xkoutarou

Latest Posts by xkoutarou

This was based off an ask I received from Kitten, thank you for always giving me the best ideas💕

But imagine you get caught up in a sudden trash storm with Enjin, it's not enough debris to damage the car but it's dangerous enough you can't drive or walk. The two of you are just barely outside the city, stuck in a very confined van with tension that's been mounting since the two of you met. Before Enjin leans over and presses his lips to yours, again and again before he's pulling from the passenger seat to the bench seat in the back. Tongue sliding over yours with a groan as he pins you to the old thread bare upholstery with the hopes of fogging up the windows.

Pairings: Engine / Enjin x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, friends to lovers, car sex, minimal prep, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, praise, dirty talk.

Word Count: 4.1k.

“Maybe you should take a break,” You glance over the centre console to see Enjin’s eyes fluttering at the wheel, sat forward in his chair as he fights sleep.

The heavy rock playing through the worn car radio does nothing to ease his drowsiness, nor do the potholes almost as large as craters that scatter along the contaminated zone.

Reaching over you run your fingers through the buzzed hairs of his undercut, trying to coax his attention back to the path in front of you. Enjin jolts slightly on contact before heaving a soft sigh, his knuckles turn white from how hard he grips the steering wheel as he narrowly misses a large trash pile.

“M’fine,” Enjin mumbles, reluctantly pulling himself away from your touch, terrified that the soothing sensation will have him falling asleep at the wheel.

“I know you’re tired,” You push, “Just for a bit, yeah? A power nap.”

You wanted to get home just as badly as him, the unspoken feelings between you two made it difficult to breathe and this mission had been exhausting. Not to mention how dangerous it was to settle in a contaminated zone for too long, especially when it was just the pair of you. Humans could be just as dangerous as the monsters that reside in the area.

“We’re like sitting ducks out here,” Enjin continued, and he would know. For some reason the Giver enjoyed taking strolls in the contaminated zone, even though the air was unbreatheable, “It’s not much further, it’ll be fine.”

A washer dryer falls to the left of you, colliding into the ground with an almighty smash. Pieces of debris fly everywhere as you jolt in the van, holding your hand to your heart at the sudden movement as you curse under your breath.

“You good, sweetheart?” Enjin turns to you with a grin, and it does nothing but make your insides feel like jelly.

You should be used to it by now, the so called junk thrown discarded by the sky people like it’s nothing. Most of it salvageable, cookers with broken buttons that just needed a quick replacement, hairdryers with blown fuses.

Enjin had even gifted you a diamond ring he’d found one evening on one of his regular strolls. The silver band was pristine, and looked as though it had never been worn. A pretty glistening diamond set perfectly inside it, and not a single scratch on it despite the impact from the large drop. You wondered why anyone would ever throw something so perfect away, and then you saw it— A simple black speck that sat in the middle of the carbon. The smallest, most pathetic reason that it had been thrown into the pit in the first place. Because of course, why would anyone up in Heaven want anything less than perfect— But it was perfect to you. The pretty gem sat perfectly on your ring finger, despite the fact that Enjin hadn’t asked you to marry him. And the speck that was supposedly imperfect, reminded you of the friend who had gifted it to you.

You were just friends, after all. A subject of consistent teasing between the other Janitors.

“If you like someone, you should tell them.” Griss would look back from his position in the drivers seat to wink at you, just as Enjin is shouting at him to “Keep your eyes on the road, Bozo!”

“Yeah, it’s not good to keep those feelings bottled up inside.” Tamzy spoke coolly from the backseat.

“Would sure suck if the person you liked didn’t like you back, though.” Riyo chimed.

Exactly, Riyo. You thought to yourself, It would fucking suck.

And aside from a few flirty words from Griss, and one night where he’d seen red when a travelling merchant offered to buy you a drink in the local pub. Immediately appearing at your side to ward him off, the poor man leaving with a black eye and a bruised ego. “You don’t need to solve everything with violence.” Riyo mocked Enjin, who was pink in the cheeks. For the most part it almost felt like an unspoken rule that you were Enjin’s.

And it didn’t matter anyway, because you were content with this— whatever this was. And it wasn’t worth ruining the relationship you had with feelings, you were satisfied. And you could cope with satisfied if it meant keeping Enjin as a friend, certain not to ruin your relationship with the complication of romantic feelings.

Another loud crash had you snapping back to focus, a hail of trash began to pour down on the barren wasteland, things that by themselves would never have proved deadly. But with the acceleration of gravity, items were deadly as they left dents in the strongest of boulders.

“Fucks sake. We’ve gotta take cover,” Enjin’s tattooed hand shifted on the gearstick as he began to reverse the truck, narrowly missing a falling bathtub as it crashed against the ground.

“Shit,” You squealed, holding onto the dash as Enjin expertly manouvered through the trash storm.

“Hold on.” He veered left to avoid another shower of trash as it made the vehicle fall down a sand dune, skidding to the side as you began to panic. Watching more trash tumble down around you like rain.

“Enjin, look out—” You saw the falling car before he did, an old battered Sedan. How did they even manage to get that down here?

“I fuckin’ know, woman. I know—” He spat, yellow eyes catching it just after you as he swerved roughly. Glad you had your seatbelt on as your side banged into the car door, knocking your head against the glass as he took another harsh turn.

Finding refuge beneath an abandoned Eolian cave as the tires screeched to a stop, the roof of the truck dented but nothing Riyo wouldn’t be able to fix with a hammer when you both made it back to the compound.

“Baby, you okay?” Enjin unbuckled his belt to lean over the center console, cupping your face in both palms as he turns you to face him. Tilting your head to check for any injuries as you reached up to place a warm, sweaty palm around his wrist. Leaning into his touch as you finally allowed your heart to lull, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You shook your head, “Wasn’t your fault.”

“We shoulda never been out here this late, it is all my fault.” He shook his head as you both heard the loud crash of trash and debris continue to fall along the wasteland.

“It’s not your fault, Enjin.” You shook your head, squeezing his wrist softly to try and focus his attention back on you, “We’re okay.”

“I’d have never forgiven myself if you got hurt,” He continued, shaking his head. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him this worried, “I never wanna lose you.”

There’s a subtle change in his movement, and if you hadn’t have been so close to him you would’ve missed it. It was the way his eyes flit down to your lips for the faintest of seconds before meeting your gaze again. The movement has your heart rattling against its cages, dragging a metal cup along the bars to be unleashed from its prison as you took a chance. Tilting your head slightly in Enjin’s palms to brush your lips against his in a chaste kiss. They felt chapped against your softer ones, eager to feel them again as you chanced another peck, this time lingering as you stepped over that blurry line of ‘just friends’.

“We shouldn’t.” Enjin grumbles, obviously fighting the voices in his head as he tries to ignore the blood flowing through his veins. The only voice of reason, as always.

You’re in no mood to talk, hungry for another taste of him as you move your hands to his face, fingertips sliding behind the pink tips of his ears as warm palms graze his stubble. The gentle tips of your fingers stroke the base of his neck as Enjin feels all of his resolve start to crumble the moment you bring him in again.

“Enjin,” You whine against his lips as his warm breath fans your face. He smells like cigarettes and cheap cologne, the scent suffocating and intoxicating at the same time as your half-lidded eyes stare back at him.

“Don’t,” Enjin groaned against your mouth, and yet he made no attempt to pull back, “If you do that I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Who said I’ll want you to stop?” You replied simply, the taste of your chapstick now smeared against his lips as his tongue poked out to taste it. His nostrils flaring as he felt his entire body react to the implication of your words.

“Fuck it,” He grunts, tugging at your thigh as he pulls you over the center console. His grip firm on you as he positions you on his lap, perched on muscular thighs as you settle just before the semi-hard bulge beneath his pants. Slender fingers stroke along your back as he rests his forehead to yours, silently waiting for you to make your move. To push him away and tell him that you’re just friends; that you shouldn’t do this. But you don’t.

It’s carnal, the way you both paw at each other. Desperate to remove every barrier that stands between you both. Enjin’s long arms knock the top of the van as he tugs his shirt up and over his head, impatiently waiting for him to pull it high enough so you can reattach your lips to his. He’s like a drug you’ve become addicted to, desperate for another dose as your mouths clash together in a duel of tongues and teeth.

His fingers tug at the hem of your shirt roughly to remove it, swallowing the pathetic whine you make against his lips as you pull away for him to discard it. Leaning forward with more urgency as you kiss him again, tongue swiping against his top incisors as he palms your breasts through the simple black bra. The nights he’d spent awake fucking his fist to the thought of you would never compare to this, not in any lifetime.

Enjin pulls away from your bruised lips as you follow him forward, trying to reconnect them as he nudges your nose with his gently. Half-lidded eyes watch with amusement as he begins to pepper kisses along your jawline, following the curve down to the column of your throat as he begins to bite and suck at your pulse point. Another pitiful whine vibrates in your throat as you wrap your arms around his neck, caging his head between your forearms as you thread your fingers through his messy hair. Your clothed breasts practically in his face now as he ventures lower, pressing a kiss against your sternum as he nuzzles at your soft mounds gently, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

Gravity has your tits bouncing into position as he gently pulls the cups away, revealing your chest to his hungry gaze. It’s his turn to sound desperate now as he groans, low and guttural in his chest as he commits the sight to memory. Certain that if all else fails he’ll have this memory carved into his consciousness for the rest of his existence.

“God, you’re perfect.” He rasps, reaching out tentively to cup your warm tits as he thumbs your nipples, watching them pebble in the cool evening air as you throw your head back in pleasure, “What the fuck are you doin’ with a lowly janitor like me?”

You don’t get a second to answer before Enjin is leaning forward to take one of your nipples into his warm, wet mouth. His tongue swirls around your areola as he pinches and toys with the other, growling against your skin as your nails drag against his scalp in response.

“Fuck, Enjin.” You moan, rolling your hips as you feel the tent in his pants beneath you. His hard cock desperate to be released as your cunt throbs at the thought, eager to feel him after all this time.

“Don’t say my name like that, baby.” He groans, resting his cheek against your breast as he blows cool air against your spit-soaked nipple, “You’ll have me creaming my pants.”

“Enjin,” You ignore his plea as you roll your hips against him again, giving your clit more friction as you focus on the sensation.

“Fuck, you brat.” He grunts, gripping your hips in his palms roughly to stop you repeating the motion again. Positive that if you were to roll your heat against him one more time he would come undone.

“Want you so bad, Enjin. Please.” You choke, reaching between your bodies to paw at his belt. Your fingers toy with the worn leather as he takes pity on you enough to help, slender fingers brush yours away as he unbuckles it, tugging them down with his underwear just enough to free his aching cock.

It’s better than you expected, and your belly swirls with anticipation at the sight of him. What he lacks in girth he makes up for in length, the leaky cock head settles against his abdomen. Pre matts the messy blond hairs that follow a trail up to his bellybutton as the tip burns a fiery red. Swollen, angry and desperate for release as you wrap a palm around him. Making his hips buck wildly as you give a tentative stroke, catching the pre beading at the tip against your palm as you roll your wrist. Holding him straight as you look down between your bodies, watching where his length ends in comparison with your torso as you wonder if he’ll be so deep he’ll cum inside your guts.

Enjin becomes more restless now, impatient, as he bunches your skirt up around your hips. Groaning at the very evident wet patch that gleams against your panties as he presses a calloused finger against it, your eyes roll back into your skull as you feel him graze your clit.

“Oh, baby.” He hisses when your hand tightens around his girth, almost forgetting everything as you focus on the sensation of his fingers toying with you through the thin fabric, “Watch the nails.”

“S-ah, sorry,” You pant, loosening your grip as you follow the forking veins along him with the tips of your fingers.

“Gonna eat this sweet little pussy later, I promise.” He grunts, tugging your panties to the side as he watches your slick cling to the fabric, breaking off into silvery lines as he runs two fingers through your messy folds.

“Fuck, oh my god— Enjin,” Your hips rut pitifully at his touch. The sensation foreign but so satisfying as you seek it out again, whining as he circles the calloused pad of his index finger around your tight hole. Feeling the way it flutters around nothing as it tries to coax him in like a vindictive siren singing a final lullaby to a sailor.

Enjin breaches the gap and the sound that leaves your throat is downright debauched, causing his cock to jolt as he hooked his finger against your soft inner walls. It’s all too much, and simply not enough as you find yourself rolling your hips into his touch. Goading him to press his digit deeper as he feels just how wet and tight you are, certain that he’d never be able to replicate the feeling himself no matter how many Jinki he activated.

“You’re so pretty like this,” He murmurs, his thumb swipes your clit as he watches you try to ride his single finger.

“Enjin, don’t tease me,” You sigh breathlessly, wrapping your palm around his cock as it leaks fresh pre down the shaft. Drooling onto your fingers as you hold him upright, “I need you now.”

“I need to stretch you out, sweetheart.” He grunts, “I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“No, please Enjin,” You hover yourself over his length as you feel his leaky cock head graze your slit, “I want it to hurt.”

“Fuck,” His cock jumps at the lewd thought, wetting his lips with his tongue as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

“I’ve got a rubber,” He continues, wondering whether the one sat neatly inside his wallet is even in date. He neglects you to turn towards the back of the van to seek out his coat, “But I don’t know if it’s in date—”

“Don’t need it,” You tighten your fist around his cock, causing his head to fall back against the headrest, eyes roll back as you brush the tip of his cock through your sloppy folds, “Just pull out, okay?”

And Enjin thinks that’s easier said than done when he finally feels the warmth of your wet cunt engulf him. You’ve barely taken his engorged tip and the heat is already scorching, searing into him as he watches your face contort in pleasure. Trying his hardest not to use his grip on your hips to impale you on his cock in one fell swoop.

You’re slowly sinking down onto him now and you can feel every delicious inch as you take more and more of him inside. Your unprepped walls throb and ache as they adjust to the stretch, feeling every ridge contour to him as you give a few shallow thrusts.

You already feel impossibly full with half, your chest so tight as though you can feel him in your throat. His calloused thumb presses soft figure of eights to your puffy clit to distract you, and honestly to distract him too as it takes every ounce of willpower not to force you down on his throbbing cock.

“Wanna feel every inch of you.” You whine, bending your head to look between your bodies as you take more of him. Feeling the messy hairs at the base of his cock tickle your clit as you know you’re almost fully seated, positioning your hands on broad shoulders for some semblance of reality as Enjin feels your walls shudder around him.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you into the shape of my cock, sweetheart?” His words have your clit throbbing and your cunt convulsing as he grins. Neglecting your clit to hold onto the swell of your ass as he starts a savage pace, pulling you down onto his cock each time he ruts his hips up. Heavy balls slap against your ass with each movement, and you’re screaming obscenities.

Enjin’s never been more thankful that there’s no one around as he does nothing to quell your pretty sounds, instead he actively encourages them as he goads you on. Landing a harsh smack to your ass as he feels you clench around him.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” He coos, “You get yours—”

You’re practically using his body for your own pleasure as you roll your hips, his pubes tickle your clit with every forward motion as you cry out for him. Your hand splayed against the fogged window as the other buries sharp nails into his bare shoulder. Leaving red crescent-shaped moons in their wake as you grind against him, feeling the pleasure continuing to build in your abdomen.

There’s something sordid about watching you ride him, the subtle bounce of your tits as you roll your hips. Your thighs trembling as you struggle to maintain a steady pace, exerting all of your energy to try and pleasure yourself. A fact that really gets him off. Enjin takes pity on you, not leaving you to do all the work as he uses his grip to him you fuck yourself on his cock.

“God, look at you—“ Enjin sneers, though there’s no malice in it, “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He knows neither of you will last long, the pent up emotion shared between the two of you was unparalleled. So heightened that it was only a matter of time that it would reach boiling point and flood over. The fleeting glances and gentle touches not enough to quench the desire inside you both, as it left you craving more.

But he’s not going to concede to you so easily, slipping a black painted nail between your bodies as he thumbs your clit, pressing the palm of his hand against your pelvis so he can feel himself inside you. Watching the way your lashes flutter as you throw your head back in pleasure, your hand sliding against the fogged glass as your climax surges through you. Enjin keeps his thumb consistent against your clit we you lean back, throbbing around his cock as you ride out your bliss. There’s nothing but white hot pleasure blanketing your vision and making your brain fuzzy as you try to remember to breathe.

“God, you look so pretty when you cum.” He almost sighs, giving your clit a final sloppy circle before pulling away to hold your hips. Fingertips dip into your plush skin as he cherishes the way you pulse around him, giving himself a moment as he almost loses it too early. Terrified of finishing too soon and never having the chance to do this again—

His strengthens his grip on your hips, tilting your body back as he fucks you with renewed vigour. Selfishly seeking out his own climax as your back is pressed against the wheel, the horn blares in the background as you accidentally nudge it but neither of you seem to care. Your breasts bounce from the ferocity of his movements, his skin sticking to the worn leather seat every time his hips cant back but he still doesn’t stop.

“I’m gonna pull out, sweetheart.” He groans, lifting your body to reluctantly slip his cock from your warmth. Enjin knows if he doesn’t do it now, he never will. Perfectly content with fisting himself all over your skin.

“No, please don’t pull out, Enjin,” You clench around him, trying to keep him lodged inside you as your thighs tighten on either side of him, “Wanna feel you.”

“We can’t— I shouldn’t,” He presses, but there’s no real argument there. Not when your warm cunt coaxed him back in so eagerly, “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

“Just cum inside me.” You reply as though it’s the most simple answer in the world.

“Ah, shit.” He grunts, your saccharine tone the final straw as his hips spasm. Unable to control the pleasure burning in his pelvis as his balls seize. His grip on your hips almost painful, certain to leave bruises in their wake as he fucks into you with renewed vigour. Both of you focused on each other as Enjin gives a few more frantic pumps inside your warm, wet cunt before he meets his own end.

“Fuck— gonna cum, shit.” He grunts as he pumps rope after rope of spunk inside your trembling walls, painting them white. His hips jerkily fuck it into you with a few more sloppy thrusts as you feel the warmth of it engulf you, your chest heaves as you try to come down from your high.

You both settle in silence, the only sound is the falling debris just outside the cave as the storm continues to rage. And your steady breath breathing together in tandem as Enjin’s fingers stroke slow absentminded patterns against your exposed skin.

You make the most adorable whine as Enjin pulls you up off his softening cock, wincing at the wet feeling of his release now drooling onto his inner thighs and the floor of the van as he pulls your chest against his. Your arms weave around his shoulders as you bury your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him as you bask in the afterglow.

“I didn’t think you wanted me like that,” You mumble against his collarbone, voice barely a whisper as you toy with one of his earrings.

“What?” Enjin tilts his head back slightly, turning to the side to try and meet your gaze as you shyly hide away, warm palms stroking your back, “How could I not want you like that?”

“I guess it’s just been so long,” You continue, “I just started to think maybe you just thought I was a friend.”

“I never really thought I had to say it,” Enjin shrugged, “You’ve always just kinda been mine in my head. Even if you weren’t officially mine.”

“So you’ve never wanted anyone else?” You were terrified of his answer, worried about all the women out there that were definitely prettier than you, smarter, funnier.

“Sweetheart, there would only ever be one girl I’d wanna give a diamond ring to.” He grins, pressing a wet sloppy kiss to your cheek.

Negotiation

Dabi x F!Reader x Hawks smut

Warnings: +18 MINORS DNI! Dubcon, blowjobs (m.receiving) implies Stockholm Syndrome

Synopsis: Dabi gets a blowjob while negotiating with Hawks, then he proceeds to offer you for his companion

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi

Word count: 1.2k

A.N.: Found this almost done from my drafts

Hawks steps the stairs down into the basement of an abandoned building. It’s dark, albeit he sees dust floating in the musty air, an indication of just how long the place has been deserted. It’s a perfect spot to meet a certain man from the other side of the law and no more than a few minutes later Hawks enters a small, dimly lit room.

With a few pieces of furniture scattered around aimlessly, his golden eyes are drawn to the armchair and the obscene sight in front of him. Dabi is sitting on the chair, his eyes closed and he leans his head back, legs spreaded and you’re on your knees in between them. His hand rests on top of your head as you suck his cock, bobbing your head back and forth.

Despite witnessing such a lewd scene, Hawks is unbothered and just casually stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants. His smile remains unfaltering as he approaches the flame villain.

“Yo, Dabi!“ He greets, which makes Dabi open his eyes.

“Oh hey. Didn’t notice you there,“ Dabi replies, but does nothing to stop you from sucking his dick.

“So you had a plan to test those so-called High-End Nomus?“ Hawks asks while pulling another armchair for himself and taking a seat opposite Dabi.

“Yeah. Nngh— I’ll be having them tested somewhere secluded. Probably by the coast and I need you to do me a favor,“ Dabi explains while his hand tangles in your hair, grasping in wordless demand for you to keep going.

“What do you need?“

“I need you to– Nnhh.. Bring someone strong. Someone who can fight a Nomu.”

“Someone strong?“ Hawks asks, not minding the way his companion groans.

“Y-yeah.”

“Hmm.. I’ll need to think. Perhaps it should be a–”

“Hold that thought—“ Dabi interrupts while both of his hands suddenly grasp your hair, forcing his cock deeper into your throat.

Hawks blinks, but then a lazy and somewhat amused smile spreads on his face. He folds his leg over the other with ankle resting on top of his knee, assuming that Dabi was about to finish as he fucks your mouth faster.

“That’s it baby— fucking take it,” he groans, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth. He bucks his hips up and a few thrusts later thick ropes of cum shoot in the back of your throat.

“Fuck..!” He grunts loudly, panting in pleasure and holding your head still while emptying himself in your mouth.

You gag and as his grip loosens, you pull away for air, but the lack of it makes you fall on your ass. Out of breath, fresh sperm trails down the side of your mouth and dribbles down your chest.

“Whew,” Dabi huffs a sigh, satisfied as he tucks himself back into his pants, “Thanks, baby,” he grins down at you as you keep catching your breath. The arsonist then digs a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and proceeds to light one up. Drawing a deep breath he then looks at Hawks.

“You were saying?“

Hawks smiles lazily at his audacity, “Perhaps you want a pro-hero to fight the High-End?”

“Hmm.. Not anyone from the top though. Has to be someone strong , but not too famous,” he ponders out loud, which makes Hawks hum pensively.

“Oh how rude of me!” Dabi exclaims suddenly, catching Hawks’s attention, “You want some?“ He asks the hero and glances at you.

“Huh?” Hawks blinks, confused.

“I’m sure you’ve had a long day. This one here can help you get your rocks off,” Dabi says and as Hawks looks at him oddly, his lips twist into a smirk, “She gives the sloppiest head.”

Hawks then takes a moment to look at you, wondering whether your consent is being taken into consideration. You seem willing though as you lean on Dabi’s leg like a trained and most importantly, loyal pet, your hooded eyes showing what appears to be wanton glint. The way your tongue sweeps the sperm from your lips— whether on purpose or not, is too tempting for him to refuse Dabi’s offer.

So the doubtful look he wears turns into something between a smile and a lazy grin, “Sure,” he says.

Dabi smirks and gives your shoulder a few taps, “Go on, baby. Give him a treat.”

Hawks can tell from the way you crawl between his spreaded legs and the way you swiftly unzip his pants that it’s a routine you must repeat a lot. He watches as you pull his half-hard cock from its confines and wrap your lips around the tip.

“Oh shit.. “ Hawks groans, leaning his head back as pleasure starts running through his body, “You weren’t kidding, she clearly knows what she’s doing,” he comments as you bob your head back and forth on his cock.

Dabi’s features twist into a malicious grin as he blows the smoke out of his nostrils, “I know, right.”

Hawks grits his teeth as you take him deeper into your willing throat, lewd squelching sounds echoing in the nearly empty room, “So ah— I was thinking maybe someone from the lower ranks would do— Nnh!”

Dabi taps his cigarette to get rid of excess ash, “Yeah, that may do,” he tilts his head, amused by his companion that can barely focus on the conversation— much like himself when you sucked his dick.

Hawks places his hands on both sides of your head, fingers gently gripping your hair, not too tight, but commanding enough for you to keep going.

“That’s it— Don’t stop.”

Allowing him as deep as you can, your hand works what you can’t handle. Tongue rubbing the underside of his cock, he grunts, chest heaving in pleasure. Your mouth feels so good, so warm and wet as you drool all over his shaft.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast you get him teetering on the edge of his release. His hand now gripping your hair, forcing you to gag on his length. But you’re persistent and keep going, jerking him off while sucking every inch that can fit in your mouth. Saliva drips down the side of your mouth, down your chest and on his clothes.

Hawks pants in pleasure, his eyes screwed shut as he gets closer, “Fuck..! Suck that fucking cock..!” He groans breathily, moving his hips to fuck your mouth.

You moan, enjoying the feeling of your throat getting used, the tone of pleasure leaving no doubt to neither of the men of how soaked your panties must be.

“Nngh.. Fuck.. Don’t stop..! Fuck..!” Hawks groans as he blows his load deep into your mouth. You hum contentedly, making sure to drink every drop.

He then slowly loosens his hold on your hair and allows you to pull his cock out of your mouth. He pants in bliss while Dabi leans his cheek in the palm of his hand, grin never faltering.

“Do we have a deal?” He asks.

Hawks keeps catching his breath before opening his hooded eyes, “Deal.”

Phone Call (Dabi drabble)

TW: TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, CHASE KINK, THREATS, MENTION OF ROUGH/DUBCON SEX

A.N.: After reading @dabislittlemouse comment on my previous Dabi thirst, I became desperate for some good ol’ chase kink. And because I’m a mean hoe, I’m just gonna leave us all hanging with this *evil laughter*

The colors of the setting sun reflect from the pavement you shuffle on. With grocery bags on both hands, you’re tired after a day at work, but there’s still a small smile on your lips. Reaching the apartment building, you have to take the stairs up since the elevator is once again broken. Lively noises echo from other apartments as you walk upstairs to the fifth floor, unlock the door and sneak into your studio apartment. Slightly panting, you put the plastic bags on the dinner table and your purse on a dresser by the window. Then sighing happily, you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand and start unpacking the groceries into the fridge. 

From outside it can seem unlikely that working long hours and living in a rundown apartment building actually makes someone happy, but you’re content with the simple life after getting out of a seriously toxic relationship with a villain. Dabi may have been the love of your life and the passion that flamed between you was undeniable. However, he was also inconsiderate, selfish and manipulative. You found yourself stuck on his web of lies more often than not, yet there was never a time when the deep turquoise of his eyes couldn’t calm the storm he had caused. But at some point you realized that not only is it useless to expect him to change, there’s always gonna be a chance that those rare moments of happiness can be shattered by his indifference. 

Leaving Dabi turned out to be difficult. He is possessive in more ways than one and he enjoys causing you fear of what would happen if you’d break up with him. But when the Paranormal Liberation Front was arrested and he ended up in prison, you used the opportunity to flee. Moving away and changing your phone number as a precaution, you started a new life far away from Musutafu and Tartarus. 

Needless to say your past is complicated, painful and stormy. But now you focus on healing your heart and despite the fact that time fixes wounds quite slowly, taking care of yourself and your needs makes you happy even if it’s sometimes hard. 

After placing the items in the fridge, you’re about to undress yourself and go take a hot shower when your phone suddenly rings. The number blinking on the screen is unfamiliar, but since your co-workers have a habit of sometimes calling about work, you pick up the phone while unbuttoning your blouse. 

“Hi, this is Y/N,” you reply carefreely, but no voice comes from the other end of the line. Blinking in confusion, it makes you question whether there’s a service problem.

“Hello? Is someone there?“

“...Sorry, sweetheart. It’s been such a long time since I’ve heard your voice, I kinda lost myself there for a second.“

Your blood freezes. Your heart begins to pound against your chest and your breathing becomes difficult, almost as if something is squeezing your throat. The garment is now half buttoned, hanging from your shoulders as you instinctively sit down by the dinner table. 

“D-Dabi…“ You stutter, unable to comprehend how he can call you since you’ve blocked the prison number. 

“Hello there, babe. Nice to hear you say my name,“ he replies, voice sounding as husky and mocking as ever. 

“Wh-at do you want..?“ 

“Oh, I was just passing by a public phone booth when suddenly I got the urge to know how my favorite girl is doing.”

It becomes clear that he’s no longer behind bars, which worsens the bruising beat of your heart and the attempt to calm yourself down. However, you swallow the dread and try to form a coherent sentence, “W-why— Aren’t y-you in prison?“

“Well, I sorta let myself out. Fascinating how the guards cave when a group of prisoners manage to overpower them,“ he responds carelessly as if a prison riot wouldn’t be that serious of a crime. 

You swallow again, chest heaving as you breathe uneasily. Fear intrudes itself into your mind and messes up your logical thinking that can’t decide whether to call for help or gather your things and run immediately. 

“So how about it? Gonna tell me where you live so we can do some catching up?“ He asks. His voice is allusive and leaves no doubt of what he wants from you. 

Somehow though, even in the midst of terror with tears clumping your lashes, his audacity angers you. Your hands balled into fists as you get up so agitated that the chair falls down. 

“I— Don’t ever w-wanna see you again, Dabi..!” You manage to scream while storming by the window to grab your purse.

“I broke up with you! You have no right to call me like—”

“Oh, how pretty you look tonight. Just as lovely as the day I met you.“

Your eyes widen. Slowly, you lift your gaze outside into the street, where darkness has already descended. Streetlights have flickered on, but you can’t see anyone lurking in there. Knowing Dabi’s habit of messing with your head, you wonder if he’s bluffing. 

“Kinda daring cleavage there. You knew I was gonna come over, huh?”

You close your eyes. Tears roll down your cheeks as you realize that your shirt is indeed unbuttoned. Dabi is standing somewhere in the shadows with that trademark grin plastered on his stapled face. You become paralyzed and unable to even mumble words as they die on your tongue, whereas Dabi’s voice changes to a deeper and more threatening tone. 

“You better start running, baby. Cause the second I catch you I’m gonna fuck that disobedient little pussy so hard that the whole fucking city hears whom you belong to.“

When he can do both

Point of No Return Part 2

Togame x F!Reader Smut

Warnings: +18 MINORS DNI! Noncon, stalking if you squint, threats, mention of violence, mention of blood, manhandling, obsessive behavior, fear, smut, rough sex, creampie

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Satoru Nii

Word count: 2.9k

LINK TO PART 1

After Togame had his way with you, he added your contact into his phone and released you, informing with a cold smile that he’ll be in touch. Apparently he took a liking to you and wants to see you again— which even as a mere thought terrified you. 

