Ch2/ch4
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.”
More Posts from Maboiisuga and Others
𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎 ⋮ 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈.
bakugou is six when you confidently tell him you’ll marry him, a giggly little toothy grin on your face as you hand him a flower.
“kacchan, one day we’ll get married,” you announce, and then you lean in, planting a soft kiss to his cheek.
he thinks his world just about stops for a moment.
but then he hears a snicker from the behind, and then another, and another—and suddenly he remembers his friends that are watching, a scowl quickly painting over his face as he grimaces.
“gross,” he grumbles, “i’m not marrying you,” he huffs, swiftly turning around and leaving you on your own.
he pretends like he’s forgotten the flower in his hand is still there, that he doesn’t hear you yell, “oh yes you will!” after him as he fights off the blush dusting across his face.
——————————
“you know, i do hate to say i told you so, but—”
“don’t,” bakugou grumbles, cutting you off. and something in his tone tells you he already knows what you’re going to say.
a small part of him is fond of the little memory, happy that things turned out just as you predicted—another part hates you’re about to tease him mercilessly.
“—but i did tell you so,” you grin, staring at the ring on your hand happily, wriggling your fingers to watch it glimmer in your dimly lit bedroom as moonlight pours through the window. you feel the rumble of his chest under your cheek as he grunts, shuffling closer as you lay your ring clad hand on his sternum.
“you never fuckin’ stop talking, do you?” he mutters, but his arm curls around you tighter.
bakugou thinks he’s spent the greater part of his life trying to get better, to be better—he almost forgets that sometimes, he can be just enough as is. and he thinks he always has been with you, worthy of your six year old hand in marriage even as he left you all alone at the sandbox, worthy of your saccharine smile and melodic laugh even as he pushes past you for years and years on end.
and sometimes, when the weight on his chest becomes too much, he almost forgets you’re all he really needs to breathe.
“i would never pass up a chance to tell sir dynamight ‘i told you so’,” you giggle, poking his cheek as he groans. he flicks your forehead, but there’s a slight wobble to his lips as he fights back a fond grin.
“quit callin’ me that, you sound like an idiot,” he scoffs. your finger traces a small heart across his cheek, and he snorts at the cheesiness. “marrying you’s a bad fuckin’ decision,” he sighs.
“hey,” you pout, “that’s rude. we haven’t even been engaged for a full day yet.”
“i don’t know if i’ll make it a full day as your fiancé.”
“aw, katsuki,” you drawl, planting a loud, wet kiss to his jaw, pinching his cheek as he swats your hand away with a scowl, “you can’t wait a whole day, huh? wanna get married that fast?” you tease through wriggled brows.
he wonders what prompted him to buy the ring in the first place.
“don’t flatter yourself,” he huffs flatly.
“well, we can’t elope,” you hum, and by now, your finger has settled for tracing meaningless patterns over his chest, gently running over the skin as his heart beats under your touch. “your mom would kill you if she didn’t get a wedding.”
“hate to break it to you, babe,” he smirks, pinching the tip of your nose playfully as he chuckles, “but marrying me means you’re apart of the bakugou family—so now you gotta feel the old hag’s wrath too. just like the rest of us.”
“nuh uh, i’m too cute,” you argue. it’s silent, and then he lets out a snort before he rolls his eyes, pressing a soft peck to your forehead—and it’s almost his silent way of agreeing.
“you’re trouble ‘s what you are,” he mutters. you hum, smiling thoughtfully, soft, gentle.
he wonders if he’ll ever fully deserve it.
“are you excited?” you murmur, cheek pressing further against his chest as you shuffle closer.
bakugou swallows for a moment. and it should be an easy question to answer—he doesn’t think he’s ever been more excited for something in his life before. not graduating, not going pro, not starting his agency, not even your first date (and you both still pretend he didn’t accidentally blow up the stems of the flowers he got you through sweaty palms.)
he feels his chest grow heavy, the weight of his emotions too much for him to comprehend, and he finds he’s still tumbling down the road of getting better—of being better. but then you kiss his chest under your cheek, and it’s easy to breathe again.
and he’s enough as is—always has been, always will be. your hand, the same hand that you promised him marriage with at six years old, grabs his and entwines your fingers together, and he thinks maybe being better shouldn’t be hard if you walk with him down the road right by his side.
“six year old me would throw a fit,” he mumbles instead, but he knows you have your answer when you giggle.
“six year old me would also say i told you so.”
“‘course you would,” he snorts, and then he tilts your jaw up and kisses your lips like he means it.
and bakugou katsuki, as his thumb runs over your cheek softly, like he’s holding the world in his hands and standing with the sun under his feet, can’t wait to kiss you on your wedding day.
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ITOSHI RIN
┌ “ ! ˓〃 two of cups | tw incest, love triangle (ft. sae) part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 complete
“spare me the details”
Pairing: matsukawa x fem!reader Genre: angst with a happy ending (i promise lmao), friends to lovers Summary: matsukawa is a good friend, which is why when you ask for his help figuring out what to wear for your date, he agrees without thinking much of it. but the longer he spends watching you get ready, the more he realizes how much he doesn’t want you to go. WC: 10,446 Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, lots of suggestive lines, and on top of it all they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) A/N: this fic happened because i wanted to write literally one scene of mattsun zipping up reader’s dress and now, 10k+ words later, we’re here :) also shoutout to luna for coming up with the fic title! <3 -Dawn
When you text Matsukawa right after his shift with a series of panicked voice notes and a string of siren emojis to match, he expects nothing short of a bug armageddon. He comes home fully prepared to find you standing on the kitchen counter, broom in hand as you frantically shout for him to get rid of whatever creepy crawling thing has invaded your home, the way he has on three separate occasions since the two of you moved in together.
Instead, when he arrives at your shared apartment, he finds you standing in the middle of your bedroom, heaps of fabric scattered across your mattress and pouring out from your closet. Thankfully, there’s no bug in sight, but you still look far from pleased, scowling at the floral-printed dress you’re holding as if it’s personally offended you.
Keep reading
help, my boyfriend has no sex drive! (3)
Pairing: Kenma x Reader (f)
Genre: smut, fluff
Contains: smut; thigh highs; semi-clothed sex; unprotected sex; oral sex (f receiving); fingering; cum eating (?); creampie; virginity kink; established relationship; forgotten homework ):
Word Count: 4.1k
Part 1 || Part 2
“Fuck, it’s cold!”
You curse under your breath as you rub your legs together underneath the blanket, desperate for any semblance of warmth in the freezing apartment. With the arrival of winter, Tokyo has steadily gotten colder and colder each day. Despite wearing your thickest pair of fleece pajamas and cocooning yourself in a bundle of thick blankets on the couch, you feel gooseflesh lining your slightly trembling legs. Each time you accidentally brush your feet against your shins underneath the blankets you recoil from the frostiness of your own toes.
