirety of yesterday driving up to Tokyo because of the stupid shit my flighty little wife pulled,” Akashi’s voice is tighter now, calmer, but not any less vicious as he watches you.

“Maybe if you get on your knees and beg my forgiveness, I won’t let everyone know what a fucking whore you are.” Through the gag, your muffled, pitched voice sounds out in the openness of his apartment. You look so pitiful, and Akashi’s not letting up as he grips your face to pull it only about an inch away from his own. “Apologize. You are mine. Doesn’t matter how far you run, you’re always going to be mine.” A thumb brushes along your cheeks to get rid of the silvery tracks. “I love you. You know I do.”

“You should let go of her,” his own voice comes before he has time to think it over. This situation is absurd, and he isn’t willing to just stand by to watch you get treated this way— at least, that’s until the other man turns to him and the brief moment of kindness is replaced by a darkness that flashes over his face.

The redhead’s hand disappears into his pocket, glaring at him from his elevated position in the baren light of the room. “Shut your fucking mouth, Mibuchi.” There’s not a sliver of familiarity left when he clicks his tongue, and like he’s the one who’s disgusted, narrows his eyes. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.” The tense silence is only made more pressing by the way you give him those fearful eyes, shaking your head ‘no’ as the man before him steps a bit closer. “I am not here to ask your opinion… I’m here to punish her.” As he points in your direction, his hand comes out of his pocket with a knife, glittering brilliantly even in the dark, and is then aimed towards him. Your pinched crying starts up again when he pulls your head up by your hair, and Akashi raises an eyebrow.

“You think you’re the first with notions of heroism? This brat runs like it’s a hobby. You’re not special.” His eyes burn. “If I hear you talk to me again, I’ll hurt her,” he breathes, deathly serious as he turns to you, “and if you don’t obey, I’ll hurt him, okay? I know you don’t want that, baby doll.” When you wildly shake your head again, he kneels down by your side, and Mibuchi can’t do anything but watch as the spit-filled gag is pulled down your chin and Akashi cups your cheek to kiss you ever so softly. “I know, I know, it’s okay. You were being friendly, hm? You’d never use our friend here for your own protection. But you still let me find you, and now you get punished, you know that.”

“Seijuro, I’m sorry, please,” your voice barely sounds like you. It’s hoarser, desperate, and cracking with tears as wetness and snot runs on your face— “please let’s just go home. We don’t have to make up here, I won’t- I won’t run again, I promise.” Akashi stills for a second too long to pretend to be indifferent. But he still hardens up, and simply turns over his shoulder to look at the noiret with a cold look.

“Where’s the bedroom?”

“N- ‘Juro- no,” you start struggling again through your tears, and he wants to help you. “Please anything but this, I beg you! Seijuro!” Your poor wrists look rubbed raw because of the fabric, and be it the dejected look in your eyes or the sound of your cries ringing through his house -it sparks another surge of adrenaline in him. But the Captain doesn’t repeat himself, and the words ring through his skull. I’ll hurt her. “I’ll be your good girl-” you start, before dissolving into a mess of cries when the redhead wraps an arm around your belly and pulls you up onto your feet against him. You go soft and quiet when your face is against his chest, and Akashi presses the sharp blade of the knife into your neck.

“Well?”

“It’s to the left.” Mibuchi has no other choice, does he? He has no way of knowing if the man before him would actually hurt you— he doesn’t even know the person standing before him now. As he trails his eyes over the two of you in both worry and stress, the glitter of the ring on your finger doesn’t miss him. You really did get married, didn’t you? Was it always like this? He can’t imagine you’d have stayed as long as you have if it was… but then again, he clearly doesn’t know anything about Akashi. He doesn’t know anything about you either, from the looks of things.

“Come along,” Akashi says, leading the way to the abandoned bedroom with too steady a step. If he wasn’t so worried about getting you hurt -or worse- he could probably make a run for his phone charging on the kitchen counter. But by the time police got here, it’d be too late. So instead he just slowly, carefully follows behind as you’re deposited on the messed up sheets of his own bed, and stands in the doorway with baited breath. As Akashi slowly starts to undo each button of your silky pyjamas, a horrible feeling settles in his stomach, and he clears his voice. There’s no way it can be what he thinks it is. The stretch of skin revealed to him is littered with fresh hickeys, and Mibuchi looks away.

Not quick enough, clearly, because you pull up a sniffled breath and let out a little whine when Akashi hums. “Always make me embarrass you like this.” The soft lilt to his tone is almost gentle, if he wasn’t threatening you with a knife a minute earlier. “Crying like a baby until you get what you want, hm?” The ruffling of clothes is enough to have heat come up onto Mibuchi’s face, resolutely boring his eyes into the doorframe instead of you. Akashi can’t be serious. He clears his voice, and the Captain sighs. “So how long have you been in love with my wife?”