Naturally you wanted to take all possible precautions, but there wasn’t much you could do. One was to ignore his calls. A dangerous game, but one you have to play to keep yourself from out of his reach. No one else is gonna protect you as Furin is still blissfully unaware of your encounter with him and you intended to keep it that way. 

Another one was to avoid going outside, which was difficult since you have a lot of friends whom you hang out with. Like tonight, you agreed to meet Nirei and Anzai in the city, but only because the way there isn’t long. 

However, fearing you’ll run into Togame, your imagination runs wild when shuffling down the empty, misty alleyway, where the tile walls seem narrower and the street endless. Paranoia shades your mind, like a looming shadow that follows you, but every time you whip your head around it disappears. 

Suddenly the sound of a small rock rolling on the pavement echoes— like someone unintentionally kicked it. Certain that it can’t be a trick of your mind, you turn around and glance into the alleyway that fades into the mist. 

“Hello? Is someone there?” You ask, but the only response is your own voice resounding hauntingly. 

You sigh, mildly relieved of the silence. As you turn around to continue your way, you suddenly bump into something— Shaking your head from the confusion, you lift your gaze up only to have horror spread on your face as none other than Togame stands in front of you. With that same hollow smile, he looks at you through tinted sunglasses as if having found something long lost. Something that belongs to him.

“Hey there, sweetheart,“ he greets with a voice one could mistake as friendly.

“T-Togame..“ you whisper, unable to mask the horrified tone.  

“Nice to run into you like this,” he says, but something inside you tells that the sudden encounter is not a coincidence. But be that as it may, you snap out of your speechlessness, understanding that you need to adopt a very cautious demeanor with him. 

“Mhmm..“ You nod.

“So how have you been?“

“Fine.. Thank you,“ you answer unnecessarily politely, knowing he’s bound to ask the question in which you struggle to find a valid answer to.

“You haven’t returned my calls.“

A cold shiver runs down your spine as you swallow, “Y-yeah.. I’m so sorry, I— I’ve been.. busy,” you respond.

Togame refrains from any comments. It seems that he, as well as you, came to a conclusion that such a lie was so useless it would’ve been better left unsaid. Finding his emerald stare tormenting, you grip your upper arm in discomfort and avert your gaze.

Despite how obvious it is that you’ve been avoiding him, his lips turn into what seems like a genuine smile— as genuine as someone like him can show though. 

“Anyway, It’s nice to see you again,” he says, closing the gap between you and pulling you against himself.

Knowing your poor position, you stay compliant to whatever he wants to do with you. As he leans in to press his lips on yours, you put your trembling hands against his chest, responding to his affection timidly. He backs you against the wall and deepens the kiss, forcing his tongue in your mouth. You can’t help but clutch his shirt, fearing that he’ll force himself on you there, when suddenly luck turns on your side as your phone rings. 

“Mmh.. S-sorry.. I have to take this,” you mumble between kisses. Togame pulls away and looks at you unimpressed. 

“Aren’t you busy?”

You swallow, panicking to come up with a good reason to respond, “I-it’s— It’s F-Furin..” 

As Togame hears the name of the rival gang he becomes visibly interested, “Really?” He asks. 

“I-I was supposed to meet with a couple of my f-friends..” You stutter, worried, “They could come look for me..”

“You don’t say,” he says as if thinking out loud, “That could be fun.”

“W-what do you mean?”

He smiles crookedly and grasps your chin between his index finger and thumb, “It’d be kinda hot to get to fight over you.”

Your eyes widen, heart pounding as you comprehend the danger your friends are about to end up in. The result would definitely be bloody because neither of them could ever match against Shishitoren’s second in command.

Togame tilts his head a little, green eyes vivid with excitement, “Pummel your friends to near death and then take what’s theirs— sounds absolutely thrilling,” he adds. 

You look up at him with pleading eyes, hands brushing his upper arms powerlessly as you know you need to convince him not to go through with his threat, “P-please.. They have nothing to do with this,” you sob, but your distress does nothing to his malice. 

Tears form in your eyes as you realize what could appease his thirst for violence as well as soften the consequences of ignoring his calls. It’d be the end of life as you know it, but an unprovoked fight could start a chain of events resulting in gang war, which is the least you want. 

“Please, Togame.. I’ll— I’ll tell them I’m not feeling well and then— W-we can go to my place..”

Togame lifts his chin, gaze locked on you as your generous offer catches his intrigue. Needless to say he would benefit greatly from knowing where you live. The mere idea of being able to get some pussy whenever he wanted was arousing enough, but he keeps his expression indifferent as your sad, beautiful eyes look up at him so very pleadingly. 

“Please..” You whisper.

“Fine,” he agrees and you finally get permission to answer Nirei’s call. 

“Hello?“ 

“Hi! Where are you? We’ve been waiting here for a while,“ Nirei says with a worried tone.  

“A-actually, I’m not feeling well—“ You stutter when Togame starts planting open-mouthed kisses down your neck while his hands wander on your body. 

“I-I’m heading back home,“ you add hastily. 

“You sound a little out of breath. Are you okay? Want us to escort you home?” 

“Oh, no need to. I’ll be fine—” you shut your eyes as you feel a hand sneaking underneath your shirt. 

“Oh, okay. Just give me a call if you need something!“ 

“S-sure, thanks,“ You hang up and sigh shakily, relieved to have possibly prevented a very bloody and violent altercation. 

“That went well,” he murmurs against your skin. 

“Y-yeah.”

“Well then,” he pulls away from your neck and focuses his hungry look down at you, ”Shall we go to your place now?“

You swallow, desperately wishing you’d be able to refuse. But having traded the safety and comfort of your home to keep your friends away from danger, you slowly nod, keeping your part of the deal. Togame only smiles widely and grabs your hand as if you were his property. 

Eternity seems to pass before you reach your homestreet, which is in a quite decent neighborhood, at least considering the areas around. All the street lamps— the ones that are still intact, are lit and because it’s the weekend, people have gone out to bars and restaurants. 

You stop in front of the certain apartment building, “This is it,” you say with barely audible voice. 

Togame glances at the building without any impression, then turns his emerald gaze at you, “It’s nice,” he comments, his intense look urging you to stop prolonging the inevitable. 

Sensing the atmosphere, you head towards the entrance while searching for the keys from your bag. Hands trembling, you have trouble fitting the key, but then Togame’s bigger hand grasps yours and helps you guide it into the lock. As you manage to open the door, you feel his body pressing your back like a wordless command to enter. 

Walking up the stairs and arriving at your apartment, you unlock the door and enter, unable to calm the pounding of your heart. 

“We’re here..“ you say quietly and turn to look up at the danger you just brought into your home, the place that used to be a refuge from people like him.

He takes off his sunglasses and places them on top of a dresser, “And your bed?“ He asks.

You swallow, “...H-here.”

Leading him through your small, humble studio apartment, you stop before the unmade bed. Feeling the warmth of his body behind you, you wrap your arms around yourself in fear and discomfort. Togame notes the gesture and grabs your wrists, making you close your eyes momentarily as he forces your arms on your sides. 

Suddenly he drapes his arm around you, caging you against himself while bringing his other hand on your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but no doubt the act is meant as a threat. Consumed by fear, you hold still while his thumb brushes the side of your neck. His hot breath fans against your ear and you feel dissatisfaction radiating from him. It makes you fear that your earlier lie— the one you believed to be forgiven with the invitation to your home— would be the cause of his irritation. 

Unfortunately you’re correct. There’s many things Togame doesn’t tolerate and disobedience is one of them. As he keeps you in a strong grip, you don’t budge in hope that it’d satisfy him enough to let you go. 

“Good girl,“ he suddenly says with a low voice. 

You close your eyes, a tear rolling down your cheek as your body trembles at the ominous tone of his words, which did imply that you barely managed to diminish his hunger to punish you. He then removes his hand from your throat and starts to unzip your hoodie. You whimper, but make no resistance. 

Garment after another, he tosses them carelessly on the floor and when you’re left in your lingerie, he doesn’t have enough patience to unhook your bra. Instead he simply tears them from the middle and the straps slide down your shoulders, on the floor. Your whimper turns into a suppressed sob to which he’s indifferent to while pulling down your panties, slowly until they drop to your ankles. 

Pleased for having you naked in front of him, he begins to undress himself while you wrap your arms around yourself, swallowing tears when a moment later you feel his bare skin against yours. Wasting no time, he pushes you on you belly on the bed, underneath him. His impatience is obvious as he’s already about to set you in the position, but suddenly you turn on your side and look up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Please.. C-could we slow down a little bit..? I’m scared..” You whisper, but Togame seems unaffected by your fear. 

“You’ve made me wait quite long already,” he points out simply. 

“I-I’m so sorry.. I’ll be good from now on..”

Togame smiles at your sincerity, but then manhandles you on your back nevertheless. He positions himself on top of you and cradles you in his arms, affectionate green eyes looking down at you.

“If I wanna get a hold of you, you’ll answer your phone, no matter what you’re doing and who you’re with,” he says calmly, but you know it’s a serious command.

“Understood?” He asks.

You nod hastily and put your hands on the sides of his neck, “Mmh, okay.”

He smiles contentedly and kisses you gently, almost considerate. But having been waiting to get his hands on you, it turns feverish quite quickly. He forces his tongue in your mouth and starts to grope your breasts, his thumb brushing your peaked nipples while devouring your cute little whines. Shivers run across your body as he then starts to plant open-mouthed kisses on your neck and down to your collarbone while his hands wander on your waist in an admiring way. 

You shut your eyes and suppress a whine as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue sweeping around the sensitive bud. You squirm a little, but not enough for him to deem it as an act of rebellion. If anything, he finds it cute as your smaller body feels good against his stronger form.

He continues to kiss down your body and when he reaches your mound, you gasp nervously, fighting the need to close your legs. Almost as if being aware of your thoughts, Togame grasps your thighs before planting the softest kiss on your mound. Another, softer gasp passes your lips when he drags his tongue between your folds. It brushes against your clit, causing a pleasurable tremble surge through your body.

“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he groans and begins to flick his tongue against your clit. 

Your body twists in unwanted pleasure as he takes a moment to prepare you for himself. Your moans, tormented and sweet, each sends a rush of blood down to his nether region, making his cock ache in need for some sweet friction.

When Togame decides you’re ready for him, he stops and positions himself on top of you, making you open your eyes as his dark shadow covers you. Seeing the depraved smile on his face, you swallow and brace yourself, placing your hands on his forearms insecurely. He then wraps a hand around his aching cock and presses the head against your fluttering little hole. As he starts to push past your walls, you throw your head back and shut your eyes. Nails digging into his skin, you whine as he enters deeper, stretching your unwilling walls into his shape. 

“Nngh.. Just as tight as I remembered,” he grunts in pleasure.

You sob silently, your body trembling at the intrusion as it’s beyond difficult to allow him inside. Togame—fully aware of this, places his hand on your cheek, making you open your teary eyes and see a rather soft look on his face. 

“Don’t fight me,” he says with an almost caring tone. 

“..S-sorry..”

When he feels your walls adjusting to him, he starts slowly rolling his hips against yours. His eyes flutter shut as the pleasure absolutely drunkens him, driving him into a more steadier pace, each thrust forcing a little whimper out of you. 

“Ahh, fuck—” He groans, picking up the pace as he’s unable to resist the tightness of your pussy. Skin slamming against yours, it causes a dirty slapping noise that echoes on the walls of your apartment. Your breasts bounce in sync with his thrusts and as his pace increases, the headboard of the bed rattles against the wall. 

He is more rough with you than the first time. Hot breath fanning against your ear as he huffs in pleasure, clearly drunk on your warm, wet pussy. You spread your legs wider and cling onto him in a desperate attempt to endure him. 

Suddenly Togame stops and pulls out of you, “On your hands and knees,” he commands and you don’t hesitate to obey. 

He grasps your hips on a bruising grip, pulling you closer to himself, his other hand pushing your neck down on the mattress. Your hands clutch the bed sheets as he penetrates you again, this time without any mercy as he begins to pound into you faster. He closes his eyes and leans his head back in pleasure, a debauched smile spreading on his features as your walls clench so deliciously around him.

“Nnh.. Your cunt is so fucking perfect.”

You whimper in response, his condescending words not only disheartening, but also reminding you that from now on, you’re gonna be hearing them a lot.

He then leans himself over you, “Ahh.. Fuck, I’m gonna cum inside this little pussy of yours,” gripping your neck, he presses your head ruthlessly on the mattress so that your cheek squishes against it. Fucking you with more fervor, your whines turn into choked cries as tears keep escaping from your eyes that are still shut.

He keeps pounding into you, thrusts turning erratic and hard, “Nngh.. I’m gonna cum..!” He pants into your ear. Then suddenly you feel him sink his teeth in your shoulder as he slams inside you, releasing his seeds in the depths of your pussy. 

Panting quietly, you don’t dare to move, instead you wait for him to fill you up. Your eyes are hooded, sweat glimmering on your skin and your legs tremble as they’re about to cave. When you feel him letting go of you and pulling out, you collapse on the bed, exhausted and with bruises on your body and teeth marks on your shoulders.  

Togame sighs and lays down next to you, not only satisfied from getting his needs sated, but also because you obeyed quite nicely. Glancing at your weary form, he knows you need a moment to recover from his rough treatment, yet pulls you into his arms nevertheless. 

“Get some sleep now. We’ll continue in the morning,” he says with a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

Point of No Return

Togame x F!Reader smut

WARNINGS: +18 MINORS DNI! Noncon, fear, manhandling, size kink, threats, penetration, creampie

DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to Satoru Nii

SYNOPSIS: Trying to find your way home, you figure to take a quick detour through Shishitoren territory, but unfortunately your path is blocked by Togame Jou

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

A.N.: So what if the walking fake red flag Togame wouldn’t actually be fake?👀 Just a thought that birthed this fic

“What’s a girl like you doing out here so late?“

It was supposed to be a quick detour, but out of all the dangers you could run into, it has to be Togame Jou from Shishitoren standing in your way. His brutal reputation is well known among Furin and in fact, you remember a specific advice Hiragi once gave you concerning him; 

’If you ever cross paths with Togame, run.’

You swallow thickly. His frame is threatening as he looms over your much smaller figure that’s trapped under his dark shadow. Hands in the pockets of his sweats, he wears a deceptively carefree smile, but the demanding undertone in his deep voice exposes the seriousness of the encounter. 

Attempting to appear calm, you force a timid smile, “I-I’m just— trying to find my way home,” you stutter, but your innocent demeanor does nothing to the oppressive atmosphere. 

“You aren’t from around here, are you?“ He asks in which you shake your head.

“N-no..“

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it ain’t safe to wander in someone else’s territory?” He asks, aware of the impact his tall, muscular form has on you. 

“I’m terribly sorry.. I-I guess I got lost,” you mumble, unable to hide the tremble of your body. 

“Hmm..” He hums pensively, emerald eyes locked on you through tinted sunglasses as he tilts his head a little, “Aren’t you with Furin?”

“Y-yeah..”

An ominous silence follows your response. He clearly ponders something that you doubt is in your favor. For a second your mess of a mind dares to wonder whether you should use the opportunity to run, but it’s faded by the hollow smile that appears on his face.

“So you got lost huh? Come with me. I’ll show you the right way.” 

You stare up at him with wide eyes, unable to blink as you wish to have the bravery to refuse what seems to be a command. But having crossed Shishitoren’s territory, you’re in no position to mutter any objections. Moreover, knowing his violent tendencies you don’t wanna provoke him. So with a polite, but doubtful nod, you comply. 

Walking beside him, your feet are tense and reluctant to carry wherever he’s taking you. Your instincts scream for you to run, but it’s tuned down by a hand that wraps around your upper arm, almost as if Togame could read your restless thoughts. Cautiously glancing up at him, he acts nonchalant about the threatening gesture, which convinces you to stay amenable. 

Neither of you speak during what seems like hours and the only sound in the narrow streetways comes from the footsteps that echo across the tile walls. When a rather rundown building comes into sight, you know you’re in deep trouble as the front of it spells ‘Ori’. 

Knowing it to be Shishitoren’s lair, your feet act on pure instinct and try to stop at their tracks, but Togame only pulls you effortlessly with him, an act which as itself is a statement enough. Your breathing becomes uneasy as you wanna express your disinclination to enter the lion’s den, but are utterly afraid to do so. 

Shuffling through the entrance into the abandoned building, the occasional light allows you to see the sight of what used to be a small movie theater. Shishitoren members slouch on the discolored seats when one of them notices Togame guiding you towards a staircase. 

“Hey, Togame, what’s you got there?” A man with messy brown hair asks, his question also attracting the attention of others. 

“Just a lost little lamb,” he waves dismissively, which makes the man and his companion snicker. You swallow thickly at the eeriness of their reaction that doesn’t bode well. 

The stairs lead into what seems like a backroom. The dusty surfaces of furniture are revealed by a faint light that gleams through tinted windows. Apparently the room isn’t used often, but as your eyes land on a mattress that seems to be the only tidy item in there, you become painfully aware of the function of it. 

Your breathing becomes shallow, uneven and as you turn around, you notice Togame locking the door. He then advances your shuddering figure with that immutable smile that seems hungrier than before. 

Slowly you wrap your arms around yourself, nails digging uncomfortably into the skin of your upper arms as you finally manage to force words out of your mouth. 

“W-why are w-we here..?” You stutter.

He takes off his sunglasses and looks down at you, “Don’t worry— We’re just gonna have a little fun.”

Being aware what kind of fun he refers to, tears start to pool your eyes as you shake your head incoherently, “I-I don’t want to.. P-please let me go—”

“Ssshh..” He interrupts with a warm hand on your cheek, “Consider it a payment for crossing Shishitoren borders.”

He then leans down to capture your lips in a rough kiss, tongue wasting no time to pry your mouth open. Rubbing your soft tongue with his, he feels your hands on his chest, but pays no mind as they’re too weak and terrified to form any sort of resistance.

Devouring your little mewls, he backs you towards the mattress while discarding his jacket, big hands grabbing your waist and helping you lie down as if your body is his to play with. Setting himself between your legs, his lips are still attached on yours when sneaking his hand beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties and pulling them down. 

Your legs trash a little, but it’s practically futile as his form easily overpowers yours. He merely needs to press himself harder on you and your pitiful rebellion results in nothing more than whines against his lips. At this point he isn’t bothered and just continues to do what he wants, moving his lips on your neck, kissing and biting the sensitive skin.

Impatience isn’t a trait he possesses, however, his cock already throbs in anticipation as he’s never had anything as pretty as you writhing underneath him. His kisses turn open-mouthed and restless as he hears the cute sounds you emit, hand palming your breasts fervently. There’s no true rush, but desire simply overwhelms him into proceeding further.

He sits on his knees and swiftly pulls his shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it on the floor before manhandling you on your belly. It’s forceful and thoughtless. The resemblance is that of a lion feasting on a poor little prey as he effortlessly tears your clothes off. You whimper helplessly as he grabs your naked body and guides you under himself, panic making your heart race as his muscular form hovers over you. Your hands  grip the sheets beneath in an attempt to crawl away, but Togame simply uses his weight to pin you down underneath him. 

You sob, unable to move as his strong legs prevent yours from squirming. His chest feels warm against your back, but there’s no comfort in the contact. If anything, it makes you sink in yourself as small as you can while trembling.

Togame notes your fearful demeanor and finds it cute. Removing some strands from your neck, he kisses it sloppily, hot breath leaving your skin moist. Goosebumps rise from the shivers that dance across your skin, another whimper escaping as you feel utterly helpless. 

“P-please.. Don’t hurt me,” you sob.

“Just cooperate and you’ll be alright,” his deep voice whispers in your ear. As you feel him lower his boxers, his hardened cock brushes against your ass.

“N-no..!” You cry in panic, but he presses himself harder on you. 

“Hey. Don’t test my patience, sweetheart. I really don’t wanna get rough with you,” he warns with a tone that stops you instantly. 

He then spits in his hand and blatantly smears his saliva on your pussy. Thrusting a thick finger inside you, he feels your unready walls and spends a moment to prep you, adding another finger to stretch your walls.

As he manages to elicit a tormented moan from you, it’s enough to break what little resolution he had left. Pulling his fingers out, he positions himself above you and wraps a hand around his throbbing cock. Pressing the head of it against your fluttering little hole, he slowly begins to sink inside. Agony floods your senses and you cry out, your walls stretching around him in desperate effort to accommodate his size, your legs squirming as your whole body reacts to the intrusion of his cock. 

He grunts as your pussy wraps around him so snugly and tight, “Ahh.. You gotta relax, baby. Otherwise this sweet hole of yours will get ruined for every other man.”

His words are demeaning, but there’s vague truth in them. The more you resist the more likely you’ll get hurt so with a pitiful sob, you shut your eyes and focus on calming yourself, while he rocks his hips gently, thrusting deeper inside you with each stroke. As he notices how your reluctant walls start to slowly give in, he kisses your head. 

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, his praise heating up your cheeks. You understand then that it’s better to keep him happy and make him cum rather than to push your luck. Shyly you spread your legs wider, allowing him easier access, which makes him pick up the pace. Your brows furrow, little whines passing your lips whenever his cock drags past your sweet spot. 

Guttural groans reverberate in his throat as your warm, wet pussy feels so good, almost as if coaxing him into a more ruthless pace. But being the hedonist Togame is, he refrains from getting too rough with you, especially when you comply so nicely. 

Suddenly he pulls out and flips you on your back. Startled by the abrupt action, you gasp but quickly shut your mouth as his strong forearms cradle you in between them. Your fearful eyes meet his depraved smile and the green in his eyes, the hue of them intense, albeit with vague infatuation. 

You look up at him demurely, intimidated even when he seems rather content with your submission. He kisses you softly, more intimately as if rewarding you for being such a good girl and letting him fuck you. Feeling him thrust into you again, you whine in his mouth and cautiously spread your legs wider. 

More than pleased with your motion, he picks up the pace, pulling away and cradling you in his strong arms, “You’re doing so good, baby,” he praises.

Your breasts keep bouncing back and forth in sync with his thrusts, your peaked nipples brushing against his firm chest with each slam of his hips. Tormented moans fall from your lips as your hands seek comfort from his broad shoulders, nails scratching his skin and leaving little traces. 

Soon he starts to slam inside you harder, the sheer force of his thrusts knocking the air out of you, making you cry louder. Squelching sounds echo across the walls of the room, his hot breath brushing against your ear as he pants in pleasure. You know he’s getting closer as he’s relentless and sloppy, unable to focus on anything other than fucking your sweet pussy.

“Please.. N-not inside..” You whimper, but it’s a wish he chooses to ignore. 

Finally with a harsh thrust deep into your quivering pussy, he releases his seeds in steady spurts. Hot ropes of cum hit your used walls as his whole body shivers in pleasure. Muscles tense, he grunts and holds you in place while emptying himself inside you. 

Descending from his high, he huffs a satisfied sigh, pleased to get his balls drained by Furin pussy. But suddenly someone dares to interrupt the aftermath of his bliss with a harsh knock on the door. He doesn’t bother to pull out when glancing over his shoulder with an annoyed look on his face.

“What?” He asks.

“It’s Sako. I just ran into Furin’s Hiragi who was in the mood to pick a fight. Apparently one of their associates, some girl, is missing. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

Togame turns his emerald eyes down at your panting form. Your eyes are closed, skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, looking absolutely beautiful after getting fucked by a member of an enemy gang. 

A lazy, but ever so spiteful grin forms on his lips, “I have no idea.”

giving them head.

featuring: Sakura Haruka, Kaji Ren

contains: gn reader, bl*wjobs, begging, facef*cking, sub!sakura, dom!kaji

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 600

masterlist

Sakura Haruka

Sakura’s never been good at expressing himself verbally, the words somehow getting stuck at the back of his throat every time he tries. But his emotions are written on his face, easy for you to read.

As you drag your tongue up his shaft, licking along the thick vein there, your eyes locked onto Sakura’s, you can see exactly what he’s thinking. His cheeks and nose are flushed, his eyes half-lidded, his lips slightly apart. You swirl your tongue around his sensitive head and he inhales sharply, his fingers tangling messily in your hair.

“Does that feel good, Haru?” you ask teasingly, pressing a chaste kiss against the underside of his tip and feeling his cock twitch in response.

“Mhm,” is all Sakura can say, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

He can’t look away from you, doesn’t want to even for a second. You lick up the precum he’s oozing and Sakura lets out a whimper, his hips thrusting up. You’re teasing him, making his cock ache with need as your tongue darts out again.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” you instruct him softly.

“Nnh, fuck,” Sakura grunts, hips bucking again, chasing your lips as you pull back slightly. “Wanna fuck your mouth. Please.”

“Like this?”

You wrap your lips around his tip and suck gently. Sakura’s eyes close briefly.

“Need more, please, please, baby,” he whimpers. “Need to cum in your mouth, please let me cum in your mouth.”

His begging makes you smile so you decide to give him what he wants.

“That’s a good boy,” you coo, feeling his cock throb against your tongue at your words as you slide him all the way in.

Kaji Ren

One of Kaji’s favourite ways to release stress is to take it out on your mouth.

You’re such a good girl for him, kneeling so obediently between his legs as his hands grip the back of your head. He pulls your hair up into a loose ponytail keeping it out of your way as he holds your head in place and fucks up into your mouth.

Your hands are splayed on his thighs and you try to keep your jaw slack as Kaji facefucks you. His fat tip hits the back of your throat but you’ve practiced this a lot and have a good control over your gag reflex. Your eyes water as you focus on breathing through your nose while Kaji abuses your mouth.

“Fuckkkk,” he groans, eyes squeezing shut at the feel of your warm mouth and your throat constricting around him. “Such a perfect little slut.”

Kaji plants his feet, readjusting slightly before fucking your mouth even harder. You try to keep up with him, your tongue running along the underside of his cock, making him growl. You drool over him, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth as your mascara runs down your cheeks.

Kaji opens his eyes, drinking in the sight of you.

“That’s it, baby, fuck.”

Kaji’s cock twitches, his balls tightening. He can never last long when you let him do this. He pulls out quickly, long trails of saliva joining his shaft and tip with your lips. He wraps a fist around his cock and strokes himself quickly as you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out for him.

Kaji cums with a loud groan, watching as he shoots thick ropes of cum onto your tongue. His hips buck, the strength of his orgasm making him lose aim slightly, and you feel his hot load land across your face. You don’t flinch, enjoying the feel of Kaji marking you like this. You smile up at him before making a show of swallowing his cum.

Kaji pulls you onto his lap, a cloth at the ready to clean you up as he peppers kisses across your shoulder and whispers thank yous in your ear.

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lonely little lamb | r. cameron

[warnings] dark!stepbrother!rafe x stepsister!reader, daddy!rafe x little!reader, dd/lg dynamic, mentions of violence/blood, somnophilia, stalker!rafe, DUBCON, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: happy OBX4! This was written before the new season :) Dividers by @/ghoulbloggerrr

In which Rafe knows your secret and just how perfect you'd be together.

word count: 7.2k

rafe cameron masterlist

Rafe didn’t catch on immediately.  At first, he just thought you were strange, his expectations already tainted by what he'd assumed about you. He’d been prepared for his stepmother’s daughter to be a brat, and on the surface, you fit that mold perfectly. But there was something off about the way you acted around him. You never played innocent, never tried to charm him or win him over like you did with everyone else. You gave him sharp glances at the dinner table when he talked back to Ward and even angrier stares when he disrespected your mother. You never hung around after dinner, always rushing to go back to your room, and “call your friends from back home”. Of course, Rafe listened at your door often and he never heard you making any calls. Having grown up in the house, he felt entitled to know what was happening within its walls.

Your behavior puzzled Rafe to the point of obsession. He woke up every morning to check if your car was still in the driveway and easily memorized your schedule. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you attended classes in the morning at the local community college. On the other days of the week you sat through your online classes. You never ate too early, always going for a late breakfast that usually consisted of avocado toast, a bowl of fruit, and you always came down to refill your “sippy cup”. That’s what Rafe had dubbed it. It was clear, decorated with a stencil design of a baby lamb and had a flip-up spout for easy drinking. You didn’t go many places without it. 

It was the small things that fascinated him. The comfort items you clung to, the simple routines that made your life feel organized and secure. You usually took a bubble bath about thirty minutes after dinner, and when you forgot to lock your door, Rafe would slip into your room, drawn by the intimacy of your private world.

He picked up items around your room, like the frame you kept beside your bed. It held a photo of you and your mom: you in your old high school cheerleading uniform, hair pinned back in pigtails, while your mom smiled widely beside you. Despite her cheerful expression, your eyes in the picture looked wistful and lonely. Rafe couldn’t help but imagine you now, with adult curves and eager eyes, wearing that outfit. The thought stirred something in him, making him hard, and he had to tuck himself away, cursing under his breath. At least if you walked in, he wouldn’t be caught in the act.

The more he learned about you, the harder it was to quiet these thoughts. He had always found you pretty, but now his body and mind were becoming obsessed with you. He made a habit of collecting a pair of your panties from the hamper before leaving. He needed them for later, for the release that he craved, driven mad by the scent of you.

The sound of soft, melodic music flowed into your bedroom from behind the bathroom door. Sometimes it was girly pop songs, other times classical, but more often than not, it had the gentle, soothing quality of nursery music. Your bed was always neatly made, draped in a floral quilt, and you kept the same stuffed animals on top, meticulously placed. A small chesnut brown teddy bear, white bunny, and a tiny stuffed lamb. Each one had their own white ribbon wrapped around its neck, tied into a bow. 

One time he caught a glimpse of your nighttime skin care routine. You removed the light makeup you always wore and used about ten different products that Rafe didn’t recognize, nor could he guess their use. The last layer was always a light layer of lip balm and Rafe always leaned a bit closer when your puckered your lips in the mirror. His mind easily wandered to idea of your lips around him. 

You wouldn’t look so lonely, little lamb, if you just let me in. 

He had his suspicions about the secret, kinky things you were into. There had to be a reason you spent so much time by yourself. He didn’t get the answers he was looking for until one night when you’d left your laptop, unlocked on your desk. He took the opportunity to program his fingerprint into it too, just in case he needed to snoop again. 

He combed through your social media, public and private, and started checking your messages daily, keeping track of who you talked to, what you were up to. Your public social media was perfect. A mix of selfies with soft lighting, photos of cute coffee shops, and other things you deemed as your “aesthetic”. 