At your limit, you snatch your cell phone off the coffee table to open the Amazon app, intending to buy a pair of thermal tights to be express shipped.
Instead, your eyes land on a conveniently placed advertisement on the home page.
Extra Warm Fuzzy Thigh High Stockings 3 Pack for Women
Immediately enticed by the words “extra warm” you click on the image. The page loads to reveal a variety of colors to choose from along with some product information about the material and a satisfaction guarantee. You scroll down to read a few reviews, almost all citing positive experiences and expressing surprise to find how “cozy and warm” the stockings are despite their low price.
Thoroughly persuaded, you quickly select a set of versatile colors before using the one-click “Buy Now” feature.
Just as you receive the notification of an order confirmation email, you hear the front door of the apartment open before your boyfriend tiredly shuffles inside.
“Sorry I’m late,” Kenma murmurs, slightly struggling to shrug off his thick puffer coat. “Yoshida-san wanted to talk again…”
You laugh at that, recalling just how talkative the elderly lady from two doors down tends to be. Once the woman finds someone willing to listen to her rambling, she can go on for hours about topics ranging from her own life story to what types of seasonal fruit her grandchildren like. You can very clearly picture your awkward boyfriend, feeling too guilty to interrupt as Yoshida-san complains about the local markets increasing the price of eggs for thirty minutes.
“You need to be more selfish, KenKen,” you chastise playfully as you hop up off the couch to help him with removing the complicated layers of winter outerwear from his person.
“Tell people what you want to and don’t want to do. Yoshida-san would understand; you’re a full-time student and eboy, you’re busy.”
Kenma shoots you a disgusted look at your favorite way to refer to his streaming career to which you only cackle. With a few calculated tugs, you manage to remove his coat and hang it on the rack beside the door.
“Anyway, I’ll go ahead and call for dinner—I was thinking we could get sukiyaki and watch a movie for tonight,” you suggest, already making a beeline for your phone.
“Okay.”
The rest of the night is spent comfortably for you two, cuddled up on the couch while you both eat warm soup and watch a fantasy movie Kenma picked out. You hardly have any interest in the contents on the screen but you relish in the warmth provided by both the food and your boyfriend.
You all but forget about your Amazon order until two days later when Kenma comes home with a cardboard box in his hands.
“It says it’s for you,” Kenma says simply, handing the box over to where you sit on the couch.
Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment before the realization hits and you nearly tear the box apart in your excitement to open it. Kenma lingers to the side, seeming curious about what could garner such a reaction from you. With your university student budget, it is rare that you buy anything outside of necessities and an unhealthy amount of take-out, so you are unsurprised by Kenma’s apparent curiosity.
You grin as you pull the neatly folded pile of multi-colored soft material from the opened box, holding them in the air for him to see.
“It’s my new thigh highs! I was tired of feeling like I was in danger of getting frostbite in our own apartment.”
You drop all but a pair of striped pink ones back into the box and quickly shift to try them on, oblivious to how Kenma’s curious gaze has morphed into something akin to mild horror. The material glides easily up your bare legs, stopping just above mid thigh.
“Ooh—they’re so soft,” you cheer, standing up to test their slipperiness on the wooden floors. Kenma swallows thickly from his post, eyes lingering on where your plush thighs slightly spill over the tops of the stockings.
He nearly goes into cardiac arrest when you lift your right leg in his direction, toes unintentionally mere centimeters from his crotch.
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warmth | kunigami rensuke x f!reader
⤷ warnings: 18+! making out, mentions of sex, fluff
⤷ word count: 1.6K
⤷ a/n: this is completely, 100%, a comfort fic. making out, fondling, no sex. domestic, slow, cute. hope you like it x
“Open up,” he breathes, amber eyes half lidded, face flushed as he looks down at you.
You comply because of course you do; Kunigami has an air about him, a… soft dominance that you can’t resist.
He runs his thumb along your lower lip, dips it into your mouth with a soft hum of “good girl,” and presses it gently against your tongue. “You’re so beautiful,” he adds, other hand cupping your cheek, grin growing on his face when you nuzzle against him, eyes locked with his.
Then he kisses you.
Frames your face with his large hands and presses his lips to yours, softly melting into you, growing hungrier with every wet smack of your lips against his. You’re pushing his shirt up, silently willing him to tear it off, your cool fingers hungry for the warmth of him, of the heat he radiates even now, on a cold winter morning.
He complies because of course he does; you may be madly in love with this man, but he swears he loves you harder. It takes every inch of self control to keep from manhandling you, despite how much you claim not to care if he’s rough.
He’s only gotten bigger, stronger, broader with age, and there’s no way he’d dream of hurting you. At least, not on a lazy Sunday morning. Not after what he did to you last night.
Once his shirt is gone, you pull him back down to you, humming contentedly when his weight presses against your thinly clothed chest, his heat everywhere when you wrap your arms around his neck, drawing your lips back up to his.
“Are you okay?” He asks after a few slow pecks, leaning up on an elbow, a finger drawing down your throat.
You catch his insinuation, and laugh back in return. “It’s not the first time you’ve gone a little too deep, Ren,” then you’re up on your elbows, too, pressing a chaste kiss to his nose. “Besides, you know I like it.” Which you do; you love it when he fills your mouth, your throat, makes you feel like you’re choking on him.
His blush deepens, and you can’t help but think it’s cute how he acts like this now, considering what you both got up to last night. It’s not the first time you a little rough together, but he generally prefers it when he takes care of you, so the skullfuck was definitely surprising.
“I like you here,” he says, voice a little gravelly, eyes unreadable. Two fingers press into your sternum and he’s pushing you back against his mattress, eyes drinking you in, those fingers ghosting over your skin as if he’s committing you to memory.
“I like me here, too,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering shut as those fingers find your left nipple, dipping under your little camisole to tease at the puckered flesh. A shaky sigh leaves your lips when his fingertips are replaced with his lips, his tongue; your thighs clench together at the familiar roll of need tingling at your clit—
Then he’s gone. Back up on his elbows, looking down at you, deep in thought.
When the silence— and the anxiety— gets too much for you, you open your mouth, “Ren, I—”
“Move in with me,” he blurts, suddenly determined. You’re speechless. “I know it’s only been a few months, but,” he takes a deep breath. “I know you’re it, you’re the one for me. And when I’m travelling for work, I worry about you in that shitty apartment—“
“I happen to like my shitty apartment!”
“— with its shitty reception and leaky bathtub. At least if you’re here, I know everything’s perfect for you, and there’s nothing you need to worry about.” He rattles off, frown on his face contradicting the deep blush in his cheeks.
“But your heating it horrendous,” you mumble, chest giddy with nerves, with happiness. “It’s always cold here,”
He leans down to brush his nose against yours, “I turn the thermostat down so you wanna cuddle me,” it’s a tender whisper, and it’s almost like he’s laying himself bare for you, all walls gone. Vulnerable.