“Huh?” He looks up to see the way you’re holding the undone shirt to your chest and barely keeping your modesty, and Akashi giving him a blank look. “I- I’m not-”

“Sure you are. Just look at her.” He apraises you from his spot beside the bed, and runs his long fingers along your jaw and shoulder with a little breath. “She’s absolutely perfect. Aren’t you, baby? My beautiful little doll.” The kiss he lays onto your lips is genuinely soft, and loving, and a cold spike comes to Mibuchi’s spine at the sight of you melting into the touch despite everything. “Always perfect for me…” Akashi whispers, and then straightens up. “That’s exactly why I can’t let you go.”

He turns over his shoulder briefly to look at Mibuchi, and then sighs. “You should take a seat. I’m going to remind my little whore wife exactly who she belongs to- you sit and be quiet, understand?”

He can’t bring himself to answer verbally, but at the pleading look in your eyes -the one currently eating him up as much as it is sending hot flares down his body- he slowly takes the farthest corner of the bed and sits. Your eyes don’t manage to make it to his as Akashi unclasps your arms from around you and peels the last of your soft top off. His eyes flick down instinctively, he can’t help it, and makes his mouth a little more dry. You’re - beautiful, embarrassment coloring your cheeks and ears and chest with obvious humiliation that only makes the redhead hum. “You’re so pretty.” His rough palm comes under your face to grab it and force it to turn. “Look at Mibuchi, isn’t this what you wanted?”

“N-no,” you whimper, but bite your lip hard, and your chest rises and falls rapidly.

“You don’t like being watched?”

“You know I don’t,” your voice comes out soft, but there’s an edge there that only makes Akashi’s mouth twitch, as he forces you to uncross your legs. He starts work there too, peeling off your shorts down beautiful smooth thighs. The noiret tries to stop himself from watching so intently, he truly does, because it’s clear you hate every second that he stares. But — fuck, your little whimpers are making his heart race. He’s just a guy, and the stress, and flood of adrenaline is betraying him now. Once your shorts and panties are off, Akashi just watches for a moment, and you take a deep breath. “You can’t bully into it, Seijuro.”

He barely reacts. Brushes his rough thumbs along your tits and over your nipples, and pushes you back on the bed. “Shhh. We’re having a moment, baby. I didn’t want to do this, you know?” Akashi speaks like he’s cherishing you with his lips hovering yours, nudging your one thigh apart to make room for his hand as he runs two fingers along your slit. “But you make me. You’re just a stupid, dumb girl acting out because you want to be reminded of who you belong to, hm?” You shiver, and he spits onto his hand to start grinding his rough palm against your pussy as you close your eyes.

“No. No, I don-”

“No? You did this with Aomine,” he sighs, working two of his thick fingers inside you and you wiggle and hide your face into your shoulder, “and you did this with Kise too. But you’re still here. You just like getting your pussy fucked hard when you make me mad. Say it.”

“Ah- Seijuro, I-” His fingers curl in you, and your back lifts off the bed as your mouth opens into a silent moan. “Ah, ah— I like getting my pussy- fucked h-hard,” your voice is barely a whimper, but it’s quiet in the room save for everyone’s labored breathing as the slick sound of your pussy gets messier and louder. As you’re curling your hips onto his hand and resisting the urge to really fuck yourself onto his fingers, he pulls his shirt over his head and reveals the hard on covered by flimsy basketball shorts— and you let out a squeak. “Seijuro, ‘juro, I feel- mh-” You can’t even string a proper sentence together as he grunts, and traps your poor clit against the fleshy part of his palm.

“You should apologize for using Mibuchi,” Akashi softly says, a faint little grin on his lips that shows the glee in his eyes even more. “Go on.”

“But I— I didn’t use- ah, ahh-fuck.” Your wetness is glistening every time Akashi pulls his hand back and forces long fingers back in you- and you stuff the fabric of the gag back between your lips just to bite it hard as your tits are squeezed and he pinches your clit until your thighs shake. Then you cry, and open teary eyes to the man still frozen at the end of the bed. He doesn’t want you to look. To notice the shame pooling in his gut. “‘M sorry for using you.” Your snively look is too much.

Akashi hikes one of your thighs to your chest as he pulls his cock out and only shakes his head a little in disbelief, before lining up and pushing the drooling, red head in one hard pump inside. You whine out, and he licks his teeth as he grabs your throat and squeezes. “Needy fucking bitch. If you want to get your cunt fucked harder, you- should-” Each thrust slaps hard against your skin and hikes you further up, tits bouncing as your hands grab his forearms. “learn- to ask. Now Mibuchi will have to fuck his fist thinking of you, hm? Your- ugh- fault.”

His cock grinds deep inside your belly, hitting that spot good enough that you can’t open your eyes. Your ring glitters like your slicked pussy does, and the silvery tears on your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you shake your head and sob, biting down on your puffy lips hard and clinging on. You look sorry. But with each thrust and squelch of your pussy taking Akashi as deep as you can, that look gets a little more faded. Maybe you're good at forgiving and forgetting.

You certainly look it.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.