It was your camera roll that finally gave Rafe the answers he had been searching for. One folder, marked with a delicate pink heart, caught his attention immediately. Inside were photos of you, taken in front of your floor-length mirror. Each picture was eerily similar, the same vacant, wide-eyed expression on your face, as though you were lost in some faraway place.

You wore pajamas he’d never seen before, soft and childlike. Sometimes it was pastel-colored footie pajamas, other times it was nightgowns in soft shades of pink, lavender, or baby blue. In a few, you were bundled up in fuzzy socks or slippers with floppy bunny ears. Your hair was always styled with bows, either pink or white. There was a strange innocence in these details, one that clashed with the tension building inside Rafe as he scrolled through the images.

Sometimes you were biting down on your nails, others your thumb rested in your mouth, but most of the time you were gripping one of your stuffed animals tight to your chest. 

You looked...adorable. But in a way that made Rafe’s pulse quicken with something darker. The softness, the vulnerability you displayed in those photos, fed his obsession.

Another folder marked with a unicorn emoji held more photos that you’d saved. He recognized some of the characters from children’s TV shows he remembered Wheezie watching. Others were pictures from Disney movies, and Rafe quickly realized you had a special preference for the princesses. You seemed drawn to Cinderalla, Belle, and Snow White. It offered a glimpse into your mind, into your fantasies, how you were drawn to things with an air of purity and sweetness. 

Rafe’s heart slowed when a message popped up from someone named Mr. Hayes. Been thinking about you all day, sweetheart. The message said. A moment later, another one came. How was ur bath? 

Rafe opened the text thread and began to scroll. Each word that he read made his blood boil. There were too many messages for him to read. You’d sent him photos of yourself, let him call you pet names, and you’d even gone so far as calling him… Daddy. He’d never sent you a photo but that didn’t seem to matter. You were willing to share the details of your life with him. 

Rafe’s vision blurred with rage. Daddy. This virtual fantasy, a stranger who you didn’t even know, did not deserve your affection. He decided then you were his, whether you knew it or not. 

Rafe decided then to also make it a habit to check your messages. 

Several weeks later, you’d finally convinced Mr. Hayes to meet you in person. Rafe couldn’t let that happen. As your stepbrother and your protector, it would be wrong of him to let some stranger hurt you. Besides, he’d become obsessed to the point where now he was dying to know exactly who this man was. 

You didnd’t know any better, but he did. 

“Hey,” Rafe spoke to you the afternoon before your secret rendevouz, interrupting your fruit cutting, “My Dad just texted. Him and your Mom aren’t going to make it back tonight. There flight keeps getting delayed so they’re going to stay the rest of the weekend.”

“Oh, okay,” You replied simply, returning back to your task again. 

“Wheezie’s sleeping at a friends and I’m probably going to a party at Kelce’s,” You gave him a look, as if it was strange to be conversating with him alone without the presence of the rest of their blended family, “...Do you want to come? It’ll be fun.”

You shook your head, “No, thank you. I’ll just stay in.”

Rafe leaned on the marble countertop, staring across the kitchen island at you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you go out one time since you moved in.” 

Rafe’s sudden interest in your habits had become more noticeable lately, but you figured it was nothing, just him being Rafe, always lurking in the background, watching everyone, everything. Your mother had warned you that she thought something was off about him and living with him over the past nine months had sealed the fact that you didn’t trust him. 

You didn’t trust many people at all, actually, never having had a stable home life. Your mother had always had money, or at least latched on to men who had money, but those men came and went. Even your mother wasn’t someone you could count on. She’d uprooted your life more than once, moving you across states just to be with a man who could give her the lifestyle she believed she deserved.

Mr. Hayes had offered you comfort in this transitional time. You had no one to confide your secret in accept for the communities you found online. It made you anxious to even think about finding a partner one day and having to explain this side of you. Friends on the internet wouldn’t judge you.

But online, the stakes felt lower. The people you spoke with, people like Mr. Hayes, didn’t judge. The risk of being truly seen, and rejected, was something you couldn’t handle. Not yet.

You paused what you were doing, knife hovering over a piece of strawberry, “You really want to spend the night alone. On a Friday night?” 

Rafe sauntered around the kitchen island, his eyes fixed on you in a way that made a shiver run down your spine. He knew he was handsome. With his short blonde hair and blue eyes that always had a raging storm behind them. His gold ring and his gold watch. Most important of all, he knew he intimidated you, his size being enough to make you feel smaller than you actually were. 

“I have to study,” You spoke curtly, trying to cut off the line of questioning you sensed was coming. You moved to keep cutting up your fruit but you paused again when Rafe reached out to grab a piece from the cutting board. You looked up at him as he popped the piece of strawberry into his mouth. 

Your lips parted in shock and Rafe’s lips pulled into a smirk, as if he was thriving on that power, the uncpoken tension in the air. The way he could make your heart race in that mix of fear and something else he knew you’d never admit. 

“Oh yeah?” Rafe placed a hand on the counter, “You have all weekend to study. C’mon, have some fun, princess.”

You took in a breath at the sound of the pet name. He hadn’t ever called you that before and for a moment it looked like he was seeing right through you. 

“I-” Quickly, you turned your head away, refocusing on the task, as your cheeks heated with embarrassment, “I’m okay, thanks.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to come out,” Rafe continued, his voice smooth, almost coaxing, “You got secret plans or something?”

“No,” You said quickly, “I told you, I’m studying.”

Rafe let out a dry chuckle, no real amusement behind it, “You sure you’re not just hiding?”

“It’s not your business,” You snapped finally, your tone icy, “And I… I don’t have to explain myself to you, Rafe. You don’t even know me.”

“I know you, princess,” You dropped the knife, your heart beating too fast, and you quickly picked up your pieces of fruit and placed them in your bowl. Rafe leaned closer, watching your every move, and the intensity of his gaze was starting to unravel you, “You’re so jumpy. It’s just me. No need to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” You muttered but your fingers trembled as you grabbed ahold of your bowl of fresh fruit and your lamb cup. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Rafe took another step closer and you backed away from the counter.

“Stop it,” Your frustration flared, unsure of why exactly Rafe was trying to stir you up. Your lips pressed together and you tried to stop your reaction, but with him towevering over you, invading your space, you felt effectively suffocated. It wasn’t until your back was pressed into the stainless steal fridge, your bowl the only thing protecting you from being pushed against Rafe, that you actually flinched. 

“Hey,” Rafe lifted on arm, casually bracing his hand on top of the fridge as he looked down at you, “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You swallowed hard. His voice was deceptively gentle, “Rafe–”

“I’m not trying to scare you, I promise,” Something flickered in his eyes, something you didn’t recognize, and for a moment, you questioned if you’d read this entire situation correctly, “I know how fragile you are. How scary the world can seem. I’m offering …you know …because I’d be there to protect you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You blinked up at him. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of him trying to talk down to you. Rafe Cameon almost sounded caring. “You don’t need to be so on guard all the time,” Rafe continued. 

“I just …” You couldn’t stop the way your voice softened, “I like keeping to myself. It’s not that I don’t want to be around people. I just don’t …fit in here.”

Rafe nodded, his expression understanding, and it was the first time you looked at one another as real people, “I get it. You’re not like the other girls around here. You’re smarter, quieter … softer. You can trust me though, yeah? You don’t gotta hide from me.”

For a moment, everything felt like it would be okay. Maybe Rafe had managed to see you and was willing to understand you, unlike anyone else you had met on this island. It all felt real until you focused more on his eyes. Your expression had softened, melted from frustration to wide-eyed curiosity, and that had caused a shift in his eyes. You saw that flicker of darkness that you’d seen before. 

“I can look after you, ya’ know?” He said, voice dripping to a lower tone, “Help you. You don’t need to worry too much.”

Before you could respond, his other arm lifted, and you felt his fingers graze your cheek, the touch startlingly intimate. 

“What are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Rafe’s jaw tightened, the mask he was wearing beginning to slip, “Don’t be like that, princess.” 

“Stop,” You managed to say, “Stay away from me.”

In just a few hours, you’d finally get to meet Mr. Hayes. None of Rafe’s games would matter then. When you went silent, you watched as Rafe’s hand balled into a fist and he turned his body away. 

“Suit yourself,” He’d said coldly, his void devoid of any of the warmth that was there before.  

You stared down at your bowl of fruit dumbfounded for a moment too long. Princess. How did Rafe know how desperately you wanted someone to call you that?

Rafe stayed at Kelce’s party until eleven He finished his last pabst blue ribbon, said goodbye to only a handful of his friends, before he made his way to his truck. Knowing they would find it strange for him to leave so early, he mad the excuse that he was going to meet up with a girl at the Island Club. 

In reality, Rafe was headed twenty minutes away, towards Winward Beach. Mr. Hayes wanted to meet you at midnight. One of the many red flags Rafe assumed you had ignored. You probably thought it was romantic, meeting at a secluded beach in the middle of the night. Like the two of you were fucking Romeo and Juliet. 

Stupid, Rafe thought bitterly, gripping the steering wheel tightly. 

Rafe parked his car in the small parking lot that sat near the boardwalk, turning off all of his lights, and waited for the creep to show up first. Rafe thought for a moment that neither of you might show when midnight started to approach. Maybe you’d wisened up, listened to your gut instinct that told you something wasn’t right. He didn’t believe it for long, you were too trusting. Too soft. 

When a tan sedan that Rafe didn’t recognize pulled up in a parking spot close to the walkway, Rafe knew who it was. In the dark and without any streetlights, he only saw a dark figure carrying a backpack make his way towards the beachwalk. He waited until the figure made it halfway before he climbed out of his truck. 

The moon was high, casting a white glow over the empty landscape. 

Anger simmered beneath Rafe’s skin as he watched the man from a safe distance. He moved with a nervous energy, often glancing over his shoulder as if he was expecting to see someone. Wooden planks creaked softly under his weight but Mr. Hayes didn’t notice, not until he’d made it to the beach, and Rafe appeared behind him. 

The man turned his head, eyes wide with confusion. For a moment, this was all a coincidence. Rafe was a nobody, just a stranger taking a walk on the beach, until Rafe’s lips pulled into a smile, “Not what you were expecting?”

“Who the hell are you?”

Mr. Hayes was certainly not what Rafe was expecting. A completely unremarkable middle-aged man with streaks of gray in his thinning brown hair, pale skin, lightly freckled and a slight paunch that rested over the waistband of his dreams. A complete creep. Someone completely undeserving of even being looked at by you. 

Anger wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what Rafe was feeling, “You’re Mr. Hayes?”

“What?” Up close, Rafe could see the way the man's eyes started to dart around. He took another step further and the man stumbled back in the thick sand, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just–”

“You’re just a coward?” Rafe finished, his tone mocking, “I mean, I understand now why you hid your face.”

“I don’t know what you’re–”

Rafe interrupted again, snarling, his hand lashing out to grab the front of the man’s shirt. He yanked him forward and the man’s eyes went wild with panic, “Meeting up with an innocent girl in the middle of the night? Sneaking around like a creep? What’s in that fucking bag?”

“Nothing!” Mr. Hayes struggled. Rafe couldn’t believe how weak the man was. Strong enough to overpower you, maybe, but weak. As soon as the though of this man pinning you down in the sand crossed his mind, Rafe’s eyes went wild, “Nothing, I’m sorry!”

Rafe shoved him hard and the man stumbled backwards into the sand. He towered over the man, his shadow casting long across the beach. Waves crashed loudly in the background but Rafe’s voice boomed over the sound, “I don’t think you are! You probably thought you could just take what you wanted, huh? Fucking answer me!”

The man scrambled backwards, hands digging into the sand, backward hanging awkwardly from his shoulder. Why didn’t he just drop it …if he wasn’t hiding anything, he would let it go, “I wasn’t — I didn’t mean, I didn’t know!”

“You didn’t know what? That she was half your age? That she was too good for you?” Rafe’s lip curled in disgust. He knelt down, his face inches from Mr. Hayes’s as his voice dropped to a whisper, “She’s not yours. She never will be.”

“Okay,” He nodded, holding out a hand as if to put distance between them, “I just wanted to meet her. I know I lied. I’m sorry. I won’t …it won’t happen again. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

Rafe’s head cocked to the side as he looked down at the trembling man. Without another word, he grabbed for the backpack. The man resisted, of course, a series of “Wait, wait, wait,” leaves his lips. Rafe doesn’t leave space to argue because he pushed his palm into the man’s chest, pinning him down, before he lets his fist connect with the side of the man’s face. 

The man gasps, whimpers, as he curls into a ball on the sand, “F-Fuck!” The creep moans. Rafe pulls away the bag, ripping open the zipper, and dumping the contents onto the sand.

A cheap blanket, a cheap bottle of wine, and then Rafe’s eye catches on the condoms and then then the thick, coiled string of rope. Without another thought, Rafe was tackling the man, grabbing a hold of his collar, pulling him up and slamming his head into the ground over and over again. Rafe didn’t stop. He slammed his fist into the man’s face harder and harder. Each blow left a sickening crack echoing in the air. 

Crack. Groan of pain. Crack. Whimper, “You though you could hurt her? Touch what’s not yours? Brutalize her?” Rafe snarled, voice low and vicious. When the man finally went unconscious, his body limp, face bloody and unrecognizable, “Fuck you!”

Rafe’s chest heaved as he stared down at his work. Nothing about the blood and broken flesh bothered him. He looked down at his hand which were covered in the man’s blood and only felt satisfied. 

He’d protected you. His pulse spiked even more as he heard footsteps on the boardwalk. You’d shown up. Rafe watched you kick off flip flops and run towards them. No matter how dark it was, you were easily visible in the baby pink dress you’d chosen. The contrast between you and the violent seen before you sente a surge of protectiveness through him. He stood from where he knelt in the sand and quickly crossed the distance towards you. 

You slowed as you took in the scene before you, “Rafe?” you whispered, “Rafe, what’s … that’s not …oh my god.”

Rafe grabbed you by your arms, turning your shaking body away. It was a gruesome mess, nothing you should have to see, “He’s dead,” You spoke with wide, terrified eyes, “Wh-Why? You killed him.”

“He’s not dead,” Rafe said quickly, “He’s still breathing … I had to stop him.”

You didn’t listen, you turned your head and saw the unnatural position the man laid in, “Rafe, he’s dead!”

Rafe shook you slightly, “He’s not. I promise.”

“What did you do?” You cried, tears beginning to stream down your cheek. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” He tried to assure you, “I had not. He was going to hurt you, Y/N. Look, he brought …he brought all that shit with him. There was rope in his bag, condoms … I did this for you!”

You shook your head, trying to pull away from Rafe’s bloody hands, “You beat him?” Your voice broke under the weight of your fear, “He’s not moving. You can’t …why would you–”

Rafe’s heart twisted in his chest. He wasn’t the one you were supposed to be afraid of, “He deserved it,” Rafe said, voice quiet and serious, “C’mon, we need to get out of here.”

Rafe tried to pull you but you resisted. Easily, he lifted you into his arms, bloody hands staining your skin and now your dress, “We have to call someone!” You shouted at him, hiccuping through your tears, “Rafe, put me down!”

Rafe ignored you, strides long and steady, carrying you back towards the beachwalk. It was better for Mr. Hayes if the police weren’t involved. Undoubtely, a man like that had a record. Rafe was doing him a favor by only leaving him bloody on the beach. 

In his arms, you were powerless. Your mind was reeling. Even in his bloody state, you knew the man there was not who Mr. Hayes had described himself as. Rafe could be right about all of this but it still felt wrong. 

In Rafe’s truck, you sat curled up against the door, your knees pulled to your chest. A dark and empty road stretched before you, yacht rock played at a low volume in the background, and Rafe’s heavy breathing was louder than any of your thoughts. 

Every few minutes, you stole a glance at him. The tension had yet to leave his body, though he was coming down from the adrenaline. His breathing was heavy but deliberate, as if he was attempting to calm himself, “I didn’t want you to see that, you know that, right?” Rafe said suddenly, breaking through the heavy silence, “Like …I know that was fucked up. You believe me, right? About what I said?”

Your throat tightened so much that your words came out strangled, “I don’t know … what to believe.”

“He was going to hurt you. If I hadn’t stepped in — If I-I hadn’t acted proactively, he would’ve hurt you. He would be hurting you right now. You know that, right?” The brutality of Mr. Hayes’s alleged actions began to cloud Rafe’s actions. He said it over and over. You couldn’t help that now you were imagining it. Maybe this was the only way to rationalize the situation. Maybe you had to believe him.

You saw the items in the sand. You saw that he’d lied about his age, about his appearance, and his intentions. He was the monster. That was the better version. Everything was a lot less wrong that way. 

“Y/N,” Rafe spoke again, his deep voice rattling your ear drums, “You know that.”

You finally nodded, “Okay,” You agreed. 

“Good,” Rafe seemed to let out a breath of relief. Hands still tight on the steering wheel, he tilted his head back, “He wasn’t some innocent guy. I swear that to you. Like I wouldn’t lie about that shit.”

You nodded until your head started to hurt. 

“I did this for you,” Rafe said, “I’m so fucking glad you’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

“Thank you,” You whispered as you wiped the wetness from your cheeks. Your eyes caught on the dried blood that wrapped around in a band on your arm, “...Rafe?”

“Yeah, baby?” Rafe voice turned gentler as he glanced over at you.

“Did you …look at my messages?”

Rafe’s demeanor grew casual, like the worst of his anxieties had passed, “I did what I had to do,” He said, like it was a simple explanation. He didn’t seem concerned at his obvious breach of privacy. Didn’t seem to understand that the pit in your stomach was deepening. 

“Then you…”

“Then I know,” He finished and you watched a sinister smile pull at his lips, “Aren’t you relieved? I know and I’m not judging you. I’ve been wanting to figure you out since I met you. And now there’s no secrets between us.”

“Rafe…” You began, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words, “How could you?”

“I had to,” He insisted, “If I hadn’t, where would you be now? What if he had taken you? Killed you? What would that do to your mom?”

Your brows furrowed, trying to process his words, and the vile images that left in your mind, “The stuff on my phone is …private. It’s private for a reason. I don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” He countered, offering you a patronizing tone, “I know what you want, what you need. I’m happy to give you that. And I’d do a hell of better job than that waste of life on the beach.”

You connected the dots the moment those words left his lips. He wanted to be what Mr. Hayes had been to you. A caretaker. Someone to nurture your most innocent idea. 

“Rafe … Ward is married to my mom,” The most logical reason that was a crazy idea came to your mind quickly. 

“So?” He replied dismissevly. 

“You’re my stepbrother,” Not even that registered with him, “I don’t think …it’s not what I want.”

“You don’t know what you want,” Rafe reached across the console, gently but firmly grabbing ahold of your hand. You stared back at him with wide eyes, your fear obvious especially when he took his eyes off the road, “You’re confused. You were willing to trust a man on the internet when the perfect person to take care of you is right here with you. No one else. Me.”

Feeling trapped, your next thought became calming him down. For fear of him crashing the car or never loosening his grip, you forced your expression to soften, “I know you can protect me,” You nodded your head, “And thank you for that …I shouldn’t have done what I did. It was stupid. I’m …I’m glad you care about me like that.”

Rafe squeezed your hand gently, “Yeah?”

“It’s just a lot to take in. I had no idea …I just thought you were usually annoyed with me,” You said and rafe seemed to exhale, his shoulders loosening, “I trust you, it’s just a lot to process right now.”

“I get it,” Rafe let go of your hand, but gave you no time to feel relieved, because next he placed his strong, large hand on your thigh, “I think we’re good for each other. I just have to show you, Y/N.”

Tannyhill was empty except the two of you. Your heart raced as Rafe led you upstairs to your room, hand firmly on the small of your back. When the door to the bedroom softly clicked behind you, closing the two of you in, you felt like throwing up. 

You started to imagine Rafe wandering around, looking through all your things, all without your permission. He felt out of place there in your sanctuary but it was clear he’d made himself comfortable a long time a go. He led you over to the edge of your bed, and shakily, you sat down. He kneeled down in front of you, a position quite to vulnerable and intimate for you. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, voice deep in concerning. Lifting one of your heels from the ground, he looked closely at your legs, as if checking for an injury. 

You shook your head, know the most your body had been through tonight had been at his hands, “I’m okay,” You spoke, your voice small. 

Rafe looked up at you, “It’s okay if you’re not, yeah?” Rafe said, voice softening as his hand slid further up your leg. When you pulled your leg back, his grip remained firm, possessive, “Everyone’s gone. I’m asking you to lean on me, princess.”

With no hint of asking for permission, you stared back at your stepbrother. You couldn’t help but feel as if the timing of tonight had worked out eerily in his favor. Everyone in your family was gone for the night and there was no Mr. Hayes to text about your feelings. 

“I’m going to run the bath for you,” Rafe decided, lips parted as if he was deep in thought, “Yeah, stay right here.”

“I’m fine, I can do it–” You began as Rafe made his way towards your bathroom.

He held out a finger and you stopped your movements quickly, frozen by the intensity in his gaze, “Stay.” 

He didn’t have to raise his voice for you to feel the threat in his tone. Somehow, this version of him was scarier than the one that relentlessly struck a man until he was unrecognizable. 

The sound of running water filled the room. Closing your eyes, controlling your breathing, the sound brought you to your routine. That sound of running water was always soothing to you. It was usually how your mind was able to slip into that comforting place on the other side of your mind. Things were lighter there, a place where you had no cares at all, and you enjoyed the things that you’d normally be embarrassed by. You pressed your feet into your fuzzy white carpet, your favorite place to listen to music and do one of your coloring books. You were almost there, the water having tricked you into falling deeper, until you caught a glimpse of Rafe standing behind the door, washing blood away in the sink. 

You tightened your eyes even more, shaking your head. This was certainly not the time to let down your guard. 

He appeared moments later, drying his hands with one of your pink washcloths, “Come on, let’s get you ready,” He said, his head tilted towards the bathroom, his voice deceptively warm. 

Your feet betrayed you and you hesitantly crossed the room. Another door between you and your life before you knew Rafe felt this way. When it closed shut, you realized you’d sealed your fate. How could it be a mistake when this was the place in life where you felt safest? To accept something was wrong meant accepting that you had nowhere left to feel warm, innocent, or child-like. 

Fingers caressed your skin, lifting the hem of your dress, gently raising your arms, until you were standing in your underwear. You hadn’t realized you’d started crying again and it didn’t register how badly your lips were trembling until Rafe’s thumb caressed your bottom lip, “You’re okay,” He assured you, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You’d wanted this desperately, for someone to see you and not want to run away. You wanted someone to take care of you, someone devoted to nurturing you. Your eyes locked on Rafe’s and you felt his palm against your bottom, fingers traveling beneath the fabric of your panties. You kept your head tilted up as he leaned down, pressing lips that were softer than could’ve ever imagined, against your neck. 

You melted against him. 

Vanilla and strawberry swirled in the air, strong but gentle hands caressed you, and your tears started to feel more like a release than a burden. He kissed the spot on your throat that had gone sore from all tears. 

“I’m gonna take care of you,” He whispered and you felt it everywhere. 

After removing your bra and panties, he helped you into the bath. Quickly, the blood and tears seemed to leave your skin, as if you’d imagined them. He touched you in a way that more natural, human, than expected. With deliberate care, he moved his hands over you, an act that felt practiced. 

Everything dissolved there in the warm bath, the heaviness of the entire night. Bubbles clung to your skin, and your fingers moved lazily over the surface of the water. Rafe washing you, moving a soapy washcloth over your skin, should’ve felt strange but were left in that hazy place where things were simple. 

“This is how things are going to be,” You heard him say, “We’ll make it work, okay? You get to be yourself and I’m the one who takes care of you now. I’m your Daddy.”

You’d never said that word out loud. Daddy. It was a faraway concept, a dream …just like the cloud you were floating in right now. You hugged yourself, mind wandering to that soft bed with all of your plushies. 

“Say it, princess,” you turned your head to him, mouth parted, eyes curious. 

“Say what?” You asked in a whisper, an innocent haze in your eyes. 

He smiled. You had done something right. You gave him a soft smile too. He leaned closer, “Say ‘Daddy’,” He commanded softly, “Please, princess.”

Part of you hesitated, knowing you were giving away something precious. The other part wanted to please him, after all, he’d brought you this sense of peace. And maybe the sooner you made him happy, the sooner he’d tuck you into your warm bed, and let this long day finally end. 

“Daddy,” You tested out the word on your tongue and though it sounded fragile, his eyes seemed to light up, “...since you said please.”

Nothing could smoulder that spark of satisfaction in his eyes. The look made your heart flutter, a sharp contrast from before when it felt like exploding. 

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Your cheeks warmed and you turned your face to hide from him. You couldn’t take it when he looked at you like that. That look made it feel like everything was okay.

“I made a mistake,” Your voice came out in a whine. Rafe ran the warm cloth across your back, a reminder of that peaceful bubble he’d created around you. 

He shushed you, “You didn’t,” He assured you, “You’re a good person, a good girl. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

His words made you sink deeper. The soft strokes of the warm washcloth, the vanilla-scent against your skin, and the pressure against your most sensitive areas. You felt the tension in your body melt away further. 

Slowly, gripping your knees to your chest, you turned your face back towards him, “You can’t tell anybody, Rafe,” You whispered. 

“Never,” He said, leaning closer, “Pinky swear?”

Rafe reached his other hand toward you, his pinky finger extended in front of you, moving like he was carefully dismantling some fragile, like a bomb. You stared for a brief movement, surprised and warmed by the gesture. You had no idea Rafe was capable of being so gentle. You unwrapped yourself a little bit, bring your closest pinky towards his hand. Your smaller finger wrapped around his and you were tethered together. 

“There, I promise I won’t tell anyone, princess,” He looked at you deeply, “Okay?”

Hesitantly, you nodded, your hand falling gently back into the water,  “Let’s get you out of here before you wrinkle up,” He decided and you watched him cross the room to grab your towel hanging from the back of the bathroom door. He walked back with a quiet confidence and his grip was completely sure, deliberate, as he helped you from the tub, “I’ve got ya’.”

He’d wrapped one arm underneath your shoulders and the other beneath your knees, lifting you gently. You imagined pressing yourself into him but a towel soon separated you. You shivered, and instinctually, you wanted to dry yourself but Rafe took responsibility of that as well. He was so close, so protective. It was awkward at first, being able to take care of that mundane task but not having to. You leaned into it, letting your body be soothed by the ritual. 

You kept sinking. 

“Arms up,” He’d said after bringing you back to your bedroom. He chose an oversized purple t-shirt, designed with small pictures of cartoon pandas. For your underwear, he chose a light blue pair decorated with rainbows. Your eyelids grew heavy and after your first yawn, Rafe lifted you onto the side of your bed, “There you go. All set.”

You crawled into your cocoon further, settling underneat your quilt. You watched Rafe as you settled there, as he moved across the room. Your sleepy eyes widened for a moment, realizing his shirt was gone and that he was fiddling with the zipper of his pants. 

It was a threshold you’d never expected to reach, with Rafe or anyone else. The lights flicked off and the bed dipped beside you, your nerves sparked. You grabbed ahold of your lamb stuffed animal, letting that bring you a familiar comfort. Rafe nestled closer to you, his body at ease, relaxed as he wrapped an arm around you. 

You did your best to do the same, trying to lean into that same vulnerability you felt when he was bathing you. Warm skin against yours, strong hands on your waist, warm breath against your ear, it was overwhelming, “I-Is this okay?” You asked, breaking the silence. 

Looking for reassurance, you turned your head until your noses were almost pressed together. 

“Yeah,” Rafe spoke low and smooth, “You okay?”

You nodded quickly, nervously, “I’m okay.”

Rafe pressed a kiss to your forehead and you took a deep breath, letting the feeling sooth your anxiety, “I’ve got you,”  Rafe’s fingers ran down your arm then to your waist. He held you there, feeling your flesh there, squeezing, “Daddy’s got you, baby.”

He touched you in new ways, gripped you hard in some places and softer in others. The kiss on your forehead turned into a kiss on your nose and then he placed soft lips against your cheek, “Relax,” He whispered in your ear, “I know you’re sleepy. I’ll do all the work.”

In your state of mind, his words felt like a riddle. What did he mean? You knew you liked his touch and that you wanted to sleep. Rafe knew more than you, clearly, maybe that’s what makes him a good Daddy. You should trust him. 

You closed your eyes as you let him press his face into your neck. He kissed you there, finding the most sensitive spot on your skin, and it made your lips part in a soft moan, “Call me Daddy,” He spoke against your skin, “Please, baby? Just say it and I’ll make you feel good.”

“Daddy,” You whispered back hesitantly and Rafe groaned, “D-Daddy.”

“Fuck,” Rafe cursed, grabbing a handful of your bottom, “That’s exactly what I want from you.”

You felt hardness pressing against your upper thigh and you gripped your lamb tighter. You leaned into sleep, letting Rafe move your body as he pleased, only moving your lips to whisper, “Daddy” in Rafe’s ear. He seemed please and you felt a warmness in your center that you wanted more of. 

Soon he was on top of you, your legs spread as he sat in between them. He rubbed you there. His rhythm was perfect, his accuracy impeccable, so much that you didn’t have to even move your hips to get the friction you needed. You panted and when you reached your peak, Rafe swallowed your moans, putting his mouth on your lips. 

It didn’t fully register to you when Rafe pushed your underwear aside and started to push inside of you. He was so gentle and you were so tired. He pulled your arms to the side, pressing his front against you, but you kept one hand wrapped around the arm of your stuffed animal, “Daddy,” You mumbled, “Daddy”

You winced when you felt all of him, and instinctively, you pushed at his heavy arms, “You’re okay,” He said, and his voice was louder to you than his heavy breathing or the sound of his skin hitting against yours, “You’re doing so good. Daddy’s almost done. You’re gonna make me cum so fast, Y/N. Shit.”

The satisfaction and pride in his words brought almost enough warmth to mask the pain of being stretched by him. You slowly grew used to the feeling but the feeling was so intense and you had so little energy to withstand it, to take all of him. 

“Daddy,” You mumbled, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…”

His thrust slowed but his weight kept you pinned there. He grabbed ahold of your chin and you blinked up at him with sleepy eyes. His mouth was parted, his eyes holding a darkness that you thought had gone away, “Jesus, baby.”