You push up to kiss him, wrap your arms around him and tangle your fingers in his tangerine hair.
Everything he’s said is true: your one-bedroom apartment cowers lamely in the shadow of his three-bedroom, two-bathroom condo that’s fitted with matte black appliances and fixtures, has heated floors, and a fucking butler’s pantry. Sporting heroes get paid ridiculous pay checks, especially when their teams win on the world stage.
“So, you want me to move in so you know I’m here?” You whisper against his lips. “Is that all?”
“Well,” he dips his tongue between your lips and slowly lowers his mouth to yours, before pulling back. “You’re here all the time, anyway?”
“Not the answer I was fishing for,” you laugh at the perplexed look on his face, pull his head down until his cheek is squishing against your lips, then blow a raspberry. “Tell me you love me, meathead.”
“You know I love you,” he chuckles, pinching your nose with his thumb and pointer finger, and levelling you with a stare. “I love you,” he says, “and you can quit your stupid job and go back to school.”
You groan and let go of him, falling back against the deep blue-green sheets on his bed, “you’re too practical to be romantic,”
“Hey, nothing wrong with practical,” he chuckles, brows raised.
“I want romance!” You pout, reaching for a pillow and lopping him in the head with it.
He laughs and dives back in for more kisses, chaste pecks and tickling fingers morphing into a slow make-out session, groping and fondling; then you’re on top of him, grinding against the very prominent erection in his boxers.
“You,” he breathes, distracted. “You didn’t give me an answer— haa…” he hisses with a roll of your hips.
“Ren, of course I’ll move in with you,” you kiss him on the cheek. “Doesn’t mean I wanna stay here alone when you go parading around the planet.”
He pushes himself up on his elbows, almost knocking you in the nose, “you’ll come with me? When I go overseas? You said you couldn’t.”
If he were a puppy, his tail would be wagging.
“Well, I can get an online degree, can’t I? All I need is a laptop and internet access.” Your face feels heated now, because no matter how smooth you’re trying to be about the situation, you’ve always wanted to quit your job and go back to school, and here’s this man— this Adonis— promising to help you fulfil your dreams.
“We can go shopping today,” he smiles, tucking some stray hair behind your ear. “Do up the spare room; make it a home office,”
“Rensuke, you don’t have to do that for me,” you laugh lightly, a little embarrassed.
“Oh,” he deflates a little, big smile fading. “Am i going too fast? Scaring you? I just—“
“No!” You almost smack his chest, horrified with the idea of making him feel like that. “I just don’t want you to waste money on me; I can buy my own computer—“
“Wow,” he drawls almost sarcastically, the fire back in his eyes. “I thought I was overpaid? Shouldn’t matter what I choose to waste my paycheck on, should it?”
You roll your eyes, but smile nonetheless, “well while you’re at it, I’ll take some diamond earrings and a new car.” You joke, sarcasm thick and pressing as you lay yourself on top of him, your ear to his heart.
“Oh? What kind of car?” He asks, rolling you over, pressing a kiss to your cheek, before shimmying down your body.
Your fingers go to his hair, slowly scratch at his scalp, “I’ve always wanted something fancy, like… a Jag or Ferrari or something,” you muse as he groans, the pads of his fingers digging into your thighs. “But I’d probably be better off getting a family car, wouldn’t I? A beemer? A Lexus?”
A tiny part of you prays he missed it with all that groaning, but he springs up, eyes wide. “Family car?”
God, now you’re embarrassed. “I just mean, like, uh… it’d be better for the future?” You almost start to sweat under his stare, but he’s a bad actor, and his face crumples into laughter when he sees the mortification on yours.
“I asked you to move in, not to bear my children,” he jokes, but before you can say anything back, he’s burying his face in the crook of your thighs and prying them apart as you squeak and wriggle in his hold. “I’ve got a whole plan,” he explains between sloppy kisses to your thighs, your clothed mound. “But if you want me to put a baby in you, I’ll skip some steps,”
You’re giggling now, maybe because you’re a little nervous, maybe because you think he might not be joking about having a plan, or maybe because his kisses tickle too much. “You made a whole plan for me? Or is— Ren, stop it— is this some de-default plan where any women will do?” You’re laughing, grabbing his hair, his face, trying to get him out of between your legs.
He just smiles, and it’s warm and it’s golden and it’s him. Your heart blooms like a sunflower in your chest, pointing towards him, reaching for him, for his heat, for his light, for his love.
He crawls back up your body, kisses your neck once, twice, three times, until, “You’ve ruined other women for me,” he breathes against your lips.
“Really?” You kiss him, too, pull back to rest your forehead against his. “So Chigiri’s my competition then?”
“Oh babe,” he wrinkles his nose, does his absolute best not to laugh, “you’re not winning against the princess; I asked him to move in too.”
“Wonderful,” you smirk, “make sure to share him with me.”
“No,” he whines, a little dramatically. “I could never share you, not even with that princess.” The next kiss is passionate, raw, demanding. “You’re mine.”
“And you’re mine,” you concur, breathless.
“Forever.” He whispers, definitively.
LITTLE DARK AGE
haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou
summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.
genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI
warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA
taglist form is on masterlist!
previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter
CHAPTER Ⅱ. HOUSE OF MEMORIES
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Tailspin
it's still the weekend somewhere, right??
Matsuno Chifuyu, Baji Keisuke & Hanemiya Kazutora x female reader
w.c 6.3k
tw: noncon, yandere themes, character death, manga spoilers, minor blood and gore, violence, nsfw, smut, murder
Chifuyu remembers things he shouldn’t.
Events that never happened, fights, brawls, the death of his friends… his own demise, drugged and tied to a chair, the muzzle of Kisaki’s pistol, burning from the prior shot, pressed to his forehead in the split seconds before he pulled the trigger.
He remembers other things too. Futures that clash and diverge, timelines that can’t have existed, they play out in his head, over and over again.
“Who’s that chick talking with Emma?”
Chifuyu doesn’t have to follow Baji’s line of sight to know who he’s talking about. Inevitably though, he does, catching you giggle at something the blonde says, sipping absentmindedly at the glass of champagne clasped in your fingers.
His gaze slips to the dress you’re wearing, a satiny, floor-length floral and blush number, lingering on the slit at your mid thigh – the flash of skin he gets when you shift your weight.
His throat dries, and Chifuyu covers it with a cough, tearing his attention back to the table, his own drink in front of him, a bead of condensation slowly rolling down the glass. “A friend of Hina’s.” He shoots Baji a brief, pointed look, “And she’s got a boyfriend.”
Fuyu remembers him, too.
Baji’s canines glint in a toothy smirk. “Yeah? He here tonight?”
As if on cue, a familiar, handsome brunet appears at your side, leaning down to drop a kiss to your cheek, his arm winding loosely around your side. There’s nothing all that possessive about the gesture – it’s unthinking. Instinctual. It has you smiling, mid-way through whatever it is you’re saying to the youngest Sano.
His chest tightens.
That same man, not nearly so good looking with his face all smashed in, leaking brains and blood onto the concrete–
“Shame,” Kazutora, sitting on his other side, murmurs, his dark, honey eyes still drinking you in as he downs another mouthful of whiskey. The corner of his lip quirks up, “She’s cute.”
‘There. Problem solved.’
Chifuyu returns the grin, leaning back in the chair with an exaggerated sigh, “Do not get into a fight on Takemitchy’s wedding day.” He side-eyes Baji, “Either of you.”
“You scared of him?”
“No, I don’t want to be kicked out of the reception because you two idiots started an all out brawl,” he laughs, and prays that neither one of them notice that his hands are all clammy, gripping too tightly at his drink.
“What kinda wedding doesn’t have at least one good fight?” Baji scoffs, only half serious – enough of a concession that something loosens inside of him and his next breath comes easier.
Baji won’t start a fight, Kazutora won’t start a fight. It’ll be fine.
You’re close with Hina and Emma and friends with Takemichi by extension. But gone are the days of Toman, where they’d spend the better part of their time screwing around together. Their lives aren’t all tangled up like they used to be. Another few hours, and this’ll be over. You’ll be gone, taking your stupid, handsome boyfriend with you and Chifuyu won’t have to worry about seeing you again. He can go back to pretending that you don’t exist.
Anything else is…dangerous.
Moments later, they’re joined by Mitsuya and Hakkai, Yuzuha drifting to join the girls, and the conversation shifts to other, safer topics. Plates of canapes come by, and they eat and drink and talk stupid shit, most of it laughing and reminiscing over the dumb things they’d done with Takemichi as kids.
For a while, it feels like he can breathe. Relax, and enjoy this, because it didn’t come easy.
And you, you look happy enough with whatever his fucking name is. Chifuyu tells himself that that’s a good thing, too.
The night wears on, slow, romantic tunes drifting from the speakers. In small groups and pairs, their friends have begun to leave, either heading home to crash or to find somewhere more lively to keep the party going.
Amongst the few couples remaining, Hina and Takemichi cling to each other, swaying drunkenly on the dance floor, oblivious to anyone or anything but the other. It’s cute, in a disgustingly mushy sort of way. For his part, Chifuyu hangs by the open bar, nursing a glass of whiskey and doing his utmost to focus on anything but the space you occupy, dancing with your boyfriend.
“You’re staring again.”
“Fuck off,” the words come out more tired than anything else.
Kazutora drops into the empty seat beside him. “From the moment she walked in tonight, you’ve been all… weird about her. Why?”
‘Please, you’ve gotta help me get out of here, he– he’ll be back any minute.’
Chifuyu shrugs, “‘s nothing, really she just… reminds me of someone, that’s all.”
Kazutora hums, looking entirely unconvinced. For whatever reason, and much to his relief, he decides not to push it.
Bruised, split knuckles grip your chin tight, ‘You’re gonna be good for us tonight,’ Baji smirks. ‘‘Cause I’m really, really not in the fuckin’ mood, princess.’
“C’mon,” Chifuyu says, knocking back the last of his whiskey and slamming the glass down. “We should head out. Some of us have to open the store tomorrow.”
Kazutora snorts, but follows suit without complaint. The sooner they’re gone – the sooner you’re out of sight, out of mind – the better.
—
When Chifuyu shoots awake with a gasp, pulse racing, heavy beads of sweat rolling from the nape of his neck down his spine, it’s to the sound of his phone vibrating insistently.
Kazutora, he realises when bleary eyes adjust to the bright screen, and with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, he answers the call.
Wide, panicked eyes meeting his, hands grasping tightly at his arms. Two bodies lie on the floor; only one draws breath.
‘It was an accident, I swear to fucking god– you have to believe me. You believe me, right, Fuyu?’
The sheer relief that hits when the first words out of Kazutora’s mouth aren’t some combination of ‘I fucked up’, but ‘It’s Baji’ nearly knocks the breath right out of him.
Least ‘til they’re followed up with ‘accident’ and ‘ER’.
He’s never thrown clothes on quicker.
The stuff he remembers from before – the timelines that don’t exist – they’re not always clear. Sometimes it’s difficult for him to place certain events in the right order, in the right timeline. He doesn’t always remember the knock on effect.
Baji’s death isn’t like that.
You don’t forget that kind of pain. And yeah, maybe he got Kazutora out of it in the end, but fuck it almost destroyed him.
They saved him, though. They went back and they fixed it. He survived and Emma survived and Mikey and Draken and everyone – this is the future they’d fought tooth and nail for. This is their happily ever fucking after, and he can’t–
He won’t consider the possibility of another future without either one of his best friends in it.
Bursting through the doors of the ER, he feels all jumbled, heart beating out a frantic rhythm, breath coming ragged as though he’d physically run the five miles to get here. He scours the room… and spots Baji half propped up in a bed on the other side of the ward.
Awake, looking like he’d been dragged halfway to hell but–
Okay. He’s okay.
The tension – part of it at least – lifts itself from his shoulders with a shaky exhale.
Kazutora, sprawled across a chair beside him, notices him before Baji does. “You look like shit,” he comments, a wry grin tugging at his lips.
It earns him a smack to the back of his head as Chifuyu slides on past, grabbing another nearby seat and plonking himself down.
“What the fuck happened to you?” He tries to laugh it off, really he does. There’s a few bandages, what looks like a broken arm, some cuts and grazes on his face. They’ve all landed themselves in the ER in worse states than this and come out the other side perfectly fine, but he can’t–
He can’t stop seeing it play out in his head, over and over.
Baji dying. The sense of utter helplessness that swallowed him whole, clutching his dead body in his arms. The sound of his best friend’s last breath, that fucking smile–
‘I’d kill for some peyoung yakisoba right now.’
Baji scoffs, “Some asshole clipped me is what fucking happened.” Side-eyeing him, he adds, “Relax, dude, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”
He really needs to lighten the fuck up.
“We’re waiting on–”
“–go already?! You got me here, I don’t need your help anymore, go home.”
Chifuyu’s eyes – Baji’s and Kazutora’s too– shift instinctively to the source of the outburst. Wheeled in by a nurse, your boyfriend trailing behind you like a kicked puppy, Chifuyu’s heart leaps into his throat at the sight of you, tear stricken, pain etched over every inch of the scowl you wear, clutching an ice pack to your ankle.
‘Pick.’
Fearful eyes flicker between them, silently pleading for a reprieve. ‘But I-I haven’t done anything.’
He hums contentedly, and takes your hand in his, fingers entwining to bring it to his cheek, nuzzling against the soft skin. “Maybe not… but you were thinking about it. So pick one, or I’ll break them both.”