As he shifted to his side, all you could muster was to turn away, pulling your lamb close to your chest and allowing your eyes to flutter shut. Rafe nestled against you once more, his hands gripping your hips until your bottom was pressed firmly against him. You felt the warmth of his lips against your hair, and then his sleepy voice whispered, “Sweet dreams, princess.”

Reblog and comment if you enjoyed, would love to know your thoughts!!

— 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞;

☾ Pairing: Kaji Ren x f!reader

☾ Word Count: 1.1k

☾ A/N: inspired by satoru nii's note on kaji getting his headphones as a gift also i am simply down bad

“How come he never takes that shit off?” Sakura mutters, mostly to himself, pausing on the uneven sidewalk to adjust the weight on his back. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows over the bustling street, the chatter of vendors and the hum of passing bikes filling the air.

“Hmmm?” The granny—Chiyoko, as she’s always insisting he call her but he can never bring himself to—leans slightly to peer over his shoulder, her sharp eyes following his line of sight. Her gray hair flutters in the gentle breeze, tickling his cheek.

Across the narrow street, past the stalls piled high with fresh produce, ones Sakura knows Umemiya likes to frequent, Kaji and his vice-captains are strolling down the sidewalk in their direction. Kaji's got his hands buried deep in his pockets, mouth set in its usual stern expression, a lollipop dangling lazily from between his lips. His white headphones sit snugly over his ears, their metallic sheen catching the light. They're always spotless, Sakura notes, as if Kaji takes painstaking care of them.

“His headphones!" Sakura grumbles. "He’ll go deaf at this rate.”

“Ah," Chiyoko muses, her voice laced with amusement, "but wouldn’t you also treasure something so precious to you? Young love...so sweet."

Sakura’s brows knit together. “The hell you mean ‘young love’?”

The granny fully ignores him. "I remember back in my day-"

"Hold on, the fuck you mean- sorry, I mean-"

Before Sakura can keep gracing Chiyoko with his colorful vocabulary, something cuts him off.

“Rennn!”

The sound of hurried footsteps and the unmistakable brightness in the voice snaps Sakura’s attention to the source. His head whirls around, and he freezes.

A girl.

You.

You're a pretty thing, pleated uniform skirt hiked up just a tad bit too short for school regulations. It flutters around your thighs, exposing an expanse of skin that has Sakura blushing right down to his toes. He quickly tears his gaze away.

Instead, he watches, stunned, as Kaji slows his pace and reaches up, fingers curling to hook his headphones down to his neck. He stands there, hands dropping to his sides, palms open as if he's expecting something.

And then...the most inexplicable thing happens.

You launch yourself forward, into the notoriously bad-tempered second-year’s arms, your own arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

“Ren! Missed you so much!”

“Huh?” Sakura whips his head around to gawk at Chiyoko to make sure she’s seeing the same thing he is. “Huuuh?”

The granny on his back just beams, eyes crinkling, like this is something she's seen happen a thousand times.

Kaji barely reacts to the impact of you. He plants his feet, arms coming around your waist, steady and sure. If there's one thing Sakura has learned, it’s that the blonde is deceptively strong. From his angle, Sakura can see the faintest hint of color rise to Kaji's cheeks, a subtle shift masked by the tilt of his head.

A soft jangling sound captures Sakura’s attention and he zeros in on the charm dangling from your backpack. It looks vaguely familiar and he squints, trying to place it. Then it hits him- he’s seen it before, a matching charm clipped to Kaji’s rarely-used bag. The trinket is small and undeniably cutesy, in sharp contrast to Kaji's abrasive personality, which is what had drawn Sakura's attention to it in the first place.

“Oi,” Kaji snaps, tightening his hold around your waist, but his voice lacks the usual bite Sakura has come to associate the blonde with. “Be careful.”

You pout, playful and unabashed. “Aw, but I knew you’d catch me.”

“Still.” Kaji eyes you. His fingers brush against the hem of your skirt, tugging it down slightly. “And this—”

You cut him off with a practiced ease, plucking the lollipop from his mouth and popping it into yours.

"Oi!"

“Yeah, yeah,” you say breezily, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It’s too short, other guys will mess with me, blah blah blah. But I’m not worried, because my big bad boyfriend will take care of any problems, won’t he?”

Kaji's lips twitch as though he wants to argue, but nothing comes out. Instead, what looks like the faintest smile slips onto them, though it’s gone in the blink of an eye.

“Hi, Kusumi-chan, Enomoto-chan!” you lean back slightly in Kaji's arms, tilting your head so you can see the other boys who have been smirking at each other the entire time. Sensing their silent amusement, Kaji snaps his head around, fixing them with a pointed glare. Their expressions transform immediately into pictures of innocence and they greet you enthusiastically, clearly charmed by you.

“Good t’see ya as always,” Takeshi grins broadly. “Still keepin’ our captain on his toes?”

“Someone has to,” you quip, swirling the lollipop stick between your fingers before slipping it from your lips. Kaji’s gaze flickers downward, tracking the motion, lingering a beat too long on your lips.

You tug at the headphones around Kaji's neck. “Still taking good care of these, huh? Never takes them off, does he, Enomoto-chan?”

“Well,” Takeshi says with a teasing grin, “they’re special. Given by someone even more special.”

“Shut up,” Kaji mutters, ears faintly pink, though he doesn’t refute it. He's still staring down at your lips, though his gaze flickers back up to meet yours when you reach a hand up.

“Aw," you smile sweetly at him, brushing a finger through the bangs covering his forehead, "I'm glad you're still putting them to good use."

"Tch." Kaji's gaze darts away but returns to you almost just as quickly.

Sakura sputters, completely thrown off by the revelation that the reason behind the permanent fixture on Kaji Ren’s head...is you. Dumbfounded, he watches you continue to shower Kaji—the same boy he's seen coldly pummel opponents to a pulp with the harshest of scowls—with affection. But none of that brutality is visible now. Instead, Kaji holds you with an unexpected tenderness, as if you’re something delicate, something precious to him.

You let out a long, almost aggrieved sigh, and Sakura can’t help but wonder if you’re starting to tire of giving without getting anything in return from the blonde.

“Why're you so handsome?” you pout, sliding a finger down the bridge of Kaji's nose until it rests gently over his lips. “It’s just so unfair.”

Sakura chokes on his own spit.

Kaji doesn’t reply to that at all. Perhaps he doesn’t know how to. The tips of his ears are an unmistakeable flaming red now.

And then, as if on instinct, he leans down. The movement is quick, almost imperceptible. But it's enough signal for you apparently, because you close the gap by pressing your lips to his, winding your arms around his neck tighter and relaxing into his hold.

Sakura feels his brain grind to a complete halt.

“As I said,” Chiyoko hums behind him with a knowing smile. Her short legs swing happily against Sakura's sides. “Young love.”

a few pushes

paring: sakusa kiyoomi x fem reader

warnings: baby trapping, breeding kink, unprotected sex, manipulative sakusa, car sex, semi public sex, controlling behavior, possessiveness, jealousy, sakusa wants more, sexting, shower sex, abandonment issues, lack of communication, starstruck reader, nice reader meets evil & toxic sakusa

word count: 3.3k

english is not my first language. please excuse any mistakes

Because Sakusa was a clean person, when he decided to have a fuck buddy, he carefully handpicked one and stuck with one only. 

Locker room talk was always loud, but much louder these days with Hinata joining the team. Miya loved attentive listeners, Bokuto obviously wasn’t one. Sakusa couldn’t help but hear it one day when the blond setter was giving out tips on how to relieve stress after a long day and said sex was the best way. 

“Muscles? Relaxed,” Atsumu said, directly to Hinata, but all eyes were on him anyway considering how loud he was. “And imagine you lost a match.” The blond man hurriedly put one finger up before continuing, “I’m not jinxing anything. What I’m saying is–it’s just a way to–let the frustration out, you know? It works.”

Did it really? Sakusa doubted, recalling his first time with a childhood friend whom he soon fell out of touch with after and didn’t remember being relaxed nor fulfilled, only rushed and clumsy. Yet, that was years ago. What was life if not trying again and again to one’s utmost?

He thought of Atsumu's words, then he thought of you. 

You were this one girl from Itachiyama Institute who wasn't in the same class as him but went to every game Sakusa played. It was safe to say you were his fan after overhearing you talking to someone in the library when he was trying to find the right material for his homework. 

“Who’s your favorite player?” a voice asked. “Mine is the captain.” 

“Iizuna?” you countered. 

“That’s his name? I don’t know, I only watched one game.” The voice giggled.

“Mine’s the ace. Sakusa Kiyoomi” 

Your answer made his wandering eyes halt before moving with their own volition from the spines of the books to the source of that response. He saw you for the first time that day. And every time after that. 

—

A normal occurrence was what you were. You were just there, respectful enough to never get close, never even tried. Sakusa’s brain registered your existence as a diluted consistency, not on the forefront of his mind but vivid enough to make him miss several receives in an important match when you didn’t show up. 

Sakusa scowled when he saw you at the next day’s match, having a mask on and trying your best to hold the coughs in. Half of his heart labeled you as a danger to society but the impulse to grab your shoulders and shake you was stronger, driving him to approach you for the first time after seeing you that day in the library two years ago. 

He had a mask on, hands in his jacket’s pockets. “God forbid people get their annual flu shot.”

You quickly retreated when he kept advancing, confusion shown clear as day on your face. “What?” 

What, indeed. Despite being in the same year, your paths rarely crossed. You never dreamed that one day you would get to talk to the curly-haired ace in person, let alone about a flu vaccine. And if someone had told you Sakusa would ask you to be his exclusively fuck buddy sometime in the near future, your brows would have furrowed for the rest of the day.  

College separated you both, connected again when you met his cousin, Komori, by chance and he told you Sakusa just joined MSBY Black Jackal and became a professional player. You wouldn’t miss seeing him on the court again for the world, so you went to the next game instead of working on your dissertation.  

The black, abyss-like eyes found yours not even fifteen minutes into the first set. They, however, never returned again throughout the game. For a second you thought he did not remember you, but when you lined up with other people for his signature and he got hold of the MSBY mascot plush merch you bought, he signed his name down and said, “Give me your phone.”

Like sorcery, you handed him what he asked. 

“Password,” he demanded curtly, and you gave him everything. The kid queuing after you sneaked his glance not so subtly, must have wondered why it took so long. 

He returned your phone after putting his number in and called out to get yours then moved on to the kid behind you without a word. 

It was like that with Sakusa, either it was the highschool him telling you to put your hands out so he could spray the hand sanitizer on or the current him texting you his game schedules and telling you to come, it was all the same—he never had to give reasons and you never needed them. 

You liked him, sure. Respected him, absolutely. More than that, you hoped he got everything he wanted, wished him nothing but the best. But the thing was you never really knew what he desired, had no clue how deep those pools of blackness that were his eyes ran and what lay beneath. You just said yes when he asked if he could pick you up because he wanted to talk to you about something, yes again when he asked you to kiss him, to be the one who crossed the boundary and made the first move. 

Surrounded by the quiet of his apartment’s parking lot late at night, Sakusa sat behind the wheel and waited for you to lean over the center console, eyes tracking every movement. When he felt the gentle brush of your lips on his, he went still and kept his lips closed, extra secured.

“Use your tongue.”

“But you—”

“Try harder then,” he said, almost taunting. “Coax me open.” 

And you tried, you swore you tried, to learn that all it took was you giving up and drawing back to finally make him open his mouth and snatch you by the nape of your neck to receive his kiss. All tongue and teeth… with a soft chuckle. 

At one point, you heard a faint honk and realized it was your back that touched the car horn. Sitting in Sakusa’s lap in the driver’s seat, your panties were long gone and half of his wrapped hard length was already in, he pushed you down fully just when you saw someone walk by from the corner of your eye. 

“They’ll see.” Your voice shook pathetically, your face buried in his heaving chest. “They will know.” 

“They are gone,” Sakusa whispered next to your ear. “Look. No one’s here.” 

But you wouldn’t dare. Calling his chest your new home, you hid.

“I said look.” 

He then gripped your chin and turned your face out towards the side window, and you wished the ground would open up and swallow you at that moment. The passersby were two people, they still hadn’t done unloading shopping bags from their car. You tried to be as still as the dead, but Sasuka’s cock ramming up in and out didn’t really vouch for that. He looked at them with you but much calmer. 

Your back hit the horn again and you knew it blared at full volume because the two passersby abruptly turned your way. 

“Darling,” he tutted. “You want them to see.” 

“No!” you cried.

Why didn’t he stop? Why did he only plunge deeper, hitting your sensitive spot just right in the most inappropriate moment? And why did the couple not stop staring this way?

Why did you come so hard your ears rang, only conscious enough to feel the pulse inside your pussy a moment later and nothing else?

“Miya was fucking right,” he mumbled, probably to himself cause you had no idea what he was talking about. To you, he said, “Can I have you?”

“What?” 

What, indeed. 

—

After getting the test results back from the health center and knowing for certain that you both were clean, Sakusa threw the rest of the condoms in the trash. Seeing that and getting railed till your eyes rolled and your pussy filled with his cum all in one night that you had to get a plan b the next morning, you knew you had to get on the pill.  

Sakusa knew, he asked when a reminder alarm went off one night, and you answered honestly that you had to take the birth control pill.

“Just—don’t want to forget,” you said. 

He didn’t comment but looked closely, at the pill, at you. 

The pro-athlete knew that this was a good call. You were in your last year of college about to graduate and he just started a career. But for some corrupted, selfish reason when he looked at the white pill you took, he hated it with passion. 

It was like being kept at arm’s length, not trusted enough, not wanted enough. It was petty, but Sakusa had always been greedy and you just never wanted a damn thing from him, always so polite and respectful—knowing your place. 

And as days went on, it drove him mad more often than he would like to admit, on the verge of screaming at you to stop taking only what he gave, to stop understanding boundaries and demand more of him. 

Never a call if not necessary, no texts if it was not answering some shit he sent before, not a hint of jealousy when some fans blatantly flirted with him, only the look of genuine delight that a lot of people seemed to admire him. Turned out it was him who enjoyed having you to himself a little too much, his embrace stayed locked all night from fear of you leaving before he woke.

Sakusa was not a lunatic, but he knew he was just a few pushes away from going deranged. Just a bit more. 

—

“I need to know what you’re up to, where you are. You gotta text me more,” said Sakusa casually while getting dressed one cold autumn morning, seven months into the agreement, “so I know you’re not out there fucking someone else behind my back.”

Your jaw dropped. “I would never.”

“Just a precaution. You barely talk to me.” 

“Oh.” 

“Text me.” 

And you did it without fail, sending him pictures, telling him where you were, what you did. Later on when you learned that he also liked to know who you were with, you told him that too. But lately the correspondence deviated slightly, going out of its day-update course to something—lewder. 

‘Outfit?’ 

He definitely knew what you wore since you never not stayed the night, and getting ready together in the morning had become a routine. Was it weird? Maybe. But if being a fuck buddy helped him with the stress and this was what it entailed, then you counted this as part of the agreement. You were fine with how everything turned out, really. Were you supposed to be fine? That was a question for another day. 

You texted back, ‘I’m in class. Can’t take a pic.’

He, on the other hand, could. The shirtless picture showed up in the chat, you had to lock the screen and put the phone face down as fast but also discreetly as you could. Any straying eye could have seen that, you thought, cursing Sakusa for his audacity.

Finding yourself in the nearest restroom a few minutes later, you got another message just when you were about to answer the previous one. 

‘Show me what you’re wearing down there.’

You did. 

‘Move the panties aside, let me see my pussy.’ 

He got a dirty mouth for someone who prided himself so much on cleanliness. 

‘You shouldn’t be wet. Weren't you in a lecture?’

You could hear him chuckle from here. He loved to do that, the mocking, the shaming before bestowing a soft pat on the head to soothe them all. 

‘Can’t wait to go home and lick it myself.’ 

Oh. 

‘Wish me luck on the game.’ 

“Go get them, tiger,” you whispered, but simply typed, ‘Good luck.’ 

There were so many things you didn’t say and didn’t know if you could. Like for you, he was one of the best players any team could ever ask for, had believed that since you first heard the ball made contact with Itachiyama’s gym floor and the thundering roar of the impact made you stop walking and look. You stood there, in front of the gym, eyes focused on the curly haired player, watching the practice till someone needed to get inside and asked you to move. 

He didn’t need luck.

That was before he came home and carried you to the bathroom straight away, the paper you were working on marked abandoned for the rest of the night. What you gathered while being pressed to the glass shower screen, breasts and cheek pushed harshly against the cold material was that Sakusa thought he needed luck.

MBSY lost the match. 

“Well, my good luck charm wasn’t with me,” he hissed. 

“You know that’s not—” An embarrassing whimper caused by a hard snap of Sakusa’s hips cut the sentence short. 

“You should always be with me. You have to. Promise me you will,” Sakusa ordered, one hand pulling on your hair till your head tilted from the force, the other still on your waist, squeezing hard like he wanted it to bruise. “Hurry. Say it.”

“I promise.” 

Promises made during sex weren’t meant to be kept, you thought. You just wanted to make him feel better, give him what he wanted. When he tugged you from the shower screen and turned you to face him, Sakusa’s mouth curved up into a thin smile, his raven curls all damp but framing his face just right. Dazzling as always.

A temporary beauty that could slip out of your hand at any given time. 

—

It didn’t take much to annoy Sakusa, he still glared at the little pill you took every day like it was his worst enemy; but tonight, Atsumu took the cake. 

“You look—strangely familiar.” Atsumu squinted his eyes at you. “Have I seen you before?”

As a matter of fact, he had. The agreement just hit a one-year mark, and you had been at numerous games before leaving with him every time in his car, of course Atsumu had seen you. The blond shithead just wanted to get the rise out of him.

“You have, Miya-san,” you answered politely. 

It was the first time he took you to a team dinner, first fucking time and this happened. 

“You and Omi-kun.” The speaker made a gesture with his hands, insinuating his curiosity in the relationship between you and his teammate. 

“I’m a friend from school.” 

The answer was too spontaneous, like it was on the tip of your tongue ready to be let out. And if that wasn’t the last push, Atsumu moving to sit in an empty seat next to you was the final nail in the coffin. 

—

“What are you looking for?” Sakusa asked, knowing damn well what you were trying to find. 

The weather outside the hotel room was pure heat and no wind, living up to its reputation Sakusa was aware of when he did the research to plan this one-week trip. It was somewhere far from Japan, people didn’t speak your language, and you didn’t have the pill with you. 

“I swear I put it right here.” You sounded so confused he almost pitied you. “Shit, how am I going to—urghhhh. Why am I like this? I forgot? Did I really?”

“If you don’t tell me, I don’t know how to help.” His voice came out sterner than he intended to. “What are you looking for?” 

“My pills—the birth control pill” You looked like you were going to cry. 

Then cry, he thought, thinking back to when he took the damn pills out of your bag and regretted nothing. Your lamenting, though, was getting on his nerves. 

“Are you trying to baby trap me?” Sakusa snarled.

Just like that, you looked at him like he had two heads. Sakusa could see your whole body tremble, voice quivering so bad when you tried to speak. 

“No.” You shook your head. “No, I’m—I’m going to search how to buy them here. Where’s my phone.” 

You looked for the device, found it, but Sakusa was fast in pulling it out of your hand again. 

“Liar,” he accused. 

“What?” Disbelief was written all over your face, voice went high-pitched. “What do you mean? I’ve been taking them for a year, never missed a day, I wouldn’t start now.”

“The missing pills say otherwise.” 

“I’m gonna buy—”

“Isn’t it too convenient, disappearing into thin air when traveling abroad to a country where you have no idea if birth control pills can be bought over the counter or prescribed easily.”

“We can buy condoms.”

“No,” said Sakusa, looking down at you who stood with tears brimming in both eyes. “We’ll do it raw, since that’s what you want.”

—

“Is this what you want?” he asked again when you slid down on his cock, pussy as soaked as your tear-stained face. “You want to use me.” 

Still trying to defend yourself, you muttered little nos. Because they were there, the pills, you remember exactly where you put them, checked it twice even. 

“Use me then.” Sakusa refused to touch you, to help. Rested against the headboard in all his naked glory, his cock fit perfectly inside you like it belonged there.

How did it come to this? From a spectator who admired him from afar to being this close, lifting yourself up and dropping down on his cock, not a part of your body he hadn’t cummed in or on, being called a baby trapper when you had no such plan. 

You could never do that to him, but it was also difficult to get out of his strong hold when you knew he was about to cum, tried and failed to pull yourself up so he could climax outside. 

Sakusa hugged your whole body to him, shooting ropes of white fluid deeper than you ever felt. He must have been real angry with you to be able to pull this off out of spite and kissed you later as if everything was fine. Tongue tasting salt from the tears, you heard Sakusa’s low moan and a string of words.

“Let’s make sure it takes.” 

—

The first four days were like that, staying in the hotel room and surviving on room service. The state of the room the maid had to see when they came in for a daily cleaning embarrassed you every time, but all you could do was smile bashfully and go sit with Sakusa on the balcony, waiting for them to be done. 

He always had sunglasses on when sitting outside on a rattan chair big enough to accommodate two people, and you would always be there with him, sometimes reading from the same book, laughing at the same time. It wasn’t all bad. 

Something in the way he looked at you changed after you cried your heart out and spilled your guts on the second night. You couldn’t quite grasp what it was, but his looks felt more intense and somewhat… determined. 

“Kiyoomi,” you called, head resting on his chest, hearing his heart skip a beat but it was probably all in your head, thoughts muddled after taking his cum for two days straight. “I was at the gym every day after school instead of going home to watch you move around the court,” you said, “passing the ball, receiving it, spiking it. You looked majestic doing that, you know?” 

“I never wish you harm.” It was a mystery how tears were infinite, fresh ones running down past the bridge of your nose and onto his chest. “I could never ruin your life.” 

His tone had never been more gentle when he muttered, “I know.” 

Never sounded so needy when he demanded, “Call me Kiyoomi again.” 

“Kiyoomi,” you whined. 

“Give me more.” He kissed you on the top of your head, nose buried in your hair. “Give me everything.”

Imagine getting split up in a haunted house with your friends. It starts off with the typical jumpscares as the actors do their job well.

You're wondering down a smoke filled hall full of flashing led lights. Fake blood is smeared on the walls and cobwebs are on the ceiling. You're still giggling from the way your friend shrieked the moment you all stepped in.

Looking around, you shuddered a little bit as you walked past a guy in clown makeup lying on the floor with a slash across his chest, blood pouring around him. Practical effects are getting so realistic these days, you thought to yourself.

You're so distracted as cheesy horror music still plays in the background that you don't notice a tall figure standing there until you run into them.

Tilting your head back, your eyes go wide as you see a man in a mask towering over you.

"Sorry." You smiled awkwardly as you took a step back to get away, and you see he's wearing black jeans, a white wife beater splattered in red, and holding on to what (you hope) is a fake axe. He easily towers over you.

The man stays silent, making the atmosphere feel more tense. He's tall and muscular, and you can only see his eyes peaking down at you from underneath the mask. He definitely fit the role of a haunt actor.

"Wow." You laughed nervously as you stepped to the side. "You're like, really in character, huh?"

The man stays silent as he turns and watches you rush past him, and you swear you can hear him chuckle as you turn the corner.

Chills ran down your spine as you started to wander around, feeling like someone was watching you, but every time you turned around to check, nobody was there. Frustration started to build up as you hut nothing but dead ends.

Sure, it was fun at first, with the occasional jumpscare popping out at you that would make flinch, then laugh at yourself for letting it get to you. But your phone had no reception and you were losing track of time.

This was getting ridiculous, you thought to yourself as you looked around for someone to ask for help to get out of there. You hoped your friends were having a better time than you were.

Once you reached the next dead end, you nearly screamed in frustration, ready to yank your hair out until you saw the same masked man from the corner of your eye.

"Okay." You sighed as you walked over to him. "Haha, you got me. Can you please help me get out of here now?"

The man stays silent, but his eyes are trained on you as he lowers his head to look down at you.

You rolled your eyes as he stayed in character, watching the blood drip off of the axe he was casually holding onto.

It wasn't until you got closer to him that the heavy metallic scent hit you. A chill ran down your spine, true terror running through your veins as you looked down at his weapon, noticing how sharp it really was. A real weapon, not allowed in haunts like this one.

Suddenly, the fun little jumpscares weren't so fun anymore. This man wasn't a haunt actor at all.

Your face paled as you remembered the dead clown that you'd passed by earlier. The actor that would've been the one to scare you a few times before helping you reunite with your friends at the exit. But he was really dead.

And now you were stuck here with him. An actual killer.

As if reading your thoughts, he grabbed your chin and pulled you against him. You were shaking as he leaned down, lowering his head to whisper in your ear.

"Run." He growled lowly before letting go of your chin and stepping back.

You didn't have to be told twice, immediately running away from him.

Suddenly, the smoke felt too heavy, the music was too loud, the deep red led lights that filled the rooms only added to your terror, and the animatronics they had to jump out at you only made you more overwhelmed.

You were nearly ready to cry as you turned around and saw the masked man casually walking towards you in typical horror movie slasher style.

Then you heard the sound of distant laughter. It sounded like your friends chatting with each other.

A wave of hope went through you as you ran over to the wall and started banging against it, screaming at the top of your lungs.

"Help!" You yelled out as loud as you could as you slapped your hands against the walls. "Please, help! He-"

You shrieked as a hand suddenly grabbed ahold of your hair and pushed you onto the cold ground.

The masked man throws his axe to the side as he climbs on top of you, making you look into his eyes.

He laughs wickedly, pressing himself against you as he tightens his grip on your hair. You screamed and cried, trying to push him off you as you feel his hard on rub against your thigh, cock straining against his jeans.

"Scream all you want." He grinned as he pulled his mask up, feeling his breath fanning against your lips. "Everyone will think it's all part of the show."

　 ྀི︶˚̣̣̣ ⠀manipulative!caleb headcanons ⠀˚̣̣̣︶ ྀི

synopsis: where your big brother shapes your brain as he pleases, because he knows what’s best for you and you always listen like good girls do ( > 〰 < )

tw: stepcest, manipulation, possessive, caleb is aggressive not towards reader, spit kink, mentions of smut, size kink, reader is stupid really, mentions of killing, usage of gege, kidnapping mentions, etc.

manipulative!caleb who made sure to take you to class and pick you up. every. single. day.

manipulative!caleb who woke up an hour before you had to, cooking you breakfast and putting together the outfit he wanted you to wear that day.

manipulative!caleb who kneels next to your bed, caressing your sleeping face so delicately as if you’d brake, staring at you for way too long.

manipulative!caleb who woke you up with wet kisses pressing against the soft of your skin, moving them to your lips when you started to stir awake ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ

manipulative!caleb who has one of his big palms pressed against your belly (the same way he did when he slowly thrusted into you to feel the bulge in your stomach) and the other one caressing your messy hair, whispering a ‘good morning, doll’.

manipulative!caleb who helps you dress up, taking off your comfy pj’s so he could change your underwear into a fresh pair, keeping the old ones in his pocket.

“stand up for me, doll.” he said in a low tone, watching you from above as you did, noticing how you yawned and rubbed your eyes while being almost completely naked in front of him; nothing new to you two anyway.

“very good girl, now lift your legs.” he commanded again, kneeling so his eyes were directly leveled to your hips, kissing your belly and gaining a happy laugh from you, smiling at the sound.

his long fingers pulled your panties down, rubbing the soft plush of your thighs along the way before dressing you with a new pair, keeping the slightly wet ones inside his pocket, you’ve never really questioned that. he has to have his reasons, right? you know everything he does is for your own good (˶ •́◡•̀ ˶)

manipulative!caleb who’s completely devoted to you, worships you as if you were a mere goddess.

manipulative!caleb who sits you up on the kitchen counter and feeds you himself after brushing your hair and helping you do your make up, stealing kisses from you when your parents weren’t looking.

manipulative!caleb who gets on his knees once again to shoe your feet, kissing them too before doing so.

manipulative!caleb who drops you in front of your uni’s entrance, a wide smile plastered on his lips when he sees you waving at him effusively.

manipulative!caleb who doesn’t move the car an inch before seeing you disappear through the tall doors.

manipulative!caleb who enjoys scaring your friends away, mostly males. but females too. it’s a way to steam off the stress.

“you’re very quiet now, hmm? aren’t you going to whisper in my ear like you did with my sister?” he mocked, watching the man curl in pain against the alleyway dirty floor.

“what? can’t take a little punching?” caleb questioned, squatting next to him now, laughing genuinely when the young man spat blood out of his mouth.

“well, alright, let’s leave this here for now. it’s the second time i have to warn you.” he stood up, cracking his broken knuckles. “i’ll kill you if there’s a third.” he simply said, as if the words he mouthed weren’t serious.

“you wouldn’t be the first one anyway!” he spoke loudly as he walked with calm steps outside the alleyway.

manipulative!caleb who kinda manipulates your parents, too. he doesn’t want anyone suspecting anything.

manipulative!caleb who, to your parents eyes, is a very protective big brother who takes care of you since you were kids, nothing more than that.

manipulative!caleb who’s favorite time of the day is when he has to put you to sleep.

manipulative!caleb who, after showering you, feeding you dinner and tucking with you in bed, gets a little horny.

manipulative!caleb who likes to sit you on his lap in the darkness of your room, loudly kissing your lips and toying with the fat of your ass.

“hmmph, gege!” you yelped when you felt his big hands coming down you butt, holding onto his naked chest as you pouted.

“sorry, pips, I can’t help it.” he lied, he wasn’t sorry at all. “you know i get excited when we play like this, hmm?” caleb whispered against your lips, going for another kiss.

manipulative!caleb who likes to spit in your mouth when he makes you ride him, coaxing you to spit in his by telling you he feels thirsty and that’s the only way you could help him ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა

manipulative!caleb who likes it nasty, wet and messy, and gets his way by begging you over and over.

manipulative!caleb who whispers weak ‘i love you’s when he cums inside your creamy pussy; always.

manipulative!caleb who has to sleep in his room so your parents don’t question him, jerking off with your panties wrapped around his cock again and again because you’re the only thing he can think about.

manipulative!caleb who’s life orbits around you, everything is about you, you, you.

manipulative!caleb who made up his mind and convinced himself that, when you two move out, will lock you in a room and never let you go.

you don’t need anyone but your gege ໒꒰ྀི ܸ. .ܸ ꒱ྀི১

a/n: in my mind this and the other two caleb writings i have happen in the same universe, so we’ve got possessive and manipulative big brother caleb ૮꒰⸝⸝> <⸝⸝꒱ა

— masterlist.

purge me, purgatory

character: caleb warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudo-cest, noncon that turns into dubcon, a hint of dacryphilia, toxic masculinity, reader is a bit of a brat, size difference, manipulation, praise, caleb can get a little mean, nightmares, toxic relationship, power dynamics, pet names words: 5.3k

notes: i started working on this piece before caleb had even been released and i am SO glad i finally finished editing it. this also wasn’t supposed to be nearly as long as it became but alas, such is my curse (◞‸◟；) please heed the warnings above and stay safe!