Something dark and unpleasant roils in his stomach.
“Babe, can we–” your boyfriend glances around the room, visibly cringing at unwanted attention the two of you have drawn. He lowers his voice to a hushed whisper, “Can we talk about this later? I get that you’re upset–”
Beside him, Kazutora’s head tilts, “Isn’t that…?”
“…Yeah.”
“Considering it’s your fault that I’m here in the first place, yeah, you could say I’m pretty pissed!” you snap.
The nurse, doing her absolute best to ignore the squabbling and maintain some air of professionalism, gives you a sympathetic look as she parks the wheelchair next to a bed opposite the three of them and helps you up. “The doctor won’t be long,” she says, patting your shoulder before she turns to depart.
… Not without a sharp, pointed glare towards your harried looking boyfriend.
That’s all background noise. Chifuyu’s too busy turning those words over and over in his head, waiting for them to click.
Your fault.
Your. Fault.
And his eyes shift back to the ice pack you’re holding to a swollen ankle, the sheen of tears on your face, and a sudden, violent urge claws its way to the surface. It takes every ounce of self control he possesses not to launch himself across the room and start beating the shit out of him right there and then.
If he touched you, if that asshole fucking hurt you–
“That’s not fair. I said I was sorry–”
“Oh, you’re sorry?! Go to hell, Ginji! Actually, no. On second thought why don’t you go back to Rin’s instead, sounded like her bed was real cold without you there to fucking warm it!”
While your voice quavers, the words are no less acidic. No less furious. You might be on the verge of shattering, but if looks could kill, your piece of shit boyfriend would be dead twice over.
Ginji stands there, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, floundering for words.
He goes to touch your shoulder only to second guess himself, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air for a moment, then dropping back down to his side – a good decision on his part, considering Chifuyu’s half tempted to march his way over there and break it.
Cheating? That piece of shit was cheating on you?
Huh. Maybe the universe does have a sense of humour after all, twisted as it is.
Your boyfriend at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself, cheeks flushing pink. Rather than meeting your accusatory stare, his eyes are downcast, the speckled linoleum suddenly infinitely more interesting to the man.
“It was a mistake,” he admits, choking the words out like they’re physically stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t– I never meant to hurt you. I love you.”
Bitterly, you scoff, and Ginji flinches like you’ve struck him.
Good, Chifuyu thinks. Someone should hit the asshole.
He, Baji and Kazutora aren’t the only ones drawn in by your argument. The doctors and nurses that breeze past, slowing their pace ever so slightly to catch a few seconds more, the patients in the beds around you, subtly leaning in, hushing their friends and families to better hear the drama unfold.
If you were less worked up, all the attention you two have drawn would probably bother you a hell of a lot more than it currently is.
You weren’t the kind of girl who got off on causing a scene. The nosiness, complete strangers watching something deeply personal between you two unravel like it’s free entertainment, he almost feels bad for you.
Then again, he’s seen you in far more compromising, vulnerable positions than this, and enjoyed it, too.
Any guilt he might’ve felt – should have felt – was buried a long, long time ago. He’s not all that interested in digging it back up, and even if he wanted to, Chifuyu’s not so sure he could tear himself away.
“Just… go away,” you mutter. “Haven’t you done enough tonight?”
From your vantage point, staring misty eyed at your lap, you miss the way your boyfriend’s expression hardens. Chifuyu doesn’t.
He sighs, long suffering, “You’re being stubborn for the sake of it, you can’t get home on your own. You can barely walk, babe.”
“I’ll manage.” A curt dismissal.
“We can drive her home.”
Chifuyu’s soul ascends from his body, eyes incredulous – horrified – as he turns his head to find Kazutora staring straight at Ginji, eyes dark and glittering, a smile on his lips.
It isn’t a pleasant expression.
Your boyfriend rounds on the three of them, straightening his shoulders, shifting to hide you from view as though they’re some sort of a threat and he could in any way actually shield you from it.
(The first part is true, his subconscious reminds him. The second undoubtedly isn’t.)
“I’m sorry, who are you?” he sneers, shooting them a disdainful glower. “Mind your own damn business, we’re having a private conversation here.”
… A super private conversation with half the ER listening in. If he weren’t so on edge, Chifuyu might be tempted to laugh at that. As it is, his expression only tightens.
Baji, bruised, bloodied and bandaged, matches Kazutora’s grin from his position propped up on the bed. The idiot barely escaped becoming roadkill, yet still manages to look like he wants nothing more than to start beating the shit out of your boyfriend right in the middle of the ER.
This is dangerous territory. His fingers twitch and flex, glancing uneasily between you, your boyfriend and his friends, trying to think of the right words to say to diffuse this situation, to get their attention off of you, you away from that asshole, and–
‘I hate you.’
Chifuyu presses a kiss to your naked shoulder, drawing himself closer to steal your warmth. ‘I know.’
“Oh my god, would you stop, Gin!” you snap, taking all four of them by surprise. Quieter, you add, “They’re Michi’s friends, don’t be rude.”
That, it seems, is the breaking point for your boyfriend.
He spares you an incredulous look, and shakes his head with a scoff, “Yeah, whatever. Call me when you wanna act like an adult about this and we can talk.”
“Run along now,” Kazutora taunts, not quite quick enough to dodge the sharp elbow Chifuyu jabs into his ribs.
With one final huff, Ginji does exactly that.
The moment his figure disappears through the sliding double doors, you let out a shuddering gasp, crumbling in on yourself as a fresh wave of tears bursts forth. On sheer instinct alone, Chifuyu’s halfway out of his seat before his brain’s registered he’s moved at all – only to stop dead in his tracks when one of the ER docs materialises at your bedside, chart in hand, and introduces herself.
He swallows, forcing himself back into the uncomfortable plastic chair.
“Dude, you good?” Again, if he were in a better mood perhaps he’d appreciate the humour in Baji, laid up in a hospital bed, being the one to ask if he’s okay.
“Yeah.”
Nobody says much after that.
He’s distinctly aware of the curious, borderline concerned glances from his friends – not to mention the ones they share with each other – he’s hard pressed to care when his attention keeps getting pulled over to where you’re getting your exam, every wince and muffled cry of pain like knives under his skin, all too familiar.
You clutch at him with hands like claws, desperate, wailing, crying, a gross mix of snot and tears dribbling down your face as fingers poke and prod at your injured leg.
‘Stop being a dick, we need to set it or it won’t heal properly.’
Another twist of his wrist and you choke out another scream, burying your face in his chest to sob.
His hand now rubbing soothingly at your calf, Kazutora’s expression turns thoughtful, ‘…Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?’ His eyes meet Chifuyu’s, ‘If it didn’t heal right, I mean.’
When they bring you back from getting an x-ray, rather than the bed you were in before, the one opposite them, the nurse wheels you over to the recently vacated bay next to Baji’s.