You know Caleb has nightmares. You’ve seen the toll they take on him: exhaustion hanging heavy over hunched shoulders, staining sunken eyes with rings of purple, face twisted into a grimace as he collapses in the chair across the table from you, an untouched bowl of apple oatmeal steaming in front of him.

“Another one?” you’d always say, voice so kind and cautious, so wan and worried, bottom lip caught between your teeth muddling the question. 

“Yeah,” he’d always respond, dragging a hand down his face as if he’s trying to scrub the fatigue from his features. “But don’t worry about me, pipsqueak. I’m okay.” 

You know Caleb has nightmares—but they’ve never been as bad as this one. 

Because tonight, it wakes you from your slumber, roused gently from sleep’s embrace by the rough whimpers seeping through the thin drywall separating your bedroom from his. 

They sound painful, terrified little noises that keep catching on the uneven hitches of his breath or splintering sharply in his throat, unintelligible pleads sprinkled throughout, too muffled for you to make out the content and chopped up by hiccups.

A dull, dense pang sears through your heart at his yelped out No!, emotion growing thick in your throat and stinging your eyes. Fingers curling in linen, you hug your blanket to your chest, a feeble attempt to quell the ache.

There’s nothing worse than hearing your big brother—your one and only protector, always—in such intense agony. 

And it isn’t stopping. 

It’s too much to bear, your nose beginning to twitch with the threat of tears, and you kick your legs free from your duvet, bare feet hitting cold hardwood a moment later. 

“C-Caleb?” your timid voice soaks into the wood of his bedroom door, followed by a soft rap of knuckles. “Caleb, are you alright?” 

You’re met with a deafening silence, so thick you swear you can feel it weighing down on your chest, lungs crushed beneath the force, ears ringing with it.

“Caleb?” you press your ear flush to the door, eyes squeezed shut in concentration—the ruffling of sheets, the quiet groan of a bedspring, and then, a sniffle. 

Something cracks in your chest, splits itself open so big and so wide it has you hunching over in pain, shoulders curling inward as if your body is trying to keep from tearing apart, one hand flattened over your sternum, the other gripping the brass doorknob.

Another sniffle and the knob is turning, the door falling open, your body stumbling through the threshold. 

Your breathing is laboured, ragged and unevenly shoved from your lungs by a rapidly palpitating heart, a choked version of his name mangling itself in your throat.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, but his voice is thin, weak, fragile, fingertips thumbing aggressively at his eyes, flesh mopping up remnants of teardrops.

It’s a tone of voice that you’ve never heard before, a tone that turns your blood to shards of ice in your veins, a tone that has unease blooming at the base of your spine, crawling up the notches one by one. 

Because Caleb has never been afraid before; you’ve never seen Caleb afraid before. Out of the two of you, he’s always been the strong one, the brave one, the ‘I-can-and-I-will-take-on-anything’ one. He’s always been your guardian angel, your watchdog, your shield from all the bad and scary things in the world. 

You thought he always would be—it is what he promised, after all. 

But right now he looks so small surrounded by a crumpled sea of cotton, tufts of hair clinging to his sweat-drenched temples, muscles tense and rigid, like a predator ready to pounce at the slightest hint of danger.

It has you rushing towards him, falling into his waiting arms—trembling, but safe—and clutching at the collar of his worn t-shirt. Instinctively, your face nuzzles into the crook of his neck, cedar and peppermint streaming down your throat to fill your lungs with him. Your chest swells with his essence, held deep within your core, a natural sedative, your heart beginning to slow.

Home; your big brother will always smell like home. 

You allow yourself another moment to steep in his scent before you finally pull back to look at him, hands clasped tightly around his neck, fingers toying with the strands of hair at the nape of his neck—a nervous habit for you, a calming sensation for him.

“What happened?” 

“Nightmare,” he chuckles, but the word is shaky. “Pretty standard stuff. Nothin’ to be concerned about, pipsqueak.” 

And his facade of nonchalant is good, but it isn’t good enough to fool you.

Frenetic eyes search his face, noting the sheen of cold sweat glazing his skin, the salt that has dried his lashes in thick spikes, the panic swimming in violet irises, concern weighting the corners of your lips. 

“Caleb,” you begin slowly, “you woke me up.” 

His brow furrows, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I…Did? Has that ever happened before?” 

And that’s all it takes, really, to have Caleb switching into his Big Brother Mode, stern and straight to business, the need to know if he’s disrupted your precious sleep before much more important than the terror he was experiencing mere moments ago, as if your comfort matters more than his own. 

“No,” your fingers push into his hair and his head dips, a hum vibrating in his chest. “This one was bad. I can tell.” 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, his neck curving more, his forehead nearly bumping against your collarbone.

“I’m worried it’ll come back the moment you close your eyes,” you admit, nails raking along his scalp, a shiver coursing through his body, following your ministrations. 

“How many times do I gotta tell you? You don’t need to worry about me.” 

And although it’s supposed to be a reprimand, it comes out soft, no heat to his voice as his head follows your touch, tilting to the side and allowing your fingers more room to move.

He has told you, many times before in many different tones, but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever actually listen. 

It isn’t your fault; you can’t help how much you care for him.

“Just because I don’t have to, doesn’t mean I won’t,” you huff out, a bite to your voice. “It doesn’t matter how many times you say it; it isn’t going to stop me from caring about you, so you might as well—”

He looks up suddenly, brows knitted and eyes hard. 

“Who’s the big brother here, huh?” violet scours your face, his gaze bright and sharp, searching for an answer. “Who’s job is it to take care of who?”

“It is our job to take care of each other,” you say, palms flattening to the sides of his head and inhibiting him from looking away. “It’s a joint effort, Caleb.” 

The hinges of his jaw flex beneath your touch, a forceful sigh flaring his nostrils, his shoulders deflating a little in your stark stubbornness. An argument is nipping at the tip of his tongue, desperate to pry past his lips and reassert authority, but his teeth clench, molars grinding together. 

“Why don’t I stay with you tonight?” you continue, thumb smoothing out that thick vein in his forehead. “Might make you feel better if you’re not alone—kind of like the way we used to make blanket forts in the living room during really bad thunderstorms.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that—” 

“Come on,” you whisper, brushing a strand of damp hair back from his temple. “Let your little sister take care of you for once, yeah?” 

“I’m fine—I’ll be fine—”

“You always say I make everything better, so…” you shrug, eyes searching his. “Let me make this better. Please.” 

The sincerity straining your voice is potent, so much so that he swears he can feel it surrounding him in a suffocating embrace, soaking into his skin and permeating his muscles with something dense and heavy. It weighs him down, roots him to your aura, immobilizing him physically and mentally, the sweetest poison.

Swallowing, he looks away from your piercing eyes.

“It’s not—”

“Caleb,” you whine out, petulant, his name dripping out stringy and thick through a pout. “What is with this reluctance to allow me to take care of you every once in a while? It’s not fair.” 

You sound like a fucking child, and for a moment Caleb is transported back to your shared youth, that telltale pout a lethal weapon he has encountered many times before, that telltale pout a lethal weapon he has yet to find a defence from, an antidote for.

And you, well, you know this—he knows you know this, your infamous brattiness finally making an appearance, usually a foolproof way to get what you want from him, even it if comes with a hefty dose of reprimand. 

Your gaze, glassy and hard, is framed by furrowed brows, nose scrunched up in typical distaste.

His stare searches your own, and you hold your expression open for him—so willing, so wanting—his own eyes darkening with something you can’t quite place. A shiver skitters up your spine, but you swallow against the unease, continuing. 

“I want to help,” you say. “Please.” 

It isn’t right—he doesn’t need your help, shouldn’t need your help, fated to the role of big brother and, by extension, Man of the House; if anything, it should always be him comforting you. 

Well, that, and the undeniable fact that having you in such close proximity—so intimate, sharing a bed after a nightmare—is tantalizing, and that makes it dangerous. 

But he doesn’t know how to say any of that, how to thread those thoughts into sentences and push them from his disinclined tongue.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. 

Either way, it doesn’t matter, because in the end you get your way, just like you always do—just like he always lets you. 

“Alright,” he finally says, the word nothing more than a defeated huff of breath. “Alright.”

Disappointment sinks hard and heavy in his chest, and Caleb bites his cheek, disgusted with himself. It’s stupid to feel such dismay; he should be used to this by now. Maybe he had hoped that this time, he would be strong enough to deny you. How utterly silly of him to believe he was capable of such a feat.

“Gosh,” you roll your eyes, playfully nudging his nose with your own. “Don’t sound so excited.”

But your amusement is not contagious, Caleb’s expression steadfastly dismal, your smile fading as your brow crinkles in confusion.

“Hush, now,” he says, but his voice is gentle, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “You need rest.” 

The numbers glowing on his nightstand indicate that yes, you do need rest, you both need rest, and you nod, allowing Caleb to manhandle the two of you beneath his blankets.

The delicate scent of warm toffee and fresh orchid engulf him, one of Caleb’s strong arms curled around your waist, slotting your back up against his chest.

“Sleep,” he instructs, the order rumbling his ribs, his voice low and gruff. “My little protector.” 

“Shut up,” you mumble, but your eyes slip shut. “You’ll be thanking me in the morning.”

But Caleb’s not so sure. 

Because despite your presence being warm and comforting and full of home, Caleb can’t fucking sleep. 

Because you are too fucking close. Abnormally close; inappropriately close, and it’s driving him up the Goddamn wall. 

He’s tried everything—first shuffling away a little, just to put a couple inches of space between your bodies; close enough for you to still feel his presence, and for him to still feel yours, but not too close to be considered indecorous. 

When that didn’t work, when your body sensed the loss and instinctually sought out his own, Caleb shoved himself so his back was pressed flush to the drywall—as far as he could possibly get without physically removing himself from the bed entirely—but that didn’t help, either. 

Because you’re like a little magnet, attracted to his body heat, burrowing through wrinkled sheets to glue yourself to his form as if it is natural, normal, entirely intuitive. 

Even in sleep, you’re greedy. 

Caleb supposes he’s even worse. 

Caleb could, realistically, turn away from you—present you with his sculpted back and protect his front from your unconscious attacks; or leave the bed entirely, opting to sleep on the too-small, too-scratchy sofa in the living room downstairs so he doesn’t have to worry about hands with minds of their owns—hands desperate to touch and grope and mark, hands that can’t keep to themselves. Caleb could wake you up and firmly insist that you go back to your own bed, exercising his Big Brother Authority and overruling any and all of your rebuttals and arguments—but he doesn’t, because he can’t. 

Because he’s fucking weak, weak to his own wicked whims, a slave to his sins, drowning in his own desire. It’s too good of an opportunity to give up, his deepest, darkest indulgences presented to him on a platinum platter, crafted by the devil himself. And Caleb isn’t strong enough to resist it’s enticing allure, ironclad willpower melted to sticky silver in the heat of your body, seeping from your flesh into his, poisoning his blood and his brain.

That’s what you do to him; you eat up his logic and spit it back out, mangled and gross, you consume his highly prized self respect and military-grade discipline and reduce him to something desperate and degenerate. 

And eventually, finally, his worst nightmare comes true. 

It’s stifling in his bed, the fabric of his t-shirt damp with sweat—yours, his, does it matter?—and plastered to his body. His tongue has turned to sand in his mouth, dry and grating and heavy. Swallowing does nothing to alleviate the discomfort, the action rough and sticky, the gummy walls of his throat sticking together with the motion.

Water would be nice, but there’s no way for Caleb to slip from your embrace—a thigh thrown over his hip, a palm pressed to his sternum—without ruining your peaceful slumber. 

And you do look oh-so-peaceful; so serene, so ethereal, so fucking breathtaking that it’d be a crime to spoil such a sight.

Moonbeams stream through the window, painting you in strokes of translucent silver. It catches on the beads of sweat adorning your neck, dewdrops that glitter with the steady throb of your jugular, and Caleb feels saliva begin to flood the underside of his tongue, thick and slimy. 

Sweat has water in it, doesn’t it? 

It happens before he even has a chance to think it through, a primal desire his body knew needed to be met, tongue unfurling from its cavern slow and sick to trace along that jagged pulse.

Your neck arches into his taste, offering him more—such a good little sister, you are—and he takes, a slave to temptation, tongue flattening against your flesh and licking one long, wide stripe from the notch of your collarbone to the hinge of your jaw.

It’s delicious, better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, and Caleb laps at you again, harder this time, rougher this time. 

Your essence, salty sweat and bitter perfume, explodes on his tastebuds, and something rattles, roars to life, deep within his chest. It ignites a hunger within him that cannot be sated— dark, desirous, depraved as it claws at his sternum, no matter how much he takes, it always wants more, his desperate attempt to feed it only working to make it more voracious.

It awakens the monster rooted at the core of his soul, a sordid creature borne of something illicit and sinister and wrong many years ago. It sparks the ever-simmering addiction kindling in his rotten, charred heart—a craving that flares higher, burns brighter with every passing second, leaving him intoxicated and stupid, drunk on your aura.

If he doesn’t cut it out he’s going to lick your skin raw—how many licks to get to your sugary sweet center?—your saccharine sweat staining his tongue. 

His mouth latches over your collarbone and sucks, tongue swirling around the knob as his teeth scrape, nipping superficially. Tiny tangles of capillaries snap beneath the force, violet flooding the tissues beneath the thin barrier of skin—and oh, how sweet your blood must taste, how shameful to have it trapped beneath your flesh. 

A soft moan vibrates in your throat as Caleb seals the mark with another heavy lave, pressing a singular kiss to the rapidly developing bruise. Pulling back slightly, violet eyes sweep across the mess he’s made of your flesh, fleeting marks that will fade much too quickly for his liking.

A callused thumb ghosts over the bloom, an involuntary whimper catching in his throat. 

“So pretty,” he breathes to himself, caressing the mark again. 

A delicate shiver quivers through your flesh, procured by his airy words, and Caleb coos, tongue washing over your skin again in a crude caress, his hot breath cool against the glaze of saliva he’s painted in its wake. 

“Y’like that?” he whispers, the question barely more than a wisp wafting over your soaked skin. “Y’want me to do it again?” 

You answer with the softest mewl and a groan rumbles his ribcage, his hips snuggling between your spread thighs, a dainty wheeze pressed from your chest as his weight bears down on you. 

His tongue lolls out from between his teeth, thick strings of drool dripping off the tip to drizzle along your neck, sopped up a mere moment later as the slick muscle rolls along your flesh, following the scrape of his front teeth. 

Another gentle tremble ripples through your form—such precious responses to your big brother’s mouth!—and he runs his teeth along the curve of your throat again, revelling in how such simple actions can pull such gorgeous reactions from you, entirely subconscious. 

That must mean you like it, right? Such responses clearly connote your enjoyment, don’t they? You ought to know, on some subconscious level, that it is your big brother doing this—that it is Caleb’s lips and Caleb’s tongue and Caleb’s spit, that it is Caleb that you are reacting to.

It’s impossible to quell the slow gyrating of his hips as he feasts on your flesh, aching cock grinding against your thigh in messy little circles, fully hard and tenting flannel. He can feel the small pool of pre-cum steadily garnishing the slit, leaking through his PJ pants to leave shimmering smears of his perverted pleasure along the silky skin of your inner thigh.

He’s getting greedy—he knows he is, but he just can’t seem to restrain himself, your essence too alluring to resist; a compulsion, uncontrollable and unquenchable.

He should stop before you wake to your big brother gnawing at your neck and humping your thigh; really, that’s what any good, decent big brother would do. Your rest is important, after all. 

He should do a lot of things.

But he doesn’t, because he can’t. 

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. 

The sensations are overwhelming; something he’s spent several years denying himself, something he’s spent several years dreaming about—it doesn’t count if it’s just in his head, right?—and he finds himself drowning in it, embraced in the ecstasy.

“God, fuck,” he whimpers, curse cracking in his throat. “You feel so—so good.”

Forehead pressed into the crown of your head, his breath is sweltering and damp along your hairline, rough little moans spilling from his lips with each rut of his pelvis. 

“Y’so perfect for me, letting me use you like this,” he manages to gasp out, eyes squeezed shut, imagining how stunning you must look in the throes of pleasure; dazed eyes glazed with lust and rolling back in your skull, lips licked raw and mouth dropped open as the sweetest symphony plays on your tongue, spine bowing off his mattress as pure rapture climbs the notched vertebrae.

Oh, what he’d give to see such a sight, just once.

He wishes he could trick himself into thinking that a singular instance of experiencing such beauty would be enough to keep him from committing such a heinous act of indecency ever again, but he knows that isn’t true. 

Because already he wants more, gluttonous for your body, yearning to be buried in the warmth of your sweet little cunt; and he’s barely taken anything at all yet. Caleb can’t imagine what sort of creature this monster would evolve into under such circumstances. Too much is never enough. 

Caleb sure as hell can’t trick himself into believing such nonsense, but he sure as hell can trick you. 

He doesn’t realize you’ve awoken until he hears your tiny voice, muffled by his chest, fingers pressing into his tensing abs. 

“Cae—Caleb?” his hips stutter at the sudden sound—so quiet, so scared—his cock twitching against your leg. “What are you doing?”

“Shh,” he hushes you, body sliding down yours so he can search your face, so you can see the sincerity, the desperation, shining in his gaze, his cock pressed hot and hard against your core. “Just—” his hips roll once, a groan catching in his throat as his shaft is enveloped by your swollen lips, so easy to feel through the flimsy fabric of your pyjama shorts. “—Enjoy it.” 

“Wh-What?”

“Come on, just this once.” 

“Caleb,” you begin, and the fear in your voice, tinged with a sick sort of curiosity, has another moan clawing at the back of his tongue, hips rolling into yours slow and purposeful. “This isn’t right…” 

“No one has to know,” he slurs out, nuzzling his cheek against your temple in a crude form of comfort. “We keep so many secrets—what’s one more?”

“No, Caleb—” your hands furl into fists, pushing into lean muscle, and a dark, decadent sound of amusement drips from Caleb’s lips. Oh, how pathetically precious the you think you could ever shove him off. 

But your squirming is beginning to annoy him, that telltale aggression building in his chest—an anger only you seem to evoke, especially when you’re being uncooperative—and he snarls, pulling back a little to fix you with an unimpressed look, his hips pinning you to his bed. 

“Tell me it doesn’t feel good,” he glares at you, his words a cross between a growl and a whine, and it’s hard to tell if it’s a demand or a plead. “Go on, fucking tell me. Say ‘it doesn’t feel good, Caleb. Your cock doesn’t feel good, Caleb’. Come on.” 

Your lids clamp shut in the face of his intense, invasive stare, tears blossoming along the seam of your lashes, a pitiful squeak catching in your throat as your head shakes.

“No? Why not?” A hand wreathes itself around your jaw, blunt nails biting into your cheeks, the pain causing your eyes to spring open. “Is it because you can’t?” 

The question has that same taunting tone he’s used since you were kids—that infuriatingly blasé I’m-better-than-you cadence, the one that proclaims that you’re stupid and he’s superior, that he always wins—and a fierce flame of determination ignites within your ribs, eyes hardened and teeth barred. 

“It—It doesn’t feel—Oh, oh, Cae—”

And you’re trying, trying so desperately to force those words from your tongue, to spit them from your lips and devour the smugness glinting in his eyes, but then he’s moving again, the slick head of his cock rubbing over your clit in precise movements—back and forth, back and forth. 

That isn’t fair, but when has Caleb ever played fair, really?

He’s got you completely trapped beneath his body now, his knees digging into the mattress as he shifts his weight, forcing your thighs open wider.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.” 

“I—It’s not—It doesn’t—” A mewl of frustration slices your sentence, chased by a groan of defeat. 

“C’mon, angel, spit it out already if it doesn’t feel good.” 

Squinting in the face of his mocking stare, you steel yourself, throat rippling with a thick swallow of resolve. 

“We shouldn’t—” The sentence splinters with a whine, your words pulled taught between virtue and desire. 

Tears cloud your eyes, rendering Caleb nothing more than a shimmering blur, and you blink rapidly in an attempt to clear them, tiny droplets caught by your lashes. 

“You’re a terrible liar, y’know that?” he breathes, the question damp on the shell of your ear. “I can feel how turned on you are, silly little girl.” 

His hips rock forward once in accentuation, the movement slow and purposeful, as if to prove a point. His clothed cock glides over your drenched cunt with ease and the head strokes your swollen clit again, another torrent of heat rushing to the apex of your thighs. 

“And you know what this tells me?” his voice drops to a whisper. “It tells me you like it.”

Pins of humiliation erupt across your cheeks, tingling heat flooding your face. A soft sob stutters your chest, head shaking in weak denial—a denial that you like it, or simply a denial that this isn’t moral, neither of you can be sure.

“Besides, don’t you wanna take my mind off that stupid nightmare?” His voice drops an octave, deep and devious, chills skittering across your skin. “This—” he rolls his hips once in emphasis, “this will help.” 

“Cae…” 

And he can hear it; can hear the internal struggle reflected in your voice, a tug-of-war between the need to please and the obligation to do what’s right.

“Come on, be a good little sister for me—you said you wanted to make me feel better, right? This will make me feel better. This will make me forget all about it.” 

This will bring him to the crest of bliss, the closest to Heaven he’s sure he’ll ever get. 

“I…I don’t—” 

“Why can’t you just enjoy it with me, huh?” Caleb murmurs, dragging the words along your jaw then planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Give in to it. Just this once.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing before you’re nodding into his neck, body gone slack beneath his own; you’ve always been so easy for him, so eager to obey even with venom in your mouth and fire in your eyes. Caleb supposes that’s just a big brother’s influence. 

Because no matter how much you retaliate, how much you taunt and tease him, you have always wanted to be his good little girl. Praise from Caleb is sacred, precious, and rarely doled out. It must be savoured, protected, cherished. 

And so you allow your big brother to find comfort in you, in the warmth of your body, in the melody of your moans, praying that this short-lived ecstasy will be enough to cleanse his mind of its nightmares.

“There’s my good girl,” he hums, pleasant and triumphant, the reverence sealed with a chaste kiss to the edge of your hairline. 

Then he’s pulling away and sitting back on his heels, an arrogant little smirk materializing on his lips at the discontented whine that sounds at the back of your throat. Violet stares down at you with such passion it nearly burns, his callused palms pushing your knees open wider, following the V of your thighs until finally, finally, he reaches the apex. 

“Fucking Christ.”

Drenched silk outlines the contours of your cunt—No undies, huh? How naughty—and Caleb reaches out, tracing the shape, pointer finger ghosting over every bump and dip and curve. 

“Gorgeous,” he breathes to himself, gaze hungry and unblinking, enchanted by your body—enraptured by your arousal, captivated by your reactions; the way every graze of his fingertip sends a delicate wave of pleasure tremoring through your flesh; the way his touch makes your lashes dither, unsure if they want to stay open or snap shut. “Let me see it.”

Potent lust leaves his voice husky, and while his sentence is a statement, it comes out as a plead—desperate, desirous. 

Vying fingers pull your sleep shorts aside to reveal your glistening cunt, a whine vibrating deep in the back of his throat. Chest heaving with yearning, his trance stays unbroken, his mouth parted and his tongue pulsing with each of his heavy breaths. 

For a moment everything is still, silent, Caleb revelling in the radiance of your body.

Then something snaps, the final thread of thin resistance broken, and he’s surging forward, teeth catching on your upper lip as his mouth collides with yours, procuring the prettiest little yelp to crack in your chest. He swallows it down greedily, tongue breaking through the barriers of lips and teeth to lavish your mouth in his spit. 

His hips are moving again, shoved snug between your spread thighs, sharp hipbones carving bruises into supple flesh. Each forceful roll of his pelvis has his cockhead catching on your hole—so close, so close—a vicious shudder coursing through his form.

And he can feel it, he can feel your cunt through the thin flannel of his pyjamas—teasing him, taunting him, tempting him, each gentle contraction begging for him to stuff it full—another groan rattling from his mouth into yours. 

It’s all simultaneously too much and not enough, the soft breaths of his name exhaled hot and heavy onto his waiting tongue and the eager fluttering of your cunt desperate to suck him in and the nails scrabbling at the back his neck and—and Caleb feels like he’s going to burst out of his fucking skin, flesh starting to split at the seams, if he doesn’t get more, now. 

He’s hardly aware of what he’s doing, moving on pure instinct as a hand snakes between your bodies and paws at the waistband of his pants, the heel of his palm pushing it down just enough to free his aching cock.

A faint Caleb, no, wait! tugs at the back of his consciousness, blotted out by sheer lust as his palm wraps around the base of his cock, head bumping purposefully against your hole. 

The cry that shatters in your throat as he shoves himself into your cunt is nothing short of gorgeous, his own responding whine straining his throat. One quick, hard thrust to bury himself to the hilt is all it takes before his cock is throbbing, filling you with copious amounts of cum—so much, too much, and Christ, when has he ever cum like this?

It’s so intense that it has his whole body tensing, pleasure whiting his vision and wiping his mind and all he can smell, feel, taste is you, you, you—toffee and orchid shooting straight to his brain, your body knotted with his, hips rocking up in desperate little movements as you try to fuck yourself on his spent cock, your sounds of pleasure sweet on his tongue and he licks into your mouth, starved for more. 

“Caleb, Caleb, Caleb!” 

“M’here, baby,” he slurs against your mouth, rubbing his lips into yours. “M’here, come on, make a mess for me.” 

He isn’t even sure you cum—something he’ll berate himself for in the morning—but in the moment it doesn’t even matter, his brain so poisoned by the pleasure that it’s turned to a pulsating mush, intoxication flooding his veins as he submerges himself in you. His hips stutter as his cock twitches with those last few ribbons of cream, almost as if he’s trying to fuck his seed deeper into you, before his trembling muscles finally give out, Caleb collapsing on top of you. 

“God,” he gasps out, lips moving against the crown of your head. “Th-Thank you.” 

The gratitude is punctuated by a kiss to your hair, his breath hot and erratic on your scalp. 

“Thank you,” he says again, a singular arm twined around your waist as he manhandles you both onto your sides, your body cradled close to his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, Caleb falls into a peaceful sleep. 

Food for thought: imagine lion!mydei with a prey reader!!! Yk, toss in some dub con and predator/ prey dynamics 🤭. Oh, the way us floofy ears would twitch and his tail would wrap around your leg!!

I'm absolutely convinced mydei is 10000% mean man when it's between the sheets.

Have a good day/night <3. I rlly luv your works and what's your secret to writing rlly good smut? Teach me your ways professor!

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 warnings : nsfw/smut, bunny fem!reader, creampie, multiple of rounds, spanking, size kink, breeding kink, biting, huge dubcon alert, multiple of orgasms and tit slapping and other stuff. ^.^

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 note : tysm! i’m glad you enjoyed my writing sweetie. And I don’t really have a secret lmao! i’ve been writing long stories ever since I was 11. also reader is implied to be chubby and curvy! also not proof read (as always).

The forest was quiet. Too quiet.

You should have noticed it earlier—the way the birds had stopped singing, the way the wind had died down as if holding its breath. But you were a bunny, and a very stupid one at that. Soft and slow and terribly, terribly unaware.

That was why you didn’t realize you were being hunted until it was far too late.

A branch cracked. Your ears twitched, your breath hitched, and then—

A massive force slammed into you from behind, knocking you down into the dirt. Your heart pounded as you scrambled to flee, but it was useless. Large, clawed hands pinned you down, pressing your softer, squishier body into the earth. A deep, rumbling growl ghosted over the shell of your ear, and your instincts screamed.

Predator.

Your body locked up in fear, trembling beneath the sheer weight of the beast above you. You had heard the stories of the lion-king before—the ruthless ruler of the wilds, the monster who tore through his prey with teeth and claw. And yet, when he dipped his head, sniffing along the side of your neck, he didn’t bite.

He inhaled. Deeply.

And then, to your absolute horror, he groaned.

“Fuck,” the lion rumbled, his voice thick, heated, laced with something primal. His heavy tail coiled around your thigh, holding you in place. His hips rolled against yours, and you felt it—the thick, hard shape of him pressing against your ass. “You smell too sweet to eat, little rabbit.”

His tongue flicked out, running a slow, wet trail up your throat. You shuddered, trying to shrink away, but his hands only gripped you tighter, claws grazing against your skin.

“You’re lucky,” Mydei murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m hungry for something else.”

Your breath hitched when he grinded against you again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel just how big he was. Your body betrayed you, heat pooling low in your belly despite the fear still prickling at your spine. His hand moved, fingers dragging down your stomach, teasing at the plush softness there before dipping lower.

“Gonna ruin this dumb little bunny cunt,” he growled. “Make you scream for me.”

You whimpered, but there was no escape.

The lion had caught his prey. And he wasn’t letting go.

A rough hand forced your back into an arch, making you whimper as your ass lifted higher. Mydei chuckled, low and dark, his heavy tail coiling tighter around your plush thigh. The fur was deceptively soft against your skin, a contrast to the ruthless grip he had on you.

“Look at this,” he murmured, his large palm sliding over your hips, groping the softest parts of you like he was testing his prize. “Built to be fucked. You were never meant to run, little thing—just to be caught.”

A sharp smack landed across your ass. You yelped, lurching forward, but he dragged you back with ease. Another slap—harder this time—sent a hot sting rippling through your body, making your legs twitch. Your fluffy tail twitched too, betraying you, and he laughed.

“Sensitive,” he mused, palming your sore flesh before delivering another punishing slap. “You get wet from this, don’t you?”

You shook your head, ears flopping as you whimpered, but you both knew the truth. His fingers slid lower, past the heat pooling between your thighs, and—fuck—he found you already slick.

“Stupid little thing,” he purred, rubbing slow, teasing circles against your clit. “What kind of prey gets wet for their predator?”