“So you can wait with your friends,” she says kindly, helping you up onto the bed.
He waits for you to tell her that they’re not really your friends, that this has all been blown way out of proportion and you barely know them – which is the truth.
You don’t, simply thanking her with a polite nod, and once she’s out of earshot you collapse back against the pillows with a sigh, “At least the pain meds are kicking in.” You turn your head to look at them, “Thanks, by the way. You don’t actually have to drive me home. You guys did enough getting him out of here.”
Baji opens his mouth–
“Did he do that to you?” Chifuyu cuts in before either of the others have a chance to reply, jerking his chin towards your swollen, most likely broken ankle. “You said…”
Your fault.
There’s zero moral high ground for him to stand on, he’s perfectly aware of that, but it’s been bugging him ever since those words slipped out. If Chifuyu finds out that asshole actually laid a fucking hand on you, he’s gonna lose it.
If anyone – anyone – hurts you this time around, promises or not, he’s going to return the favour without hesitation; eye for an eye, tooth for fucking tooth.
Nobody touches you.
For a second you frown at him, confused, and then something must click because you laugh, sad and more than a little sheepish, and shake your head. “No, no, not like that. We were fighting about the whole… sleeping with his ex thing.” His fingers curl into a fist. “I went to storm out of the apartment, he grabbed my wrist to stop me and I tripped. Pretty dumb, right?”
He doesn’t laugh with you. None of them do.
—
Chifuyu gets a text from Takemitchy the next day. Between all the emojis and the exclamation marks, it’s a thank you note. You’re practically a sister to Hina, and now that they’re married, a sister to him, too.
All he did was drive you home, and Takemichi’s acting like he stepped in front of a bullet.
Yeah, Chifuyu’s a real knight in shining armour.
… A masochist, maybe.
Ignoring the fresh wave of self disgust that settles inside of him, he sends a thumbs up in response.
What else is he supposed to say; yeah, no worries, it’s the least I could do after making her life a misery the past few goes ‘round?
They’ve all done bad things, he won’t deny that. Killed people. Hurt people. Kazutora stabbed Baji, Draken ended up on death row for murdering Kisaki, in multiple timelines Mikey was either directly or indirectly responsible for all of their deaths. Even Takemitchy lost his way once or twice before he caught up with himself.
And it’s not that he holds that against any of them. Takemitchy certainly doesn’t. Things were fucked up for a long time, and each of them became fucked up people trying to deal with that.
But in the same way he can’t be around Kisaki without wanting to throttle him, Chifuyu can’t look at you without seeing every awful, horrible act they put you through play out in his head like a movie that won’t turn off. Rewriting the timeline doesn’t erase that. It doesn’t absolve him of the guilt.
So he stays away. Keeps Baji and Kazutora away.
Or tries to, at least.
A few hours after Takemichi’s text, his phone lights up again, vibrating to announce a new message, this time from a number he doesn’t recognise.
Hey, I got your number from Michi! Hope you don’t mind–
There’s more, he doesn’t read the rest. Deletes the message, switches his phone to do not disturb and shoves it back into the pocket of his jeans, forcing himself to focus on the inventory lists in front of him and not the pounding in his chest.
Chifuyu’s trying, he’s trying so fucking hard. You’re not making this any easier.
—
A week and a half later, the weather outside is miserable and the store is quiet when, a little before closing, the bell above the door rings, announcing a customer.
Baji with his busted arm sits at the counter, Kazutora busy with restocking the shelves, so Chifuyu, out the back working through the month's expenses and wondering (not for the first time) why he hasn’t yet hired an accountant to do this for him, ignores it.
At least until he hears an all too familiar sound trickling through the door, one that sends a pang straight to his heart.
Your laugh.
Unmistakable, unforgettable, Chifuyu’s mind goes blank and like a dog with a scent he’s out, weaving his way to the front of the store, chasing after it. He finds you, moon boot and all, leaning up against the front counter, laughing at something Baji’s said.
The image of you, relaxed, perfectly at ease, happier than he’s seen you for a while – the wedding included – does a funny thing to his insides. And then you turn to face him, your countenance brightens and for a good few seconds he forgets how to breathe.
You’ve always been beautiful to him – smiling, though, it’s a gut punch. Palms sweaty, heart racing, he’s struck dumb.
“Chifuyu!”
‘Fuyu–Fuyu, please–N-ugh!’
‘Don’t know what you’re begging him for, princess. Chifuyu’s not gonna help you.’
Baji’s hand curls through your hair, dragging your torso up to meet his bare, sweat slicked chest. Dark eyes glint, his tongue drags along your neck, teeth nipping at your earlobe, causing you to whimper.
He laughs meanly, ‘He’s enjoying this too much.’
“You’re here,” he replies lamely, glancing to his left to find Kazutora watching him with thinly veiled amusement.
You take it in stride, “Well yeah, you never replied to my message, so I had to ask Hina for the address. You’re a difficult guy to get a hold of.”
The teasing lilt in your voice tells him you’re only joking, his cheeks flush anyway.
“How’s the ankle?” he asks instead.
“Better! Still a pain, but you know, it could’ve been worse. I can walk… kinda. More of a hobble, I guess.”
“Least you can take yours off when you’re showering,” Baji grumbles from behind the counter.
You laugh, “True.” To Chifuyu, you add, “I wanted some stuff for Bean, and since you never replied to my message, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone and swing by.”
“Bean?” Kazutora asks, completely abandoning all pretence of working to draw closer and join in on the conversation.
“My kitten. She’s a little terror.”
… You used to play with the strays Kazutora brought home, he remembers that. Talked to them in that soft baby voice, coaxing them closer for pats and treats. Let them curl up and fall asleep on your lap when you were reading or watching tv.
It was almost definitely an act of petty defiance, showering the felines in love and affection all the while ignoring them as much as they’d allow. Hard to take it to heart, though, when watching you fawn over them was pretty much the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
“Anyway, there’s this new noodle bar that’s opened up down the road. You guys are almost finished up, right? Let me have a look around for a few things for Bean, you can close up and we’ll go. My treat.”
He arches an eyebrow, “Because we drove you home?”
“Because you didn’t have to drive me home, or stand up to Ginji, or keep me company in the first place,” you counter, still with that same open earnestness, that soft expression that has his insides all tied up in knots. “And because I want to. Are you really going to turn down a free meal?”
The universe is fucking with him. Punishing him, maybe.
And it’d be so, so easy to blame you for it – you’re like one of those sad, beaten down dogs that keeps returning to its master no matter how many times they’re kicked – except there’s no version of this where he’s the good guy, and you don’t remember anything different.
Chifuyu’s expression shifts into a paper thin smile. “Take your time looking around,” he tells you. “But dinner… It was just a lift, no need to make a big deal out of it. We’re good.”