You gasped as he slid a thick finger into you, then another, stretching you open in cruel, lazy strokes. Your walls fluttered, trying to take him deeper, trying to milk something that wasn’t even inside you yet. Mydei groaned, nosing against the base of your fluffy ears, dragging his teeth lightly along them.

“Bet you’ll take my cock just as easy,” he murmured. “Gonna make you mine. Stuff you so full, you’ll never be able to run again.”

Your thighs trembled as he pulled his fingers away, leaving you empty and aching. Then—something hotter, heavier, pressed against your entrance. You gasped at the sheer size of it, instinct screaming again, but his tail tightened around your thigh, holding you still.

“You’re made for this,” Mydei rasped, rubbing the thick head of his cock against your slick folds. “Made to take my seed, to be bred nice and full.”

He thrust in, stretching your pussy open, forcing a ragged cry from your throat. Your fingers clawed at the dirt, your ears pressing flat against your head as your walls clenched around him, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him.

"That’s it," he groaned, his grip on your hips bruising. “Gonna make you all mine, little thing.”

And with another rough thrust, he set a brutal, unrelenting pace.

Each thrust was brutal, knocking you forward only for Mydei to yank you back onto his cock, forcing you to take him deep. Your plush thighs shook, your body burning with overstimulation, but he didn’t let up.

“Ngh—too much—” you gasped, voice breaking between ragged moans. Your ears twitched wildly with each slam of his hips, your tail fluffing up in distress.

“Too much?” Mydei echoed, voice dripping with mockery. His claws dragged down your sides before settling on your tits, gripping them roughly, squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers. “You’re dripping all over my cock, little thing. You love this.”

You whined as he pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers before slapping your tits, making them bounce from the impact. Your body betrayed you—each slap sent a fresh pulse of heat straight to your core, making your walls clamp down even tighter around him.

"Fuck," he growled, his tail curling possessively around your thigh. “Look at you. Dumb little prey, taking my cock so well. Taking it like you were made for it.”

Your arms gave out, leaving you to slump forward onto your elbows, tits pressing into the dirt. Mydei loomed over you, his golden mane brushing against your back as he fucked you harder, deeper, his breath hot against your nape.

"You’re mine," he groaned, one clawed hand gripping the back of your neck, keeping you in place. "Say it."

You could barely think, barely breathe, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His cock was splitting you open, dragging against your walls in a way that had your stomach twisting in knots. Making your ears flattened as your tail fluffed up.

“Mydei—“ you whimpered.

His hips snapped forward, making you scream.

“Say it.”

“I—I'm yours!” you sobbed, voice breaking into a desperate wail. “Yours—your prey—your—ahhh!”

His teeth sank into the side of your throat, claiming you fully, and your vision went white as you came hard around his cock, your walls milking him greedily.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarled, his thrusts turning erratic. His hands clamped down on your hips, holding you still as he drove into you one last time, pressing himself deep.

Heat flooded your insides as he spilled inside you, thick and so much—your already-sensitive body trembled as you felt it seep even deeper. His cock throbbed, pumping more and more into you, and Mydei let out a pleased growl, licking over the fresh bite mark on your throat.

“Mine,” he murmured again, his hands smoothing over your plush body, possessive and satisfied. “And now… you're bred.”

His tail remained wrapped around your thigh, keeping you close.

You weren’t going anywhere.

Your body trembled beneath him, overstimulated and wrecked, but Mydei wasn’t done with you. His cock still twitched inside your soaked, swollen cunt, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he shifted his weight over you. His tail curled tighter around your thigh, keeping you spread open, forcing you to take every last drop of his seed.

“You look so fucked-out already,” he murmured, one large hand smoothing down your spine before gripping your hips again. “But I’m not done with you yet, little prey.”

You shivered as his hand ghosted lower, spreading your ass to watch his cum leak out of you. He groaned at the sight, his claws digging into your plush flesh. “Already dripping, and I haven’t even knotted you yet.”

Your ears twitched weakly, your breathing still ragged as you turned your head to look back at him. Your wide, dazed eyes shimmered in the dim light, glassy and unfocused—doe-eyed and utterly lost. Mydei sucked in a sharp breath, his cock throbbing at the way you gazed up at him, helpless and ruined.

“Fuck,” he growled. His hand suddenly snaked around your waist, dragging you up off the dirt. You gasped as he pulled you flush against his chest, your legs barely able to hold you up as his cock throbbed deep inside your cunt.

“You’re looking at me like you still don’t get it,” he murmured against your ear. His palm slid up your soft belly before grabbing your tits, squeezing, toying with the sensitive flesh. “You thought I’d stop after one round? Thought I’d just let you go?”

You whined, jolting as he suddenly slapped your tits, making them bounce under his grip. Your whole body jiggled from the impact, heat blooming across your skin, and Mydei “groaned” as his cock twitched inside you.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, rolling your hard nipples between his fingers before giving another sharp slap to your tits, watching them jiggle in his grasp. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill—“

His other hand suddenly slammed against your lower belly, pressing down right where his cock stretched you open. You gasped, your walls fluttering around him as he chuckled darkly.

“Feel that?” he purred. “Right here. My cock, stuffing you so full.”

You sobbed, your hips twitching as he began grinding against your overstimulated clit, pressing down on your belly with every slow, deep thrust.

“Too much—Mydei, please—”

“Please?” he mocked, nosing along your flushed cheek. “Please what, little prey? Please keep fucking you? Please breed you again?"

Your mind was fogged with pleasure, your body trembling in his grasp, but you still managed to choke out a desperate, ruined—

“Yes!”

Mydei snapped.

His tail tightened around your thigh as he slammed you back onto his cock, spearing you open, making your tits bounce wildly with each punishing thrust. You could do nothing but whimper, drool spilling from your lips as your walls spasmed around him, milking him for more.

“Fuck—you’re perfect,” he groaned, licking over your ear before biting down on your shoulder, claiming you. “Gonna fill you up again. Gonna knot you—make sure my seed takes—“

You let out a choked cry as he pressed his palm against your belly again, feeling himself inside you, knowing he was going to breed you until you couldn’t take anymore.

Until you were nothing but his.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

heartbroken! darling . . who spends hours in her soft bed trying to get herself off — mind pacing back and forth to her ex boyfriend suna rintarou.

heartbroken! darling . . who hates herself for being reminded of how well his fingers worked her little cunt, and how well he fucked with his pretty dick.

heartbroken! darling . . who’s fussing, tossing and turning and huffing into her plush pillow until the soft of her upper arm accidently presses on the contact of her ex, ringing suna’s line.

ex boyfriend! sunarin . . who’s eyes widen when he sees your contact name pop up — still set as ‘sweet girl’ with no intent to change it. who takes a bit of time to answer, so it doesn’t seem like he cares too much.

ex boyfriend! sunarin . . who presses the green button with shaky fingers, parting his lips to speak before he hears a familiar meek moan.

ex boyfriend! sunarin . . who’s cock begins to stiffen at the soft, whiny moans elicited through the speaker of the phone — clearly you’ve misclicked his contact. he knows the moral thing to do would be to hang up, but . .

heartbroken! darling . . who subconsciously whines out her ex boyfriends name slurred with a soft moan, chanting the syllables over and over with occasional ‘ . . miss you . . ‘ and ‘ love you ‘s . . ‘

ex boyfriend! sunarin . . who can hear your sloppy pussy over the poor speaker of the phones, and your soft rumbling in the sheets. who’s listening so intently that he starts to imagine your pussy crying out his name too.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“r—rinnn . . miss y’ so much ,”

he knows — knows you’re renacting the nights where you two had to resort to phone sex, due to him being heftily busy or out of town. he’s well used to your whining and the scramble of the sheets against the phones speaker, having resorted to phone sex as a way to push off the true issue — he was never home.

“‘m sorry,” you ramble, “sorry f’being so mean . . miss y’ so much. miss your face ‘nd . . fingers and y’r cock—“ you hiccup.

you muffle your voice into your pillow, free arm wrapping under the the cushion for leverage. “rin,” you moan. “l—love you.”

your breath fastens when you feel your climax following, little thumb pressing against your sensitive clit just as suna taught you. “feels good! r—rinnn,” you cry, eyes shut tight with the vivid imagination of your now ex boyfriend behind you, helping you get off.

his sultry voice and featherlight touches transverse your thoughts, soft cries being elicited from your swollen lips and drool dirtying your pillow. you ignore the loud squelches of your pussy, or how you’re dirtying your hand and the sheets below, pumping in and out of your swollen cunt with no other desire but to cum.

you yelp, jump up in terror when you hear a loud masculine sigh and low shlicks, eyes searching the room for the source of noise. you lift your blanket with intentions to slip inside . .

revealing your phone. on an active call with your ex boyfriend named, ‘sweet boy.’ no, you hadn’t changed his contact either. the time of the call displays ‘12:38.’ a hot flash spreads throughout your body,

“r—rin?”

“y—yeah.”

“you . . you didn’t hear anything right?”

it’s so deathly silent, you could hear a pin drop.

“you really miss me that much, doll?” suna chuckles, breaking the silence with a short hum.

“no . . du—dunno what you’re talking about. i—i called on accident so ‘m gonna—“

“don’t be like that baby, don’t hang up. let me come over, yeah?”

“rin—“ you protest,

“oh? we’re not moanin’ anymore? i see . . “

“shut up, suna!” you cry out, defeated and forcibly facing the fact that you had just fucked yourself to the thought of your ex boyfriend — and he heard everything.

“c’mon. let me come over t’night and show you just how much i missed you, too. alright?”

he’s eager when you don’t protest, only a heavy huff before the line cuts off. he’s quick to messily tug up his sweats, rinse off his hand, and reach for keys.

It was not often when you two had arguments, but oh boy..when you did. You are angrily yelling at him. you didnt know what came over you...amd you just spit at him. He is shocked, amused even and can't belive what you did...but after all..he is sucker for unpredictable woman, since he is unpredictable man himself. He smirks as he grabs your chin while pinning you against the wall..he looks down at you and slips his thumb between your lips as he whispers huskily.

"Open your mouth, my turn"

-> SUNA, kageyama, TSUKISHIMA, OIKAWA, iwaizumi, kuroo, sugawara, ATSUMU.

to be loved is to be known | suna rintarou x reader

you're in love with suna. you think suna's in love with someone else. he's not.

slight angst, happy endings, and miscommunications atsumu is sexy reader is gn wc: 1481

It is dusk and warm and just barely humid when you realize you don’t know Suna Rintarou at all. 

You know that Suna likes chuupets and volleyball and his dingy digital camera with the cracked screen. His left eye twitches slightly when he lies, he always ties his right shoe before his left, and he keeps forgetting to buy pencil lead despite preferring mechanical pencils over traditional. He likes the rain. Can’t bite into ice cream. Wool scarves over fleece, seven followers on his private Twitter, and is always late because he likes feeding the stray cats in the alley next to the Family Mart with the good sausages. 

What you didn’t know is that Suna Rintarou is in love. You find out from Kita Shinsuke, who tells Aran after practice, a conversation not meant for your ears but gracing them nonetheless as you stand before the entrance to the gymnasium. You feel a dryness in your throat and a sting in your eyes as Kita shares that Suna is not only in love but had confessed to someone. Maybe it’s your divine punishment for eavesdropping. Maybe it’s rotten luck. Because, coincidentally, and horribly so, you’ve been in love with Suna Rintarou ever since you met him. 

So when Suna walks up from behind you, back from the vending machine, and asks you why you’re lingering outside and staring at Kita with that look on your face, you lie. 

“I have a crush on Shinsuke.” You blurt out. 

He blinks. Once. Twice. And stares. 

The longer Suna stares at you under the grey, purplish-pinkish sky with his hands shoved into his pockets and his left eye twitching, you realize you don’t know him at all. Because Suna, in all his indifference and nonchalance, looks hurt. You see something flit beneath his eyes, but you’ve never been good at reading people. So you settle on the idea that it’s something less than betrayal but more than indifference, and you don’t know why your heart’s beating so fast and sinking, pitter pattering and twisting in your stomach. 

You feel sick. 

“You like Kita-san,” He says, and it comes out as a statement, not a question. He blinks a third time, and as the look in his eyes disappears as quickly as it came, you decide you much prefer the hurt or the discomfort or the something over the blank apathy that he’s looking you over with now. “You have a crush on Kita… Shinsuke.” He finishes, and you can’t hear the bitterness in his voice over the shrill of your heart. 

You’ve always liked Suna’s eyes but tonight you like the pavement more, and as you stare a hole into the concrete beneath you, you ignore how your feet are fidgeting and your palms are sweaty and how Rintarou is hovering over you. 

“Mhm,” You squeak, tearing your eyes from the asphalt with the cracks and an ugly pill-bug on the ground. As you look up to grey eyes and dark hair, you wish that loving Suna Rintarou was harder. 

“I’m, uh, I’m going to tell Shinsuke tomorrow.” You say, Shinsuke’s name foreign on your tongue compared to the warmth and honey that Rintarou’s tastes like. I’m in love with you and this is a bad idea, you think. I like you, not Kita, is what you don’t say. Instead, and arguably worse, is the mention of Miya Atsumu’s name. “Atsumu gave me the confidence to confess!” 

Suna pauses. 

“Atsumu told you to?” He asks, and it’s the most bewildered you’ve heard him in a while.

A glance at his phone. Hands that emerge from his pockets. If you weren’t so preoccupied with the concrete you would have seen the twitch of his fingers and the tightening of his jaw as he opens Line. You nod dimly. 

“Okay,” is what he says, and you feel your heart in your stomach again. You look up. “Okay.” He repeats again. 

And maybe it’s the hurt that stings in your chest from Rintarou being so okay with you (hypothetically) being in love with Kita Shinsuke that pushes your eyes to water and your mouth to open. 

“Is that it?” You ask. 

A beat of silence. And then, a scoff. 

“Yeah. Congratulations,” Suna says. “Good luck.” 

As dusk turns to nightfall and what was a barely-humid night in July is now overwhelmingly warm and sickly and hot, Rintarou’s gaze is overbearing. And when your eyes start to swim and Suna’s gaze turns to confusion and then realization, you do the only thing you know how to do. You bolt. 

An incessant string of dings. Your lip wobbles under your teeth as you pull out your phone from under your covers. 

from: miya osamu (21:03)  where the fuck did ya go  and whys suna blwoin up my phone

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:03)  WHYYSS SUNARIN BLOWING UOA PP MY PHONE ??!?@@>>!?>??!??! WHYS HE SAYIN U LIKE KITA-SAN

from: you (21:05) its so over i ran home

from: you (21:05)  i told him i like shinsuke and that i am confessing to kita  tomorrow

amazing perfect miya atsexy and miya osamu are typing…

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:06)  WHAT

from: miya osamu (21:06) r u fuckin stupid why would ya do that

from: you (21:07) i heard shinsuke tell aran that suna confessed to someone today and then rin came back so i told him i like kita bcuz i panicked and also he cant know i like him right as he’s ginna get BAGGED wait but idk if he got rejected or not WHO AM I KIDDING suna would NOT get rejected LOLOL but anyways i think he knows i like him bcuz i started cryig and then he had this look on his face like he knew i was bullshittin him now venmo me money before i kil msyelf 

from: miya osamu (21:12) yeah he was gonna confess to YOU today

from: you (21:12) ?

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:12) HOLY MISCOMMUNICATION

from: you (21:18) Wht??

from: miya osamu (21:19) suna was supposed to confess to u today 

from: you (21:21) but shinsuke said rin already confessed

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:22) why wiud u ever think about takin gossip from KITA SHINSUKE AN WHYD YA BRING ME UP IM GNNA BE STONED AT DAWN

from: miya osamu (21:22) HOORAY !

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:22) SHUDDUP  

You bolt, again, but this time it’s out of your bed, down a flight of stairs, and through your front door. You’re halfway down the street near the Family Mart with the Good Sausages™ when you barrell into someone who smells faintly of blackberries and Suna’s laundry detergent. 

“Excuse me,” You blurt, scrambling away, until you feel a grip on your waist and a familiar shape behind you with a familiar smell and a familiar voice, and Ohmygod, you’re out of breath and close to frantic but Suna Rintarou is holding you steady by your waist, warm and tall and here. 

“Rintar-”

“I like you.”

You feel it more than you hear it- Suna is muffled and quiet as he mumbles into the back of your shoulder, tall frame folded into you. 

“Idiot.” He adds, and you don’t have to turn to know the tips of his ears are pink and his eyebrows are furrowed. “You’re an idiot.” 

It’s twilight, and just-barely humid when you realize that Suna Rintarou knows you. 

Suna knows that you ramble when you’re nervous. He knows that you like the rain and you don’t like humidity. You carry extra lead in your pencil pouch and you like volleyball and stray cats. You can bite into your ice cream. You color coordinate your bookshelves. You don’t have a crush on Kita Shinsuke. 

You don’t know that Suna keeps his digital camera with the shitty cracks because you bought it for him from a shop in Akihabara. You don’t know that Suna leaves his packs of pencil lead at home because leaning over your desk in class and seeing that smile on your face is far more fun. You don’t know that he writes with extra pressure on his worksheets to crack his lead and ask for more. 

You didn’t know that Suna Rintarou is in love with you. 

So he grins into your shoulder and tells you.  

amazing perfect miya atsexy (22:14) 1 Attachment GROSS!!!!!! do NOT start making out at practice or i will RESIGN !!!

sunarin (22:14) @ y/n lets start making out at practice

y/n, miya osamu, and 2 others reacted with Thumbs Up! ojiro aran, amazing perfect miya atsexy reacted with Thumbs Down!

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (22:15)  @ KITA SHINSUKE @ KITA SHINSUKE @ KITA SHINSUKE @ KITA SHINSUKE 

sunarin has removed amazing perfect miya atsexy from the Inarizaki Volleyball Team Chat. 

“wai—wait, no tongue rinnie, i dunno—“

“relax,” suna mumbles against your lips, pressing a soft kiss against your bottom lip. “i’ll teach you, don’t worry.” you whine, embarrassed that he may find your inexperience to be a turn off. “just follow through with m’tongue okay?”

“mhmn..” you mumble, gasping when he presses his swollen lips onto yours once again. he presses himself further into your body, your legs enveloping around his waist and tugging him in. you shiver, mouth gaping wider on instinct when you feel his silky tongue slip in between your lips, running itself over yours.

it’s so fucking wet, and so hot, you can taste his sweet spit on your tongue. it makes you ache everywhere, body sparked with excitement yet nervousness. “c’mon, try.” he groans against you, letting your tongue nervously glide against his on command. he lets out a guttural groan, grinding unconsciously into your thigh, mumbling a half coherent apology before he slips his tongue back into your mouth.

he runs the hot muscle over yours, curling over and around it with messy spit beginning to coat your lips. he doesn’t slow despite your tongue faltering and clearly weakening with every stroke of his tongue against yours. “y’r so weak baby.” he chuckles, pulling away slightly.

both of your breaths are labored, your softened eyes meet his , filled with so much love that they sparkle under the dim light. his pupils seem to dialate over and over, and you can’t help but giggle at the sight.

you can still feel the heat of his breath against your lips, one of his hands with a tight hold against your waist, and one sprawled across your shoulder — holding you still. it’s all so intimate, and all so new.

“can we d—do it again? wanna try again..” you quip, cheeks flushing at the dumb, dumb question.

as if he would say no.

Kiss the Cook - Murasakibara x Reader

Warning: Pure Fluff, Little Plot

Thanks to @reverie-starlight for getting me back in my KNB Feels.

It’s the smell of freshly cut apples that pulls him in.

In his defense, he’s incredibly hungry, but Muro-chin won’t let him have any snacks until they’ve made it to their seats. It’s also Muro-chin’s fault that they’re too early and have to wait for the doors to open.

But there’s the smell of freshly cut apples and he turns his head to get a look. If someone’s handing out food he will even eat apple slices.

Not far from their group, Atsushi finds the source of the delicious smell. You’re cutting up a pretty red apple, nick the edges a little to make it look like a bunny, and hand it over to a little girl. 

You’re smiling, something he only notices when he’s almost reached you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, confusion seeping into your eyes.

“Can I have a piece?” Atsushi asks, pointing at the apple. Behind him, he can hear Muro-chin call his name. But this is more important. He’s hungry.

“Oh, eh, sure, I guess.” You hand over a slice. He does not take it.

“Can you make it a bunny too?” Your eyes widen at his question but you nod and nick the edges, handing it over with slightly shaky hands. Funny. 

“Thank you.” Atsushi says, because he knows how to be polite, and drops the slice into his mouth. The apple is sweet and juicy and it makes him feel better instantly.

“Murasakibara,” Muro-chin appears to his left, “We can go in now.”

-

Your voice reminds him of apples now.

You’re in at least one of his classes but College Classes are bigger than the ones at Yosen or Teiko and he often gets people confused. Your voice, however, stands out. 

Sometimes, when Atsushi’s dozing off in class and you raise your hand to ask a question, he’s pulled out of his lethargy just by the sound of it, the softness of your vowels, or the sharpness of your thoughts.

It’s a little weird, he thinks, so he doesn’t bring it up to Muro-chin.

-

“You have to try this!” You say, offering a box of cookies to two other girls, “I made them last night and they turned out so good.”

Atsushi only realizes that he’s stepped over when you’re looking up at him, eyes wide and full of confusion yet again.

“Can I have one?” He asks because he knows how to be polite. One of the other girls pulls a face and he raises his hand to push her away, like he does with the annoying guys on his basketball team. But you’re faster, lifting the box up to him. 

“Sure,” you say. Your lips quiver slightly as if they’re shaking. Just like your hand when you gave him the apple bunny. Funny.

Atsushi takes one cookie and bites into it. The edges are crispy, but it’s soft on the inside, filled with gooey, sweet caramel. It tastes amazing and he wonders if he can have the rest of those cookies before he’s even finished the first one.

“Very good,” Atsushi says, licking some leftover Caramel off his fingertips. “You should try making them with salted Caramel too.”

“Oh,” your eyes are wide and warm and his stomach does something funny at the sight. “That’s a great idea! Thank you!”

“Murasakibara!” Muro-chin calls, “We’re going to be late for training.”

He pulls his shoulders up, not wanting to go yet. Not when there are so many more cookies to eat.

You seem to read his mind because you take another cookie out of the box and offer it to him. “The rest are for my friends,” you say and it sounds like you’re apologizing. “Have fun at training.”

Atsushi smiles, eats the cookie as slowly as he can while he follows Muro-chin. Apples with Caramel make a good treat as well.

-

“Muro-chin?” Atsushi asks one night after training. He barely moved today, but he feels tired, his brain exhausted from turning around a problem he cannot find a solution to. “How do you make a girl like you?”

Muro-chin looks like that one time someone accidentally shot the Basketball into his stomach. “Are you saying that you like a girl?”

“No, I asked you how I make a girl like me.”

“Murasakibara, shouldn’t that be the same thing?”

He ponders that for a moment before he deems it too difficult. 

“How do I make her like me?” 

Muro-chin sighs. “What have you done so far?”

“Nothing,” Atsushi blinks. “I eat her food.”

“Oh,” Muro-chin’s face is doing the thing again. He must have figured something difficult out. “So it’s her,” Muro-chin mutters softly, finger prodding his lips. “Have you tried offering her some food?”

“I don’t share my food.”

Muro-chin sighs again. “I know, Murasakibara. Everyone knows. But if you want a girl to like you, you have to show her that she’s special to you. Like doing something for her you’d do for no one else.”

Atsushi tries to think about it, but his brain is moving as slowly as a tired snail. He’s not good at thinking when he’s hungry but all that’s left of today’s snacks are those limited edition Umaibou that he doesn’t really like. He stares down at them and thinks, that yes, he could share them with you.

-

“Do you want one?” Atsushi asks, holding the Umaibou package in front of your eyes so you can’t miss them. Thanks to his long legs he’s had no problem catching up to you in the hallways.

“Eh?” You blink rapidly and take a step back. “Are you- Are you sure?”

“Yes,” He nods and pushes them into your hands before he can reconsider. After all, he is a little hungry right now and even if they’re not the best flavor- But now you’ve taken the snack from him and your mouth is doing that little quivering that makes his stomach do funny things.

You tear the package open and bite into it, smiling up at him for a second before you scrunch your face up. It looks adorable.

“Yuck!” You press your hand against your mouth as you force yourself to swallow. “What flavor is that?”

“Vegemite.” 

You stick your tongue out as if that could get the taste off. 

“That’s disgusting,” You shudder. “But… thank you… for offering it. You didn’t know it would taste so bad.”

“No, I did.” 

“You did?” You look up at him. “Then why…?”

“Muro-chin said to share my food with you,” He explains. “So that you know that you’re special to me.”

Your eyes widen almost comically. You open your mouth, but no words come out. 

It’s funny at first. You look cute like that. But while he’s learned to be polite, he doesn’t have the best patience.

“Are you okay?” Atsushi asks and waves his hand in front of your face.

“Ye- I mean, I don-t… know?”

“Oh. Then let’s go.” He takes your arm and pulls you with him. You follow without protest at first, only finding your voice when you’re down the hallway and up the stairs.

“Where are we going?”

“To the nurse. You’re not feeling well.”

“No, that’s not it-”

He stops to look at you. When he puts his hand on your temple, the skin is hot. 

“You’re warm. You probably have a fever.”

“No, I’m flustered, you dummy.”

Atsushi blinks. “Why?”

“Because you told me you liked me right now. Without warning! In front of all those people.”

He blinks again. “I did?”

“Yeah, you said… you said I was special to you.” Your eyes widen again. Before he can say anything you reach out and slap your cheeks with your hands. “Oh my god. That’s not what you meant, right? I just misunderstood you because I wanted it to mean that.”

Atsushi blinks. This is too much talking.

“Do you like me?” He asks and you look up at him with wide eyes, hands still pressed to your cheeks. Slowly, you nod. 

His stomach flips, but not in the way it does on roller coasters. This is a new feeling and he wonders what he has to do to feel it again.

“I like you too.” 

Your lips quiver at his words. He can’t help himself, reaches out, and presses his pointer finger against it, hoping to feel that quiver that he can see. It flips his stomach yet again.

“I bet you just like my food,” your voice sounds a little tense. Like you’re only half joking. Muro-chin does that too, sometimes.

Atsushi cocks his head, trying to guess if that’s a question or not. It probably is.

“I like your voice,” He says because he’d been thinking about it earlier. “It sounds like caramel apples. And your lips are cute. When they quiver like that…” He taps them when they do it again. “It does funny things to my stomach.”

“Well,” you say, reaching for his finger that’s still pressed against your lips. Your finger tangle with his, warm skin against warm skin. It makes his stomach flip again. “You could have just asked me out on a date, you know?”

“Oh?” He blinks. “Do you want to go on a date, then?”

“Yeah.” You smile. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

-

“Oni-chan!” Your little sister races down the stairs at his sight, “You’re here!”

He picks her up with ease, lifts her up until her fingertips touch the ceiling. 

“I’m here.” He greets her. She laughs and clings to him, begs to be lifted onto his shoulders. Atsushi complies, listens to her bubbly voice as she pulls on his hair. 

“Onee-chan made chocolates today,” she tells him. “I got to help.”

“Really? Did you make one for me too?”

“Yes, with pink hearts!”

“Don’t spoil all the surprises!” Your voice calls out from the kitchen. Your little sister just giggles and hides her face in his hair.

Atsushi meets you at the kitchen door, your hair a mess and your face peppered with streaks of drying chocolate. 

You’re wearing an apron that says “Kiss the Cook” and he can’t help but follow that advice.

my Kofi if you want to tip me

Being mostly unloved your whole life with out much attention from people around you 🤝 loving obsessive yandere characters

forced quiet sex is such a turn on. covering your little mouth, telling you to shut the fuck up while your muffled whines escape through my fingers. only fucking harder into you out of anger for not being quiet

Violent Delights

for my very dearest best friend (wife) @iwaasfairy i'm sorry it's super late, but august and april both start with 'a' which basically means they're the same month <33 iwaizumi hajime x female reader w.c 4.4k tw: yandere themes, non-con, drugged reader, blood/gore, murder, incest, sorta smut (nsfw)

M I N E

It’s funny in a way. Amidst the wreckage, the blood, what was left of your friends and the cooling puddle of cum splattered across your naked stomach, four letters carved into your bedroom wall seemed almost… harmless. Or at least the easiest to digest. Fixate on.

The detective asked about your ex partners, the dates you’d been on recently, whether or not you’d noticed anyone in your day-to-day paying you too much attention, if anyone made you feel uncomfortable, or said anything that seemed out of place.

But your exes don’t care enough to kill, and the two dates you’ve been on in the last six months never bothered to text you back. No one’s left weird, unsettling gifts, or stared too long in line at the coffee shop. There’s nothing. No precursor or warning, no giant red flag waving in front of you.

Mine. 

Hovering on the edge of numbness, blind hysteria just out of reach, you stare at the beige walls of the hotel room they’d put you up in, the angry gouges flickering in and out of existence with every blink. 

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Kaori was the one obsessed with all the true crime stuff. She’d be the first to tell you psychopaths and nutjobs – they don’t jump straight into drugging and triple homicide. There’s a pattern of behaviour. Escalation. 

Something you missed. 

Then again, considering it’s her blood still caked under your fingernails, there’s a strong possibility she wouldn’t be all that enthusiastic about the whole thing to begin with. 

You need a shower, a proper one – not the glorified sponging off they’d given you at the hospital. Enough to get you out the door, not nearly enough to scrub away the grime and rid yourself of what he did to you–

The others had it worse. You survived. He barely touched you.

Mine. 

The thought of scalding water, of scrubbing yourself raw does hold a certain appeal, yet hunched over atop starched white sheets, those same bloody fingernails sink into the flesh of your arms instead, grounding you in the tiny bite of pain. 

Minutes tick past and you don’t so much as twitch. Not until a sharp knock sounds at the door and a gruff voice calls out your name. 

You wait half a beat, but when nothing more is forthcoming, you slowly edge yourself off the bed, making your way to the door. Through the peephole you spy a dark haired officer, different to the one who’d dropped you off, staring back at you. 

They did tell you there’d be an officer with you the whole time, at least for the next twenty four hours. 

“Miss?” he calls again, and you distantly realise that while your hand is poised over the deadlock, you haven’t moved to undo it. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, your forehead meeting the wooden door with a muted thud, you curse that stupid, tremulous fluttering in your chest. They’re here for you, protecting you. You’re safe.

Open the damn door. 

“Y-yeah?”

Coward.

“Brought some food for you. Dinner.” There’s a rustling on the other side, and you raise your head to peer back through the glass in time to see him lift up a paper carry bag to the peephole. The idea of eating anything right now has your stomach roiling in protest. “Nothing fancy, but it’s good, I swear,” he says. Then, gentler, like he’s talking down a spooked animal, adds, “You need to eat.”

Still, you hesitate. All you need to do is open the door, grab the food and then at least it’s there if you want it later. Easy. 

Too quick, too jerky to be natural, you twist at the handle and yank the door open a scant few inches, enough for you to reach out an arm expectantly for the food. “Thank you,” you pre-empt, because hungry or not, you’re not completely without manners.

The officer lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. I’m not taking heat from the Cap when the guys on the next shift find you passed out ‘cause you haven’t eaten anything,” he scoffs. “C’mon, we can talk while you eat.” Not a suggestion – you barely have time to stumble back before he’s pushing his way inside and kicking the door closed behind him. The second he takes to flick the lock somehow simultaneously eases the knots in your stomach and sends your heartrate ratcheting.

It’s halfway to a miracle that you’re still standing at all. 

“Eat,” he tells you, his deep voice brooking no disagreement as he shoves the bag of food your way and grabs the lone chair in the room, dragging it closer to the edge of the bed and settling himself down. Clearly he has no intention of going anywhere until he’s satisfied you’ve eaten your fill.

With little else for it, you do as you’re told, reaching into the bag to find steamed buns at your fingertips, still warm as you pry open the wrapper– and wince. The familiar scent of pork, ginger and chives wafts through the air, unwittingly digging at old wounds. 

Suddenly you’re a kid again, strolling down the hill with your family, one hand tucked safely within your brother’s, the other grasping a steaming hot bun. You’re happy and whole and so, so young–

“Something wrong? You don’t like meat buns?” 

Not the time. Ignoring the bitter ache the memory conjures, you’re quick to shake your head, “No. No, thank you. It’s great.” You doubt he buys it, but then again you also doubt he cares so long as you get something in your stomach. 

One bite, chew, swallow. Another, chew, swallow – mechanical until it isn’t. The first bun disappears and you reach for the second.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

You swallow down another mouthful. “Fuzzy. Sore. I still can’t remember anything,” you  admit, in case that’s where this line of questioning is going. Nothing beyond waking up in your bed covered in blood and a stranger’s cum at any rate.

The blood work they did at the hospital confirmed you were drugged along with the others, the detective mentioning the near-empty bottle of wine they’d found, which they were in the process of testing too. He’d also pointed out the lack of evidence indicating any kind of forced entry, which paired with the former is something you’ve been trying not to dwell on. 

The officer gives a considering nod, “That’s to be expected, don’t worry about it. I still think it’s worth asking a few more questions if you’re feeling up to it?” Again, it’s phrased like a question, but already he’s pulling out a voice recorder, setting down on the mattress between you. 

“Um, sure. Yeah,” you croak. 

A small smile, “Good.” He leans forward to switch on the recorder. “We’ll start with the other victims – your friends. Tell me about them.”

“Kaori, she’s– she was my best friend. We worked at the same grocer when I first moved out of my parents’ place, when I got a job here she made the decision to move with me. That was about six months ago.” 

“And the other two?” 

“Her brother Koji and another friend of ours Takashi. They came up to visit; Kaori’s been back once or twice since we left, but I hadn’t seen them–” tears blur at your vision and your voice just… gives out. 

They’re gone. 

You drag a shuddering breath in and it hurts. 

Blindly, your hand reaches across the bed, blood tipped fingers sprawling over pristine white, and when they meet warmth – an open palm outstretched – you seize it and cling on with everything you have. You’ll unravel if you don’t.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you chant, each syllable shakier than the last.

He dips his chin, just barely, and squeezes your hand, “You invited them?”

A wordless, wide eyed nod. 

“You were close.” Not a question. He sounds like he’s mulling over the thought, though his expression is inscrutable. “Were you involved with any of them?”

This time, there’s the slightest hesitation before you shake your head. The officer frowns, “I need the truth. Your friends were attacked for a reason. Lying to me won’t help bring their families peace.”

The blood drains from your face, your heart lurching on a sickening thud. 

Your fault. 

Instinctively, you yank back your hand, or try to at least, but his grip tightens – enough to keep you from drawing away, not enough to hurt. Though neither his tone nor his expression hold any condemnation, it doesn’t change the truth of the matter. 

You didn’t drug them or pick up the knife and swing. You didn’t invite this psycho into your life, but the fact remains that they’re dead because of you. 

“I– it wasn’t like that. We weren’t… I didn’t–” 

MINE.

Tears threaten to spill and your bottom lip trembles. 

For a long, drawn out moment, he simply stares. There’s a twitch at his jaw and he sighs – more of a grunt, really – leaning back and pulling his hand from yours to rake through his dark hair. 

(Stupid, you think, how some part of you mourns the loss.) 

“Okay, alright. Fine. We’ll come back to that,” he concedes. “What about other friends? Coworkers you were close with?”

“No, I– I already told the detective I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

An irritated flash darkens his gaze. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking them.” And you must make a truly pathetic picture then, flinching like a kicked puppy, because he lets out another huff, closing his eyes for a beat and visibly working to soften the harsh lines of his expression. “Shit, okay– I’m sorry. It’s been a long day for us both,” he makes an odd noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humour. “The guy who did this, he either already knows about the people precious to you, or he’s gonna do his damn best to find out, and if he thinks they’re threats, he’ll hurt them, or worse – he’ll use them to hurt you. I need you to tell me everything.”

And so, feeling the exhaustion of the day creeping over you, you do.

You tell him about the small group from work you occasionally go out for Friday drinks with, your old friends from uni, right down to the neighbour two floors below, who’d seen you hauling boxes the day you’d moved in and immediately offered to help. When you’d christened the kitchen baking you’d made sure to bring him some, and just last week you’d had tea with him and his grandma.

“What about school? Anyone you still keep in contact with?”

You try for a laugh but it sounds all wrong. “I wasn’t exactly popular back then,” 

His eyes narrow. They flit across your face like he’s searching for… something. You feel like a bug, pinned in place, squirming and uncomfortable, your face too hot. 

“Bullied?” he probes. 

Another nod. 

“How ‘bout family?”

Your mouth dries.

“My parents… I haven’t spoken to them in months. We don’t really get along.” The last conversation you’d had with them, if you could call it as much, lasted all of five minutes. Dry pleasantries and thinly veiled criticisms, wrapped up in yet another pointed reminder that things didn’t have to be this way – you were the one adamant on shutting them out. 

You doubt it’d raise a single eyebrow between them if you went the same again without contact. 

“Siblings?”

Another tear slips from your lashes and you swallow against the tight lump in your throat. The weight of his gaze feels oppressive, you’re too bare, too vulnerable, you don’t want to talk about this, so you shift your line of sight to the paper delivery bag, half crumpled now, and let your fingernails sink into the skin of your palms. 

Still, the words don’t come straight away, and when they do, they’re strained. Choked. Painted so thick is grief that you wonder if he understands them at all.

“No. I uh, I had a brother– a twin brother. He died.” 

You don’t talk about your brother, ever.

Kaori knew the bare bones of it. Koji and Takashi too – you had a twin brother, he died, and it fucked you up. Without ever uttering a word, they’d known not to press, that the wounds left behind weren’t quite as healed as the scar tissue led to believe. 

“How old were you?”

Seven, when you lost him. Twelve, when the letters stopped coming. 

“Fourteen,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “He was sick.”

Stop asking, stop talking, stop, stop, stop. 

When you risk a look in the officer’s direction, his features are hewn granite, eyes set in a hard, angry glare that steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” he grunts, rising to his feet. “You stopped writing long before that.”

There’s just enough time for understanding to crash over you, for your lips to part, a feather light gasp of “Hajime?” to slip out before you’re flat on your back, wrists pinned to the mattress above your head, the officer– a ghost– Hajime looming over you. 

“What did I fucking tell you?”  

—

‘Sweetie, make sure you hold your brother’s hand.’

They’d meant when you were walking home from the bus stop, or crossing the road. When there was a buddy system so no one got separated or left behind. 

Hajime was always holding your hand. Not because your parents told him to, but because that’s how it was supposed to be. You were twins, he’d been born first (by all of six minutes) and you had followed. You were always following Hajime, and he was always going to look after you. 

Until he gets put into the Otter class with Mr Inagaki, and you go into Dugong with Miss Ino. 

Hajime’s nothing short of enraged. He throws chairs and yells and tries to kick the Principal, but it doesn’t change anything.

It would be good for you, they said, to have a chance to make other friends. ‘You can’t keep using your brother as a crutch, honey,’ your mother gently admonishes. 

Hajime scowls at that. Later, when it’s just the two of you hiding away in his room, he tells you she’s an idiot and a liar. ‘You don’t need anyone else. You have me.’

You knew that. You’d always have Hajime, but the other kids in your class weren’t as awful as he made them sound. Some of them were actually kind of cool, and they liked you, too.

For a while, you began to believe you could have both; Hajime and your new friends. 

Until one day you’re waiting for him at lunch when a boy from your class tugs on your braids and with a wide, toothy grin, loudly proclaims to the whole playground that even though you were a girl, and girls have cooties, it’d probably be okay if you wanted to be his girlfriend. 

You didn’t see Hajime coming up behind you. You’ve no idea where he found the scissors. The only warning either of you get is a sudden, splitting roar before he’s throwing himself at the smaller boy, tackling him to the ground. 

‘She’s MINE!’

Silver glints, flashing in the sunlight, and a high pitched shriek rips through the playground as he brings the scissors down on the poor, struggling boy. 

With a viciousness you’d never known of your brother, he swings again and again. It’s chaos. The other kids scatter and the teachers run to intervene. Hajime, spitting and snarling, red in the face and half-feral, doesn’t stop for them.

He stops for you. 

At the sound of a sharp little gasp, a line of red slashed along your forearm, Hajime stops dead, wide, horrified eyes fixed on yours.

—

‘Sweetie, what have I told you about snooping? I raised you better than that.’

‘But they’re addressed to me. Hajime wrote to me.’

‘Your brother’s not well, those letters– they’ll only upset you. I don’t want you reading them.’

‘… He says he misses me.’

‘I know, but he’s where he belongs, getting help. You want that for him, don’t you? To get the help he needs?’

‘I want to write back to him.’

—

There’s another letter waiting for you when you get home from school.

You hang your backpack near the door, still damp from being tossed in the pool, and eye the opened envelope sitting by your father. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when you reach for it, doesn’t lift a finger to stop you. Nevertheless, the displeasure radiates from him clear as day. 

“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s not well.”

You’d scoff if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. Nothing you said could ever be taken as ‘encouragement’, and you’re under no illusions about who and what your brother is. 

The violence terrifies you. Sometimes he says things in the letters he writes that make your stomach all twisty and your palms sweat, but Hajime could be a monster, and you think you’d love him anyway. You wouldn’t have a choice. 

So you pluck at the envelope and tuck it close, making your way to your room without another glance at either of your parents. Sitting cross legged atop your bed, you eagerly scan the contents;

He hates the new therapist. They had a movie night planned, but some asshole started a fight and the whole thing got cancelled. The food’s still shit. He’s fed up and pissed off, whether he behaves or not, they won’t let him out and they won’t give him what he wants, so what’s the point in pretending?

The both of you turn twelve in ten days time – you owe it to him to come spend it together. 

—

‘Maybe it’s for the best, sweetheart.’

Dismissive. She’s always dismissive. Your hands curl in response, tightening before you force yourself to flex them out and bite your tongue. It’s not worth the fight. Neither one of them actually care, and nothing you say will ever change that. 

He’s angry at you. Or hurt. Both, probably. 

They wouldn’t let you visit. You’d begged – cried, even – and it hadn’t swayed them. The rules are that you aren’t allowed to go and see Hajime and you aren’t allowed to talk to him on the phone. The letters are the only communication you have, and when your twelfth birthday comes and goes, those stop too.

You’ve sent four letters since, no response. 

He’s shut you out entirely and while you can’t blame him for it, it’s painful.

You’ve always had Hajime, through everything. Him shutting you out feels like losing a limb– 

No, it’s more than that. It’s like slowly losing some vital function inside of you. Like your lungs are shutting down and you can’t breathe properly and your heart isn’t pumping the way it should. You feel guilty and horrible and at least twice, you debate trying to find a way to sneak out and make the two hour journey on your own, just so you can see him.

It’s a stupid idea, they wouldn’t even let you through the front door, but it’s the only idea you have and so you cling to it.

You keep writing to him– panicked. Desperate. Begging his forgiveness. 

He never writes back.

—

They sit you down at breakfast three months after your fourteenth birthday and tell you Hajime’s gone.

There was another fight, someone pushed him–

You don’t want to hear the details. They don’t matter and your ears are ringing too loud to make sense of them anyway.

Hajime is gone.

The cord between you was stretched and fraying already. He hadn’t written in over two years and probably hated you towards the end but he– he was–

Yours. A part of you. 

Gone.

And your mother’s asking about the English test you have second period. 

—

“What. Did. I. Say?” Each word is slowly enunciated, a quiet growl that drags an unwilling shiver down your spine. 

He smells of wood – of cedar, spice and musk, the notes melding, coiling with the dizzying body heat, the solid weight of him, bracing himself above you.

His lips are mere inches from yours. 

Not dead. 

Here.

There’s a thousand thoughts racing through your head, connections that light up, clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle, painting a deeply unsettling picture – all of which are drowned out by the revelation that Hajime is here.

You burst into tears–

and Hajime – your brother, very much alive and glaring at you from above – surges down to swallow them in a vicious kiss.

The moment your lips touch, all the tension in his body just… bleeds out. Hajime groans, low and heated, his hips rocking, grinding along your stomach, and if you weren’t too preoccupied short circuiting, dangling on the precipice of a panic attack, you’d feel the twitch of his mouth, curling into a small but no less satisfied smirk.

He relaxes, like he’s coming home rather than returning from the dead to land the killing blow.

“Mine,” he answers his own question, breath heavy and ragged as his teeth nip at your jaw. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

The scratches on the wall. Kaori and Koji and Takashi, asleep in a sea of red. The viscous mess spilled over your belly. Your mother’s hushed voice, carrying down the hallway, ‘– only a phase. The books all say he’ll grow out of it before long.’

She hadn’t sounded convinced. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out as more tears spill into your hairline. Hajime won’t let you. He groans your name into the shell of your ear and licks at the tears as they fall. “Don’t,” he warns, fingers pressing tightly around your wrists ‘til they shoot back open with a gasp, “don’t you dare check out.”

When he rucks up your shirt to find you sans bra and a warm palm slides up to grope the soft, supple skin, a fresh burst of panic spurs you into action. Pinned under his weight as you are, you can’t move, and the idea of trying to physically fight him off is as laughable as it is terrifying – but when you were younger, you were the one – the only one – who could coax Hajime back from the edge, your hand in his.

Until he leapt from it entirely, and they took him away.

“H-Hajime?” A trembling, hiccuping whimper, thick with tears.  

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause – shuffling down your body to mouth at them instead – but hooded, simmering pools of green flick back up to your face, a hum of acknowledgement rumbling in his chest as he nips and sucks pretty, burgundy blooms across your breasts.

“I-if you ever loved me, even a little… Please, Haji– don’t hurt me like this–” you choke on another sob, pathetic mess that you are.

Hajime goes preternaturally still, eyes boring into you. 

You stare right back, fighting the urge to cower and flinch, to turn your cheek and stare at the discarded dumpling wrappers, letting him take what he wants. Praying that he won’t hurt you too badly if you give it to him without a fight.

Because it will hurt, you think. It’ll break you entirely. 

(Are you not already broken?)

When his head drops, you can’t help it – the sharp, terrified hitch in your breath – but his lips meet your forehead, then each cheek, before finally they brush over your lips with a tenderness he has no right to. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he vows, cradling the side of your jaw, “I won’t hurt you, ever.”

But that’s a lie, too.

“I love you more than anything.”

He kisses you again, soft and sweet and gentle, as if those promises weren’t sewn from violence and legitimised in blood. As if he isn’t breaking your heart with every sweep of his tongue, plundering your mouth.

There’s no fight in you left when he reaches for the waistband of your sweats and slowly starts easing them down. You don’t claw and shove when the hold on your wrists loosens and then disappears entirely, both hands needed to strip away his clothes. 

The sound of his belt buckle clinking, the soft hiss of a zipper, they wash over you, white noise lost to the pounding in your ears. 

But you don’t look away.

He strokes his cock – long and thick and flushed to the tip –  crawling up the mattress to kneel between your legs like a supplicant before an altar of the divine. 

Devotion demands sacrifice. 

“It killed me,” he starts, dragging the mushroom head along the slit of your pussy. He frowns a little, leans back and spits – a fat glob of saliva landing dead centre, adding to the mess his weeping cock’s already made. “When the letters stopped coming. I was angry, so fucking angry, all the time. I’d lash out and they’d put me in another cage, and I’d do it again, and again. They tried convincing me you’d moved on,” his eyes flash darkly, “which was bullshit. They’d have to carve me out of you with a knife.”

What shocks you isn’t the violent imagery, but the truth of it settling into your bones, inescapable and undeniable; you’ll always love your brother, even if that very love destroys you.

“I didn’t–”

The first thrust rips a strangled yelp from your throat. 

He’s too big, you’re not prepared to take him – and Hajime doesn’t care. His head tips back, shuddering out a breathy laugh. 

There’s no pause, no period of grace, seated deep inside of you, the walls of your pussy hugging him tight, Hajime won’t allow you a second to catch your breath and wait for the burning sting to abate. His hips draw back until only the throbbing head of his cock remains inside, and, upon grabbing a leg to hitch over his shoulder, uses it as leverage to punch forward, stuffing your tight little cunt to the brim.

The pace he sets is brutal from the outset. Bruising. He licks at your tears between kisses and moans when you clench and shudder around him. “Never again,” he pants into your ear. “I’ll kill them all if you leave. Every last fucking one. You’re mine. Mine.”

And you’d think it cruel, a punishment, if not for the way those green eyes burn. 

When his fingers twine with yours, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there, you wonder if this was always an inevitability. 

Hajime led and you followed, hand in bloody hand. 

He’d never allow anything less.

All In

the beta fic you have been waiting months for <33 Ushijima Wakatoshi, Semi Eita & Tendou Satori x female reader w.c 6.8k tw: yandere themes, a/b/o, noncon, (sorta) smut, nsfw, one mention of blood and oozing wounds, implied stalking, forced claiming

“They’re good guys – good alphas. This won’t be like last time, I promise. You’ll see what I mean when you meet them,” Ayako murmurs, squeezing your hand in reassurance and offering you a brilliant grin. “They’re gonna love you.”

Love seems a bit of a stretch.

But Aya looks so… hopeful. You sigh. “You really like them, huh?”

“I really like them,” she admits, a pretty pink blush tingeing her cheeks. “You come first, though. You’re my beta, and if it doesn’t feel right, we’ll walk, okay? No questions asked.” 

A promise she’s kept more than once. Too many times. Omegas like Aya, young and vibrant and oh-so-lovely, shouldn’t have any trouble finding a pack to settle down with. Hell, alphas should be banging down the door just for a chance with her – to fuck, to bond, anything and everything in between. You’re the sticking point. The reason why Ayako hasn’t bonded into a pack yet.

Alphas have no interest in betas. They do nothing for them – can’t take a knot, don’t have heats. Betas aren’t durable enough to ride out an alpha’s rut. All that compounded by the simple fact that bonding bites between the two don’t last longer than a few months, so why bother?

You’re dead weight. Aya clings to you anyway. 

She pulls your hand to her cheek, the tender, delicate spot right beneath the curve of her jaw. Scenting, you realise a touch belatedly. Omegas have stronger scents than betas do; florals, spice, indulgent, enticing things – you once knew an omega whose scent reminded you of hot caramel drizzled over apple pie. Ayako smells like lilacs and the rain, a softer scent admittedly, yet one that screams of home and comfort and familiar things. 

Your own scent is milder. Now, on top of sea salt and that faint whisper of summer, you’ll smell a little of her. She’s claiming you as pack, as hers. Her beta, exactly as she’d said

A flutter of warmth blooms in your chest, and you smile back at her, the first genuine one of the night. 

“You look great, by the way,” she tells you. “Come on, Tendou messaged to say they’re running a bit late and we should head on in without them. Ushijima’s practice doesn’t finish up ‘til about seven, so we’ve got plenty of time for the show.” She winks and lets out a bubbling laugh and you kind of feel like you’ve missed the joke.

Nevertheless, you let her tug you into the stadium. The lady behind the ticketing counter slides across two visitor’s passes on lanyards when Ayako gives your names.

“Practices are closed to the public,” the omega explains in a hushed voice while the two of you make your way towards the door for the stands. “Apparently the team get a few passes they can hand out to whoever they like – pack, usually.”

The pass has your name printed on it. Beneath it, in bold; Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

You finger the plastic edges absentmindedly. 

There’s other people in the stands, all wearing the same style lanyard draped around your neck. Some, you think, are partners. Friends and family. Pack, like Ayako said. You spy a woman maybe a few years older than you, bouncing a toddler on her lap and pointing animatedly towards the court, another guy sitting beside her, an arm curled over the back of her seat. Others appear to be there in a more official capacity – staff, you suppose, wearing the same white polo edged in blue and gold (team colours, you guess), talking quietly amongst themselves and jotting things down on expensive looking tablets. 

They pay you no mind. Ayako does the same, dragging you right up to the guard-rail with an excited gasp. You’d been expecting them to be running laps or tossing balls in pairs or something. You weren’t expecting anything like this. 

Without the roar of a crowd, every noise on the court is amplified; the squeaking of shoes, the thwack of palms meeting leather, shouts ricocheting from both sides as they scramble for the ball.

Scramble isn’t the right word, though. It flies through the air between the players, choreographed chaos.

One of the players, a dark haired behemoth, shoots up and connects with the ball, slamming it over the net with a terrifying force – you feel the impact in your chest when it hits the floor.

A whistle rings out.

“Oh my god,” Aya breathes.

The behemoth turns, dark eyes zeroing in on your figure from across the court. His nostrils flare.

Alpha, you realise. He’s one of Aya’s alphas.

Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

“You know he’s one of the top wing spikers in the country, and he’s on the national team? He’s already got like three Olympic medals! Three!” she gushes. “He’s incredible.”

You hardly hear her. The other players on the court, his teammates, are already re-setting, a blond slapping Ushijima on the back, another hurling a teasing jab across the net – earning him a middle finger in response – Ushijima’s gaze doesn’t shift, his attention doesn’t waver. You swear you see his pupils dilate. 

Your breath is caught somewhere in your chest. 

“Are you gonna wave at the alpha you dressed so pretty for?” 

“Would you stop?” you hiss, tearing your gaze away to jab an elbow into Ayako’s side, which she artfully dodges with a delighted giggle. 

“Can’t say I blame you for drooling. I practically melted into a puddle the first time Semi dragged him into the bakery. He’s hot as hell,” she sighs. 

The problem is, she isn't wrong. Weird, heavy, way too intense eye contact aside, Ushijima is the textbook definition of ‘hot alpha’; all tall and broad shouldered, his face hewn with clean, strong lines. Add on the ridiculous athleticism, the muscles that clearly aren’t just for show – yeah, no wonder Aya’s got heart eyes already. 

On the court below, the whistle blows. More cheers. Another point scored. By the time you glance down again, Ushijima’s lost interest, his focus returned to the game, nodding at something one of the (you presume) coaches yells across the court.

The tight, prickling feeling writhing beneath your skin, that doesn’t fade as quick. 

God, you’re way too worked up about this whole thing. 

“He’s very, uh…” 

“Intimidating? No– impressive? Or were you gonna say sexy? All true, by the way. Ushiwaka’s a beast.”

The other two alphas have finally deigned to grace you with their presence. Wonderful. 

Swallowing back a wince, you turn to face the duo. “Good,” you say. “I was going to say he’s very… good.”

Aya had told you the basics, of course; Semi’s the lead singer slash guitarist in a band, Tendou’s a chocolatier. The former used to be a civil servant, the latter recently moved back from a stint in Paris, and both of them played Volleyball with Ushijima in high school. 

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting. Carbon cutouts of their packmate, maybe, big, brawny, radiating the kind of imposing dominance that forces everyone around them – other alphas included – to sit down and shut up with a look alone. 

The two alphas before you aren’t that. 

The shorter of the two, more wiry in his build than the redhead beside him, smirks. “Good, huh?” 

He’s teasing you. They’re both teasing you. Your cheeks burn hotter. Before you can open your mouth to apologise, try and sidestep you shoving your own foot in your mouth as a first impression, Aya intervenes. 

“You should’ve seen her a minute ago, her jaw was on the ground. She’s playing it cool.”

The sound of her laugh digs at you in a way it shouldn’t. 

It’s not fair, not when you’re the one who’s acting like you don’t have a single working brain cell and she’s trying to cover for you, but it bothers you when Ayako acts like she has to smoothe over your edges, make you more palatable, more pleasing. You’re not an omega, you won’t ever be an omega, and sometimes you can’t help but wonder if Aya’s gonna spend the rest of your lives trying to compensate for that.

Her shoulder knocks with yours, a gentle bump, that same hopeful, painfully optimistic look in her eyes. 

Guilt, an old, familiar friend at this point, washes over you. 

“This is Semi,” she introduces, gesturing at the ash-blond with the ripped jeans, “and Tendou,” the gangly redhead. 

“And you must be our beta,” Semi surmises, slowly eyeing you over. 

The casual possessiveness rankles you, your tight smile freezing in place. Again Ayako simply laughs, her fingers, very deliberately, lacing with yours once more. “She’s my beta, you have yet to win her over.”

Neither alpha appears all that put out by the prospect.

Tendou, eyes crinkling with a wide, eager grin that takes you a little aback, thrusts a hand out towards you, a white gift bag you hadn’t noticed dangling from his fingertips. “Presents help with the whole wooing thing, right?” he jokes.

From your experience, yes. 

Aya’s received plenty. You, as her tag along beta, less so. 

One pack brought you a bouquet of pink and white peonies on your first date. Not quite as  extravagant as the arrangement of roses they presented Aya with, they had a lovely, subtle perfume and when you put them in a vase and set them atop your nightstand, they brightened up the whole room. You could appreciate that they’d at least tried to make you feel an equal part of this. 

They’d been willing to play pretend.

Back then, when Aya first started bringing potential packs around, you were… idealistic. Naive, maybe. 

You watched them dote on her. Lap up Aya’s attention like it was the sweetest fix. You saw the hunger. The arousal that flared, thick and syrupy, whenever she did something unintentionally appealing to the alpha inside of them – a simple stretch, nibbling on her bottom lip while she mulled over a menu, the sway of her hips as she walked up to the bar.

Oh, they were polite to you. Drew you into conversations, chatted about your job, your hobbies, the plans the two of you had for the holidays in a few weeks’ time – all the while tracking every movement of the omega beside you from the corner of their eyes.

They were nice to you. You didn’t want ‘nice’. You wanted what they so freely offered to Aya; hunger and captivated attention, a desire so thick in the air you could choke on it. 

Foolish, pretty fantasies. There’s no competing with biology, you know that. The most interesting, beautiful beta in the room is still just a beta. 

Down below, the court’s quieter, muted chatter drifting up to the bleachers in place of squeaking and thuds and the sharp trill of whistles blowing. Did the practice match finish up?

Aya squeezes your hand. Drops it. As subtle a cue as she can manage. 

Brain kicking back into gear, you step closer and pluck the gift from the alpha’s outstretched hand, an odd little shiver trickling down your spine when the tips of your fingers graze his rough palm. 

“Ah, thank you,” you say, remembering your manners at last.

Tendou’s eyes flutter shut, breathing in deep, shuddering a little on the exhale. When they open again, there’s a giddy sort of satisfaction creeping from his expression. He licks his lips, smiling wide. “Sea salt.”

“… Sorry?”

“The chocolates,” his chin juts towards the gift. “Sea salt caramel. I had a feeling, went with it. I’m not usually wrong.” He sounds absurdly proud of the fact. 

“Oh.” 

Beside you, Aya looks as lost as you feel. Semi, on the other hand, snorts, shaking his head. “You might wanna ease up on the beta, dude. She met you all of three minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna be besties. I can feel it.” Without warning he slings an arm over your shoulders, dragging you close to smush you into his side, unbothered by your startled yelp, the way the bag of chocolates smacks against his torso when the hand clutching it jerks out to steady yourself. “Don’t be jealous ‘cuz I’m already the favourite, Semi-Semi.”

Semi shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, leaning back against the centre railing behind him. Slowly, a smirk unfurls. A challenge. “For now.”

Plastered against Tendou’s side, swallowed up by the heat of him, the heady scent of cherrywood – of alpha – thick and strong, and with no sign of him letting you go anytime soon, you dart a glance to Aya.

Your best, oldest (admittedly only) friend, watching the three of you with a quirked eyebrow, expression otherwise indecipherable–

And then, she giggles, rolling her eyes with exasperated amusement. “Can we at least sit while you two fight over my well-earned spot?” 

You wonder if they notice the brief look of concern she throws your way as Tendou relaxes his hold and the two usher you over to a seat, Semi snagging the one to your left, Aya taking the right.

Her promise from earlier rings in your head. One word and she’ll walk, no questions asked. 

Aya needs a pack. She wants this one. She likes this one, but at some point, she’ll need one. 

Omegas don’t do well long term without mates. Right now her heats are okay, manageable with suppressants and toys – eventually those won’t be enough. They’ll get worse, come without warning, more frequently. The suppressants won’t help, she’ll ache and burn up, forgo food, water, sleep…

The lucky ones end up hospitalised. The unlucky ones either end up dead or in situations where it’d be a kindness if they were. 

“You okay?” she asks, whisper soft. Her voice won’t carry, the other two aren’t paying attention anyway. Semi’s thigh brushes up against yours when he spreads his legs wide, thumbing out a message on his phone, and Tendou’s leaning over the backrest between you, chin perched on his folded forearms, watching him type. 

One word and she’ll walk, that’s what Aya promised. 

Down on the court below, the players spread across the floor, stretching out and cooling down, half empty water bottles and sweat towels scattered around them. Ushjima’s lying on your side of the court, one thigh drawn over the other, twisting out his lower back. If he realises he’s got an audience in you and Aya, he gives no indication of caring, holding the stretch for a few seconds longer before repeating the motion with the other leg. 