“Oh, yeah– no, of course! I um, I won’t keep you guys long.”
It’s Kazutora, watching the exchange with that same considering look he’d worn back at the wedding, who cuts in, saving Chifuyu from responding. “No rush, take as long as you want.”
Your eyes flicker back to Chifuyu, hesitant now, unsure. Still, you paper over that disappointment, your expression not quite as bright as the one before, but genuine all the same. “Thanks, I mean it. And… if you change your mind about dinner,” you shrug easily, “the offer’s open.”
He only nods, turning sharply on his heel to leave before you can get another word in.
Before you can convince him that dinner is in any way a good idea.
You shouldn’t make him feel like this – not guilty. No, he’d take the guilt in heaping droves, he certainly deserves it. You make him feel all off kilter, like his heart’s beating out of sync, and his whole body’s wired wrong.
You stick in his head, refusing to budge. To give him a minute’s fucking peace.
And as he makes it back into the sanctuary of his office, firmly shutting the door behind him and falling back against it with an unsteady breath out, Chifuyu wonders if this isn’t your own brand personal of torture.
If it is, it’s sure as hell working.
—
Fingers wind into your hair, Chifuyu shudders, groaning appreciatively at the sight before him.
Your eyes are big, swimming with desperate, pretty tears as you choke and gag around the cock stuffing your face. For him it’s heaven – the plush, wet heat of your mouth, the tiny spasms of your throat closing around him when he pushes in deeper.
He curses, moaning louder, dragging your face to his pelvis and holding it there, rutting his hips faster, fucking your face as you beat and claw at his thighs, unable to breathe. That blistering thread of pleasure deep in his core pulls taut–
Chifuyu’s eyes snap open, heart pounding, and he gasps for air. In his boxers, his cock twitches insistently, half hard and aching, the phantom sensation of your lips wrapped around it too fresh to ignore.
If he had a shred of decency left in him, he’d go and take a cold shower. If he were more awake, if it weren’t the dead of the night, if his bed wasn’t so comfortable, and the memory of you swallowing him down any easier to banish.
His hand snakes down into his boxers, and as he bites down on his bottom lip to muffle any noise and takes himself in hand, rubbing the now throbbing length, he tries not to think about how disgusted you’d be if you could see him now.
—
You’re at Takemichi’s birthday, chatting animatedly with Pah’s girlfriend when he arrives. You brighten when you see him though, and wave. Half heartedly, he returns it, then spends the rest of the night doing his utmost to avoid you.
Which in no way deters the birthday boy himself from plopping down beside him, beer in hand, and awkwardly attempting to set you two up.
“She’s great! And y’know, she’s pretty and super nice. And um, she broke up with that Ginji guy so she’s single right now as well.”
He bites back an bitter laugh, and risks another glance your way.
A few days later, Chifuyu runs into said ex on his way home from a late night beer and snack run. The brunet doesn’t notice him, minding his own business up ahead on the sidewalk.
There’s nothing in particular that sets him off. He’s not even sure it was a conscious decision. One minute they’re walking, the next they’re down an alleyway out of sight and he’s on top of Ginji, beating the absolute shit out of him.
And he can’t stop.
His fists are slick with blood, knuckles split, and the wet thwacking of flesh hitting flesh drowns out the sound of his own haggard breath, the yelps that turn into grunts and groans, and then garbled nothings.
In his head, the images shift, coming one after the other, relentless–
You, flinching away from his touch, trying in vain to hide your tears.
Baji, panting, balls deep inside of you, forcing your lips together in a violent kiss.
The sick, soft delight playing in Kazutora’s eyes, his fingers tracing idle patterns into your shoulder as you sleep. ‘She’s perfect, isn’t she?’
He can’t stop.
He can’t stop.
—
“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Chifuyu blinks, jerking back to the present in time to realise that the shelf he’s been re-stocking is already full, and he’s been standing there mindlessly trying to shove extra products into a space they physically won’t fit for god only knows how long.
He shakes his head, clearing his throat and glances at Baji. “Nothing, it’s– I’m fine.”
From the disbelieving look on his face, the single raised eyebrow, he can tell Baji doesn’t buy it. Chifuyu can’t blame him, really – it’s been days of this, operating on some weird, malfunctioning autopilot, pretending that everything’s a-okay when he hasn’t slept and barely eats. He can’t close his eyes without seeing you.
He’d honestly be more surprised if his friends hadn’t noticed anything amiss.
“I’m good,” he repeats, forcing a tight smile.
Is this what it feels like to lose his mind?
—
When Takemichi calls him late one night a few days later, he’s expecting some sort of well intentioned – albeit clumsy and heavy-handed – attempt at an intervention.
‘We’re worried, you’ve been acting kinda… strange lately. You know you can always talk to us, right?’
He’d have to be blind to miss the shared looks between Baji and Kazutora at work. More than once he’d walked in on the two of them whispering between themselves, only for them to separate and act completely oblivious the second they noticed him.
Chifuyu wouldn’t put past either one of them to confide in Michi about it, either.
As it turns out, he’s wrong.
The day of your funeral, it rains all day. Not a light drizzle either; black skies and rumbling thunder, a deluge that won’t let up. It feels fitting.
Chifuyu puts on a suit, drives with Baji and Kazutora to join Takemichi and their friends at the shrine. Neither one of them ask why he’s adamant on going to the funeral of a girl he barely knew.
They don’t say much of anything at all.
An older couple is standing by the doors when they arrive, greeting the mourners as they enter. It takes him a second to realise that they must be your parents. Your mother cries quietly, your father shaking hands and thanking them in a stiff, thick voice for coming.
Once inside, he spots Hinata in her kimono first, crying her eyes out on a misty eyed Michi’s shoulder, Emma standing to her left, not faring much better. But the others are there too, dotted throughout the room; Draken, Mikey, Pah and Pe-yan. Mitsuya with his sisters, Hakkai with his.
Whether they’re here for you or in support of Hinata and Takemichi, he doesn’t know, nor can he muster the energy to care.
Chifuyu says little the entire time, jaw set, bloodshot eyes rimmed in red, and the only thing he can focus on throughout the service – the only thing keeping him together – is the deathly tight grip Baji keeps on his shoulder and Kazutora’s hand locked around his.
A mugging gone wrong. What kind of sick fucking joke is that?
They put you through hell, you suffered and suffered and suffered, and he fixed it. He did everything right this time; kept his distance and nearly drove himself insane, and for what?
You were supposed to have some kind of a future.
If you weren’t with them, then you were supposed to be happy.
Instead you’re gone, and Chifuyu can’t feel anything.
There’s just… nothing. A gaping, jagged hole in his chest, and he realises that he was wrong earlier. Losing his mind wasn’t forcing himself to give you up and stay away, losing his mind is staring at the coffin holding your dead body.
—
Takemitchy, tipsy and loose-lipped, told him once about how he’d gained the time leaping ability. How Shin had, before him.
—
A fist pounds at the door, “Oi, hurry up. We’re gonna be late!”
Chifuyu lets out a breathless laugh.
His shirt’s rumpled, tie askew, the waistcoat and jacket laid out on the bed in preparation for today carelessly shoved aside, and as for his pants – they’re unbuckled and hanging from his thighs.
His hips snap forward, drawing a sharp squeal from you, which he’s quick to soothe with another feverish kiss. “Shh, almost–” he pants, licking his lips, “almost there.”
And true to his word, he picks up the pace, moaning at the way your tight little pussy clenches reflexively around him, spasming under the relentless barrage of his cock stuffing you full, molding your insides to the shape of him.
You’re probably still sore and oversensitive from earlier. They hadn’t been gentle, Tora spreading your legs and shoving his face between your thighs before you’d even woken up, Baji quick to join in on the fun. You’d whined and sniffled and pleaded, tearfully begging for them to stop, but you always look so cute like that, shuddering and wrecked, cumming for them in a fucked out stupor over and over.
He knows they should treat you better, take a little more care with you – at least with stuff like this. Right now, though, it’s impossible to think of anything but chasing his own pleasure, fucking you deeper, faster, the sheer bliss of you milking every last drop of cum from his cock while he groans out your name.
He’ll make it up to you later.
Your nails rake down his back, harsh enough to draw blood if not for his shirt, and he hisses in pleasure. Your tears, the breathless pleas, even the weak struggles beneath him, none of it breaks through that haze, he’s wholly lost to the pleasure of your cunt. His grip on you tightens, drawing you closer, your naked, heaving tits pressed against his chest. He can feel your racing heart pounding.
His head tips back, mouth falling open. The rhythm of the onslaught gives way to urgency, hips faltering, punching himself deeper in short, rabbitting paps.
You hide your face in his shoulder, clinging to him, choking back a sob–
“Fuyu! For fuck’s sake, if you don’t hurry the hell up and finish, we’re going to miss the damn wedding!” Baji snarls through the door.
You tense, toes curling, and squeeze so tightly around his cock that Chifuyu loses control entirely, pleasure exploding like stars behind his eyes, ripping through him violently as spurts of hot, thick cum splatter your insides. His hips rock into you, and he murmurs your name in a contented sigh, riding out his orgasm with a few last, lazy thrusts.
When the wave eventually recedes and he catches his breath, he carefully eases his cock free, lowers you down to the bed – paying no mind to the cum that dribbles from your abused cunt onto the bedsheets below – and presses an affectionate kiss to your forehead.
“You’re so good to us,” he mumbles, collapsing down beside you.
You stiffen at the words. Fat, glistening tears well in your eyes and spill silently down your lashes. Gently, he thumbs them away, but you don’t say anything.
You rarely do these days, if you can help it.
If he weren’t in such a rush, he’d take the time to clean you up, get you some water. Instead, he has to make do with a quick kiss, forcing himself to get up and fix his appearance, tucking his spent cock back into his pants.
Takemitchy’ll almost definitely have a meltdown if they’re not at the venue soon.
Racing around the room, gathering up his clothes and throwing them on, he keeps a half an eye on you. You don’t move beyond a soft, shaking tremble, your quiet sobs tugging at his heartstrings.
This is better than the alternative, though.
You might not see that yet, but that doesn’t make it any less true. And they love you. He loves you. If it keeps you alive and safe and with them, he won’t apologise for it.
The simple truth of it is he, Baji and Kazutora – they can’t survive without you, and you can’t survive without them.
Would you be kind enough to add me to the taglist 🥺 so exited, hope you had a great day/night :))
Blossom fully (deep in my bones)
(Teacher!JK x Collegestudent!Reader) - PREVIEW
This is just a small preview of the fic that I’m writing currently. Please tell me if you’d like to be in the taglist - you could comment on this post or direct message me 🥺❤️
Love. Adoration. Lust. For Jeon Jungkook, his entire life, they had been just words, nothing more – after all, these were just concepts made by society, what if people had not known about the concept of love? Would they still try to find it? Would they still be willing to work for it? Then, you came into his life, and gave meaning to those words.
“Welcome to the annual football championship between Seoul Nation University and Sungkyunkwan University 2020!”
“Break his jaw!” Jungkook heard the other team chant, while looking at him. He just scoffed while adjusting his gloves, as if.
“Really? Think you can do it? Go ahead and try,” Jungkook mocked them across the field, his tongue poking against his left cheek.
Jungkook was never set out for failure, it was never allowed in his life – because he knew for a fact that his father would have his throat if he didn’t turn out to be the best of the best.
At age five, he had a strict workout regime and had less than 10 percent body fat, maintained till present date. He had also learnt that he would rather be loved than feared, he hated the look in the eyes of his classmates when he accidentally punched his seatmate, Byung-chul. Just because he had taken his red crayon without asking. Now, no one would sit next to him at lunch. He told himself that he didn’t mind it, he didn’t need stupid friends to be happy, but he couldn’t help but cry at night because no one wanted to play on the see-saw with him. He knew if he asked them, they would have no choice other than to say yes, after all, they didn’t want to end up like Byung-chul, hospitalized, with a broken arm. But what’s the use, if they don’t actually want to be with him?
Age seven, he had landed his first punch on his butler when he saw him abuse his dog. He didn’t know what to tell to his therapist, how could he explain that all he saw was red when he saw Yeontan being thrown out of the room? How could he explain that he had no control over his body? How could he explain that he couldn’t control the beast in him that had pounced over the man?
A/N: basically kook is a med professor and yn is a medical college student lol 😳🤭 kook has some anger management issues sighghghghgh, anyways might play around and turn this into a 10k word long fic and post it in like 2 dayzzzz, later losers (jk love u)
→ Main Masterlist → Headcanons → Thirst Posts → NSFW:✩
→ Mutual Masturbation ✩ ↳ Kunigami Rensuke x f!reader. ✍ Kunigami’s coach never allowed any sex before important match days and your boyfriend was always a stickler for the rules, no matter how stressed out it made him. But this time you’ve devised a workaround. 18+, pwp, not proofread!, mutual masturbation, praise, fingering, hand jobs, cumshots. 3.1k. → Scoring In More Ways Than One ✩ ↳ Kunigami Rensuke x Raichi Jingo x f!reader. ✍ You knew when you first started dating Kunigami that he took football extremely seriously, and it was something that you accepted about him. He’s waiting until he makes it into the Pro-leagues to have sex with you, because he can’t have any vices or distractions from his childhood dream, but Raichi thinks you’re the biggest distraction there is. 18+, pwp, no beta, virgin!reader, implied/hinted virgin!Kunigami, threesomes, degradation from Raichi, praise, blowjobs, hand jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, spanking, sweat, cumplay, creampies, no protection, voyeurism. 8.6k.
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