“Yeah.”

If chocolates and overly tactile besties are what you get out of this, you can manage that. 

—

While you wait out front of the stadium for Ushijima to finish up, Semi smokes.

A lit cigarette dangles loosely between two fingers, the tip glowing cherry red with every drag. He stands separate from the three of you, a few feet away, because when he’d fished out the slightly crumpled packet from his jacket pocket to pluck one out, Aya’s nose wrinkled. Omegas are sensitive to strong smells at the best of times, and Aya’s loathed the stench of cigarettes ever since she was a kid and her dad would smoke on the back porch of her gran’s place. He died years ago, and to this day she swears up and down that every time she sets foot back there, she smells those Seven Stars.

To her credit, she hadn’t actually said anything, and to Semi’s, he hadn’t kicked up a fuss. He’d shrugged, shuffled on back and lit up anyway. Water off a duck’s back.

Tendou talks loudly and Aya’s giggling laugh echoes louder. Semi watches. Idle – bored, almost. 

Until his gaze shifts to you.

And stays there.

From a young age, you’re taught that alphas are stronger than betas and omegas. They’re quicker. Smarter. In the old days, they tell you, alphas were the hunters, the providers – protectors, when the situation called for it. What they mean, dressing the truth up in nicer, more palatable terms is that alphas are, down to their marrow, predators. 

Those instincts don’t go away just because society’s a little more civilised these days. 

Semi’s expression doesn’t change. There’s nothing particularly dangerous or threatening there, nothing to explain the sudden ball of anxiety that lodges itself in your stomach. 

Yet you can’t shake the sense that with that stare, every ounce of his focus rests solely on you. Every breath, every nervous twitch, shift of your muscles, all of it tracked, analysed. He stares, breathing out a slow plume of smoke, and you feel the physical weight of it bearing down on you.

He won’t bite, lunge for the kill – but he could.

His chin tilts, eyebrow lifting. A flicker of amusement, as if he knows exactly the thoughts running wild in your head. You shake them off, ignore the hammering of your heart to follow the wordless, beckoning call to his side, nudging Aya on the way past so she won’t think you’ve abandoned her. 

“You realise she’s gonna try and get you to quit,” you tell him in what you hope is a friendly, upbeat tone. 

Semi scoffs and takes another drag of his cigarette. You watch, off-kilter, a little dazed as his head tilts back, exposing the long, lithe column of his throat, and he slowly exhales.

With dark, sweeping lashes and angular features, the problem, you realise, is that Semi is distractingly pretty. An artless, grunged up sort of pretty. Pretty like pools of oil on asphalt after it rains. 

Pretty in the way that poisonous things often are. 

“She’s more than welcome to try.” He plucks his cig from his lips and extends it your way, his expression almost… goading. 

You don’t take it.

There isn’t much surprise to be found in your refusal, his pretty mouth pursing as his arm falls by the wayside. “Omega’s got her claws stuck in you good, huh.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it. What all this boils down to. Right from the start, the very first pack you met and every pack since – Aya’s made it clear from the get-go. They don’t get her without you. You’re her beta. 

“Is that a problem for you?”

You won’t take the cigarette because Aya has issues with it. She won’t entertain you leaving her because the two of you are too fucking entangled in one another to handle extrication.

You’re pack, you’re family, you’re all each other has left, now that her grandma – the woman who essentially raised you and her – is gone. 

You won’t play second fiddle, if only because Aya won’t allow them to push you aside like that. If that’s a problem, a dealbreaker (and, historically speaking, it has been) better they figure it out now, before she – or you – gets too attached and ends up hurt. 

Semi regards you for a long moment, taking one last puff of his cigarette before he flicks it away, grinds the smoldering butt into the cement with the toe of his boot. “Don’t know yet. Guess we’ll find out.”

And you nod, because at least that’s an honest answer. 

“Tendou came back to Japan for her, didn’t he?” It’d twigged when you’d gone to hand back your visitor’s pass and the lady behind the counter made some casual comment about not expecting to see him ‘til next season.

Not back for a visit, back permanently.

Semi shakes his head, “He was always coming back. Paris was only ever a temporary thing,” he corrects. “But yeah, he made the decision to come home early when we realised the opportunity that’d fallen into our laps.”

While you don’t love the way he makes meeting Aya sound, you understand the gravity of what he’s saying. Tendou uprooted his life for her. 

You glance back over your shoulder, fiddling with the handles of the bag of chocolates he’d made for you. They’re still talking, quieter now, both of them subtly – subconsciously, probably – angled towards the two of you; Aya with that same bright-eyed look about her, Tendou like he’s just itching to interrupt and steal your attention back for himself. He, at least, might actually like you. 

“And you? Are you all in, too?”

The words slip out before you can stop them. Semi doesn’t owe you an answer, you know that. It’s not fair that you asked, it’s just– you can’t get a read on him. For all his sharp edges and the smirks that make your insides squirm, you don’t know whether this is what he wants. Wanted, maybe.

Semi surprises you. In a move too quick for you to catch, he closes in on you. He doesn’t pin you down per se. You’re not caged in, trapped between his body and a wall. Physically speaking, there’s nothing stopping you from stepping back and regaining that inch of space as he looms over your shorter frame, tilting your chin upwards with two curled fingers like he’s going to kiss you. 

Nothing except your suddenly jelly legs. 

There’s barely anything separating you. Millimetres. Heat floods your face. Your stomach tightens, blood simmering, writhing beneath your skin. Long fingers encircle your wrist, right where Aya had scented you, his thumb digging in over your fluttering pulse. A noise escapes you then, a distressed sort of whimper you thought yourself above, and Semi’s eyes flick down to your lips, something dark and hungry flaring in response. 

Alpha. Smaller than his packmates, but no less. 

“Who d’you think called him and told him to get his ass back home, little beta?” 

You swallow unsteadily–

“Time to share, Semi-Semi,” Tendou sings, snaking an arm around your waist to haul you away from the blond. To you, he says, “You wanna come say hi to our big, bad pack alpha, don’tcha?” 

It’s then you realise that Ushijima, along with several of his teammates, have finally emerged. While they wave each other off, scattering across the carpark, some heading to their cars, others in the direction of buses and the train station, Ushijima halts near the door – Aya already skipping on over. 

“Ah… yes?”

Tendou snickers. 

“Relax,” Semi tells you with a smirk, clapping your shoulder as he brushes on past. “Ushiwaka doesn’t bite.” 

As Tendou nudges you forward like an errant duckling, you fix Semi with an unimpressed look. He winks. Asshole.

Omegas, especially unbonded omegas, tend to be picky about touch and physical affection outside of pack and family. Aya, for all her moon-eyed infatuation, doesn’t throw herself at the alpha. Ushijima offers a single, wooden pat on her head, the edges of his mouth lifting in what you suppose is an approximation of a smile.

She beams all the same.

“– and this is my beta,” she introduces. 

You’re not anticipating an overly warm welcome. For one, he looks stiff enough smiling at Aya to suspect he’s not practised with the expression, for another… the whole, weird staring thing from earlier sits all too fresh in your mind. If he’d heard your awkward fumbling with his packmates in the aftermath, you doubt that’s helped endear you to him any.

Nothing prepares you for the way he turns, every speck of goodwill falling from his features when your scent finally reaches him. Cold, remote stone, eyeing you down. 

“You smell like lilacs,” he grunts, like the very concept offends him. You, a beta, wearing his would-be mate’s scent. 

—

The izakaya the alphas take you to is only a few minutes walk from the stadium, and each one of them passes in near unbearable, stilted tension. 

Aya doesn’t question you when you make a bee-line for the bathroom rather than following the others to a table, though the small furrow between her brows says plenty.

You just need a minute.

The single unisex stall offers spartan amenities at best – a sink with a cracked mirror hammered into the wall, paper towels, and a lone, flickering light above. 

Braced over the porcelain vanity, eyes closed, shaking like a leaf with remnants of ice-cold water dripping down your face, you will the frantic, sickening churn inside you to ease. 

Fuck. 

What’s wrong with you?

Ushijima could barely stand that Aya had scented you, and you’re supposed to believe he’d let you bond into the pack with her? And if he did, what kind of life would that be? You, forever on the outside, pack but not really, not in the ways that matter. 

What place does a beta have between alphas and their omega?

More to the point, how, after all the packs you and Aya have tried this with, all the the indifference and dismissal you’ve weathered, the cruel insults you weren’t supposed to hear–

Think of it this way, dude; it’s a spare hole for you to stick your cock in while the omega’s busy bouncing on my knot.

–how are you still surprised that they don’t want you?

You let a slow breath out, shoulders sagging. Okay. 

Okay. 

Straightening up, you rip a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser, dabbing to remove any trace of distress from your face. You can do this, you tell yourself. Smile, play pretend. A few drinks, some dumplings, yakitori – two, three hours max.

Nothing’s changed.

The alphas want Ayako. Ayako wants these alphas.

In spite of that, in spite of the blushing and fawning and big, lovely doe eyes that bat ever so prettily for her alphas, she’ll hold true to her promise if you ask it of her. 

No questions asked, without an ounce of resentment, she’d walk away from them. She’d choose you. 

It’d be a few weeks of moping around, picking each other up and dusting yourselves off. There’ll be other packs. Aya’s got a few years yet before her heats really become an issue. You can always try again.

The thing is… you don’t want to anymore.

They like you as a friend. You’re in the way. They wanna fuck you, but only if the omega’s otherwise occupied. You can take care of the household stuff during heats and ruts, right? Maybe one day there could be something more. 

They wouldn’t look twice if it wasn’t for Ayako. 

Every time it hurts, like clawing out pieces of yourself, and you just… you can’t anymore. You won’t.

So tonight, you’ll be the bestie. Let her have her fun, flirt with the big, strong alphas she’s so enamoured by, and then tomorrow… tomorrow you’ll find a way to cut yourself loose from all of this. Aya gets her pack and you can find a nice, normal beta to settle down with. You’ll both be happier for it in the long run. 

Wiping a smudge of mascara from under your eye, you suck in another fortifying breath, nodding at yourself in the mirror. A few hours of pretending is nothing. A piece of cake.

Focused entirely on the veneer you have to slip into, you don’t notice the large, muscular frame blocking the door until you quite literally collide with it.

“Oof– Sorry, my b–”

The words wither like ash on your tongue when you look up to find Ushijima standing over you.

Despite the resolution you’d come to mere moments ago, you’re not feeling particularly charitable towards the hulking behemoth of an alpha, and you have every intention of wordlessly skirting around him to head back to the table and join your friend, civility be damned. 

You make it all of a single step before a change sweeps over him and he stiffens, nostrils flaring like they had back on the court. His eyes bleed black, and that’s the only warning you get before he seizes your wrist in one giant hand and starts to haul you back into the stall, slamming the door shut behind you both. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” you hiss. 

“She scented you,” he growls, looking angrier than he did before. “You smell like omega.”

No, this isn’t anger. Not exactly. Ushijima’s shoulders heave with every breath, his whole frame almost shuddering, pulled taut like a bowstring primed to snap–

And that’s when realisation hits. 

“You’re in a rut,” you whisper, eyes going wide in horror. “Ushiji–” You don’t get to finish the sentence. 

Big should mean slow. Clumsy. Ushijima’s neither. 

In an instant he surges into motion, one hand clamping down over your mouth, the other shoving you forward, trapping you on the tips of your toes between his hulking body and the vanity that was your lifeline five minutes ago. Just like then, your hands automatically reach out, clutching the edge of the sink to steady yourself. Stupid, when the full weight of Ushijima pins you precariously in place anyway.

Your heart hammers, panic and terror clawing at your stomach. You aren’t an omega, you can’t take a knot. If Ushijima tries to fuck you like he wants – like his instincts are driving him to – he’ll tear you apart. He’ll break you. 

But if any part of the mindless, snarling alpha behind you recognises that, he doesn’t care. The warm body in his grasp smells like lilacs, like the omega outside, and that’s good enough.

He noses at your hair and pants, yanking your skirt up to rip at your underwear. The fabric gives easily.

While he rips and claws at his own clothes to free his cock, Ushijima stares at your reflection, watching you shake as the tears well up and spill over. There’s nothing human there, nothing cognizant. The black pits staring back at you are pure alpha, consumed by the need to fuck and breed. 

You have seconds – seconds – to brace yourself.

Ushijima drags the head of his cock along your slit just once, bends you over, and without warning or preamble, splits you in two. 

Omegas have slick to help with sudden ruts. You don’t. 

It doesn’t matter that you’re not prepared to take him, that it hurts worse than anything you’ve experienced before and you’re choking on tears and muffled wails. You scream into his hand and Ushijima grunts, bullying his cock into you one agonising millimetre at a time. 

He fucks into you like you’re made to take his cock, every thrust slamming you into the unforgiving edge of the sink while your legs scramble for purchase. You’re fairly sure you’re close to passing out when you feel the swell of his knot start to catch. 

Oblivious to your panic, the wheezing cries and pleas dashed against his palm, the alpha snarls in open-mouthed pleasure, his spare hand coming down to cover one of your own, braced against the sink. “Mine.”

With the added weight, the vanity unit rattles against the wall, and you pray that someone’s walking by and hears it, cares enough to come investigate.

You aren’t that lucky, though.

Ushijima hauls you back upright, and as his knot swells, thick and pulsing, stretching you to breaking point and spurts of hot cum coat your insides, you cling on to consciousness just long enough to watch him tilt your chin to the side, lap at a bead of sweat trailing down your neck, and bury his teeth in your skin. 

—

Three days after your release from hospital, you wake to Aya knocking at your bedroom.

“S’posed to be at the bakery,” you mumble, curling tighter into the warm cocoon of your sheets. Soft morning light spills into your room. You can’t be bothered reaching for your phone to see the time, however your internal clock tells you that whatever the time is, it’s too early.

Aya sighs, taking that as an invitation to slip inside and plant herself on the edge of the mattress beside you. “Soon. I swapped shifts so I could start a bit later. I didn’t want…” she seems to struggle to find the right words, her shoulders rising and falling in a helpless shrug. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

That isn’t the problem. 

“You remember the day your mom left?” The stark flinch beneath the covers must serve as answer enough. “You wouldn’t stop crying. Gran was so worried you’d make yourself sick, kept bringing you tea, bottles of water, anything to keep you hydrated.” 

An omega like her granddaughter, the last of her alphas having passed away a few years before, she’d paced fretfully outside Aya’s bedroom door for hours while you’d sobbed into your best friend’s arms, an absolute wreck. 

A bittersweet feeling floods your heart at the memory. No one ever loved you like gran did. 

Aya continues, “I made a decision that day. I wasn’t going to leave. I wasn’t going to run off with a bunch of alphas to live out some fairytale happily ever after and leave you behind. You can blame me for what happened. I get it. If I hadn’t scented you, he–” she breaks off with a sharp inhale.

He wouldn’t have tipped into a rut.

Wouldn’t have fucked you.

Knotted you.

Bit you. 

“You can blame me for it,” she repeats, though her voice shakes and her eyes shine with tears she won’t let fall. “Hate me for it if you have to, so long as you know I’m not going anywhere. You’re still my beta, my best friend. All I wanted was to keep us together.”

Aya waits for you to say something. To forgive or condemn, and you try– you genuinely do, because blaming her isn’t fair, and you could no sooner hate her than you could carve out a lung. 

Only… you open your mouth and there’s nothing. 

The way her expression collapses before she has a chance to plaster over it hits you like a punch to the stomach. 

“Alright, lovely girl. I’ll see you when I get back – four-ish probably, unless we get hit with a late rush. I’ll try and steal some of those mini strawberry cakes to bring home too, I know how much you like them,” she rambles, patting your blanket covered knee and rising to her feet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Aya–”

Already halfway to the door, she turns, perfect brow arched, “Hm?” Like she’s expecting you to ask for another blanket. Some tea. Nothing wrong, nothing amiss. 

“Love you, too.”

And it’s like the sun coming out from the clouds. Aya beams a watery smile, and quietly closes the door behind her. 

Sleep drags you back under before you hear the front door click. The doctors warned you about that; one of the many charming side effects you’d be subjected to over the next few weeks.

Bond sickness, they called it. An alpha’s bite formed a mating bond, and that bond doesn’t respond well when it’s neglected, say by putting several miles of distance between you and the alpha who marked you. For omegas it can be deadly if it goes on long enough. Alphas have a sense of it, but it doesn’t affect them in the same way. They don’t get sick. For you, it means a month or so of lethargy, aches, low grade fevers and chills, nausea, a veritable shopping list of symptoms that’ll ease and fade as the bond itself does. 

None of that had stopped one of the nurse’s at the hospital from suggesting that, despite the delicate nature of the situation, it might be beneficial for your health if you moved in with Ushijima and his pack until it did fade. 

It was Aya who’d jumped down her throat for that one. 

You were still in shock. Numb–

Except for the foreign, slow simmering anger lodged like a thorn between your ribs. A small piece of you that wasn’t you at all. 

—

Sometime around midmorning, you stir again.

There’s footsteps in the living room, pattering through towards your bedroom. Dancing on the edge of awake, your brain slow and sluggish, jumps to the most logical conclusion. 

“Aya?” 

You expect your door to open, that familiar bloom of lilacs to spill into your room along with your best friend, a bowl of noodle soup from the shop on the corner in tow, the strawberry cakes she promised earlier, extra pillows, coffee, her laptop with your favourite movie already queued up; comfort things she knows will help.

The door does swing open, and neither one of the tall, looming frames behind it belong to Aya. 

“Sorry to disappoint, little beta,” Semi drawls, crossing the threshold like he has every right to be there. “Your girlfriend’s busy, you’re gonna have to play with us instead.”

The blood in your veins runs cold. 

Drawing your legs up tight to put as much distance between you and the advancing alpha as you can, your eyes dart between the two, Tendou lingering in the doorway, fingers drumming against the jamb. 

“I didn’t report him. I’m not going to,” you tell them, clutching at the blankets around you so your hands won’t shake. “I know how it’ll go, I’m not i-interested in–”

Semi reaches your bed. That look he’d had in his eyes back at the stadium, dark, focused, predatory – it’s there again, sharp and gleaming. He’s smirking. 

“There’s no– you don’t need to threaten me, or-or try to scare me–” His knee hits the mattress and your voice jumps to a squeak as he climbs on up.

You squirm back against the headboard. Semi prowls closer. 

There’s nowhere for you to go. 

Tendou’s not so subtly placed himself between you and the exit, and even if you could launch yourself out of bed without Semi catching you – without your head spinning and stomach threatening to upheave – they’re alphas. You couldn’t outrun them on a good day, you sure as hell can’t fight them.  

“Please. You can go. I-I won’t say anything.”

“Fuck, that’s cute,” Tendou shivers, the deep red of his iris nearly swallowed by black. His fingers aren’t idly drumming anymore, they’re digging into the wood, splintering it beneath his grip. 

Inches away from you, Semi suddenly freezes, his attention snapping downwards to focus on something near his right hand. His nose wrinkles, lip curling. “You wanna know what I liked best about the omega?” he asks, lifting his gaze back to you. “I don’t think you really believed me back at the stadium.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to know. If they aren’t here to scare you into keeping your mouth shut about Ushijima, then–

A low, husky chuckle comes from the doorway. 

“When she’d show up smelling like the sea in summer.” 

He strikes hard and fast – seizing your ankle to yank you under him. His mouth finds the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder and he bites down. Hard. 

Agony washes you over you, chased by fire. 

Panting wildly, your body locks up, arcing against him; against the warmth that crowds you, the hard muscles that cage you, the face now tucked into the crook of your neck, licking at the bloody, oozing wound. 

He’s there inside of you, too. Buried beneath your skin, brimming with smug satisfaction. 

“Bite her and we’ll take her home to the nest. I’m not fucking her here,” he calls over his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on you. He pats your hair, strokes your cheek. “Little beta needs her mates, don’t you?”

“Course she does!”

You’re gasping for air that won’t come, trembling, heart beating so frantically inside your chest you worry it’ll give out.

Tendou, bounding over with puppy-like eagerness, jumps on the bed and shoves his fellow alpha out of the way. 

“A…ya,” you rasp, weakly pushing at the large body crawling atop yours. You’re not sure whether it’s a question or a plea, but you get the sense that it doesn’t actually matter either way. 

Semi rolls his eyes – you can feel the flicker of his irritation – while Tendou, pawing at your sleep tee, pushing it up and shoving his face into the soft skin revealed there only groans, huffing at your scent like he can’t get enough. 

“Pretty omega like her? She’ll have her own alphas to worry about,” Semi dismisses, a faint frown marring his pretty face as he zeros in on the bandage over your neck. 

A split second too late, you realise his intentions. 

“No, don’t–”

He rips off the gauze.

Ushijima’s bite is puffy and inflamed. Calloused fingertips drift over the edges of the wound, Semi’s eyes boring into you as you let out a low, anxious whine. As Tendou licks and nips at your chest, working his way upwards, the blond increases the pressure, digging in.

You choke on a cry, pleasure, rather than pain, flooding and overwhelming your senses, and deep in your core, the answering surge of rabid need rips through you so viciously it punches the air from your lungs–

“We don’t fucking share.”

–and you scream as Tendou’s teeth sink into the curve of your breast, claiming you one final time.

your unreliable narrator fucking bit me

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

part two

summary: gojo satoru was the most notorious man across the land. he was the strongest soldier the north had ever produced, the most brilliant of minds, and somebody who slept his way through the noble ranks. his parents set him up in a marriage agreement with you, hoping that a tie with a ring would help save his image. you know gojo never wanted this, and you try to act as if that was normal. but soon, without you or even him realizing it, he comes to the conclusion that while he never wanted this marriage - he's beginning to want you.

warnings: 18+ mdni: arranged marriage, angst, slight no comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated for a bit, heavy making out, eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, (naoya)

word count: 19.7k (sorry)

note: inspired by this drabble. i'm so happy this behemoth of a fic is done!! art credit: _3aem

jjk masterlist + series masterlist

Gojo Satoru was the most powerful man alive. 

Not only physically, though some people chalked him up to being half god, but his name held even more control. The Gojo family of the North was as old as the gods themselves, and they’ve been making sure it’s been kept that way. They owned so much land that you would walk to the ends of the earth and circle back around and it would probably still be theirs. They had armies of unfathomable sizes under their command, so much riches that they could probably buy an entire nation and still have plenty to spend. 

His presence was just as large as his name created him to be. Any ball he went to, all eyes would fall on him. On the battlefield, men feared to see the flash of white hair, knowing that his strength was unbridled. 

And his physical beauty? Most people assumed he was blessed by the gods himself. Gojo had a certain look that just made your knees weak, your heart palpitate, and your cheeks heated up. The handful of times you’ve seen him from afar you’ve been able to understand why all the girls (and some of the guys) yearned for his attention. His eyes were a piercing blue as if somebody had held a mirror to the sky when creating them. His hair had grown whiter with the years, as white as the snow that sunk deep into the grounds of the north. Gojo had the build of a soldier, and he towered over most people. His bulky build was intimidating, but you heard some girls whisper behind their hands about how he must look underneath all those ceremonial garments. 

The lord of the North was power itself. 

Which would make you, by martial association, the North's most powerful lady.

And for somebody who grew up with the same respect as a stable boy, it was all too much too soon. 

And yes, while on paper you still had your father's last name and legacy tied to it, you weren’t really a daughter to your parents. Your mother, though you had to call her by her name whenever you weren’t in public, seeing how she wasn’t really your mother, made sure it was kept that way. Your other three half-sisters should have been in your spot, either one of them more true to the family name than you. But seeing how they’re already married, you were the final resort. 

Gojo Satoru, though you’ve seen him countless times (something common because of how close in ranks your families were), had only acknowledged you a couple of times. You didn’t care much, never did, because that's what you were used to. After all, it was a common fact that you were what they nicknamed “the bastard daughter” of the West.

But it didn’t seem to matter much to his parents, as they offered their son up to you in a marriage arrangement. 

And who were you to turn that down? 

They, his parents, assured you that their son was looking forward to this union. He was the one to offer it, they said, which you were skeptical of but weren’t stupid enough to question. You knew how much Gojo Satoru was tarnishing their reputation with his promiscuous ways, but as long as he was okay with this arrangement you couldn’t find any part of you that would disagree with it. 

After all, you knew that this marriage wasn’t out of love, fascination, or even a mutual understanding, but because of the strength your own family (more so your father) held, and how you were the only feasible option for a bride. 

So, after weeks of rocking back and forth on agreements, paperwork, dress rehearsals, and grueling dancing lessons (and still no sight of the man himself), you found yourself standing at the end of the aisle, your arm linked around your fathers as a large smile plasters itself on your face. 

Ever since you were young you had convinced yourself that the only man who would want to taint his name enough to marry you would have to be either a troll or an ogre, so that fact that your future spouse was human was better than anything you could have asked for. 

And you’re not daft. As your heart hammered loudly against the limited space of your chest, waiting for your cue to start walking, you reminded yourself that this was just a mutual agreement. It’s hard for people at your level to marry for love, but even then, you can’t help but hope that you can make a decent friendship out of this. 

You glanced at your father next to you, catching his eyes as he nodded once, staring ahead of him into the small crowd of just your two families, and patted your arm. 

You still remember the music playing, the instruments harmonizing together as you took a tentative step forward, feeling warm under the eyes of people you didn’t know, but you kept reminding yourself that this was the best thing that could’ve happened to you. Either you died as an old maid in the little room you had near the kitchens at your old home or got married to some warlord who wanted an entire village as family. 

The orchids that surrounded the venue still infiltrate your nose as you think about it, the way the silk of your dress felt against your skin that had been scrubbed raw earlier that morning. 

And there you saw him, standing at the end of the aisle. At that moment you realized how much of a mistake this was,

Because the man that stood there, the man who you were about to marry, seemed like he’d rather be dead than be your husband. 

—

You blink out of your trance, sitting up straighter in your seat as you mindlessly stop tearing up pieces of your bread, rubbing your fingers together to get rid of the remnants of flour. 

The dining hall was huge, far bigger than the one back home. Though you rarely ate there, you could still remember it, and it definitely wasn’t as big as this. Yet, despite its size, you felt like you were a little grain of rice in its vastness. 

The Gojo estate itself was humongous. His parents resided in a smaller house near the ocean now that you’ve moved in, but you would bet that the word humble they used to describe it was anything but humbling. You’ve been here for weeks and yet you feel like you’ve only discovered half of what this place has to offer.

There were guards at every corner, but at this point, you’re convinced they're just for decoration. If your husband is as decorated a warrior as they say he is, he could protect this entire estate with no help necessary. 

You stare at your plate, at the array of food prepared just for you, different sorts of cured meats, loaves of bread, cheeses, fruits, and juices from all over, and still, you feel no hunger. 

Months ago you’d be ecstatic to see how much your life has changed. You get new clothes that fit you, food whenever you desire, people at your beck and call. Your room is no longer that cramped space you’d been given to hide you away from the rest of your family, but twice the size of your father's old bedroom. You wake up earlier and sleep later, do whatever you want, but none of it feels deserved.

The only thing you can bring yourself to think about is how the last time you saw your husband was the night of the wedding. The look on his face when you made your empty vows to one another, his faint lingering kiss on your cheek. You can blink your eyes and still see the way he left, his jaw clenched as he ignored the calls from his parents. How, even here, rumors seemed to follow you. 

Safe to say, you spent your meals alone. 

Not only that, but your rooms were entirely separate as well. You were told that you had to consummate the night of your marriage, but from what you’ve heard, your husband sleeps in an entirely different wing of the estate, with walls and corridors between the two of you. 

You tried taking your mind off of things, pretending as if this was normal. 

Most days you’d walk around, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout of the grounds. You’d walk the gardens a couple times each week, try to memorize the way back to different places, and stay in the library the other half of the time. 

A part of you was happy to at least be away from that miserable home, but it felt like swapping one prison for a slightly better one. Your maids were kind, of course, but you didn’t know anybody here. They treat you like a lady of noble ranking, as expected from being the wife of the Lord in the North, but you’d rather be given an apron and start working around instead of this mind-numbing boredom of just sitting around. 

You stare at your plate, chewing on a grape slowly. 

Looking up you see the sun filtering in through the large windows, illuminating the long table that sits like an empty grave. Clicking your tongue you pick up another grape, slumping in your seat as you look up. 

This is just the way things will be.

—

“Alina?”

You call out from your vanity, staring at your maid as she’s picking out different earrings for you to pick from for dinner. 

It’s a couple of days later, and still no word from Gojo. But that doesn’t mean that you haven’t stopped for a single second to not think about your supposed husband. 

You try not to care, pretend that you’re lucky that he’s not bothering you or going out of his way to remind you of this unfortunate situation, but above anything you just feel alone. 

The maid looks up, a curl falling from her tight bun as she smiles at you in the mirror. 

“Yes, my lady?” She stands up straighter, flattening out the wrinkles from her apron tied around her waist as she begins walking towards you with the jewelry. 

“Is this…is this normal?” You crane your neck around to look at the different pairs she’s holding up, nudging your head to the red ones that shine bright, and watch as she sets them down on your desk, resting her hand on your hip as she stares at you quizzically. 

“What do you mean?” She asks as you begin taking your earrings off, putting the new ones on yourself. In the beginning, she protested, saying that a woman of your caliber shouldn’t have to do such measly tasks. But the more you protested, she eventually gave up. 

“Do husbands and wives usually sleep separately?” you say, feeling your chest contract in embarrassment at the stupidness of your question. 

You watch as she swallows thickly, avoiding eye contact as she sets on fixing some parts of your hair. 

Staring patiently through the vanity mirror as you watch her work, Alina wets her lips, her eyes downcast as if not wanting to answer. 

“Was there somebody else he preferred to marry?” You decide to ask, twisting that knife that you knew was lodged in her side, one that was stopping her from talking, and watch as her eyes widen slightly in shock. 

“If you don’t answer I’m just going to keep asking more uncomfortable questions,” you warn and Alina snorts softly, shoving your shoulder a little bit as you crack a smile. 

She moves around, picking up a necklace, and begins clasping it behind your neck. 

“I…I don’t know. He’s always been pretty secretive and,” she looks at you briefly, “Selective. I don’t mean to speak ill of my lord but it would be stupid not to acknowledge his old ways. But we never heard of a specific girl.”

Alina places a gentle hand on your shoulder, a sad smile on her face. 

“You’re lucky my lady,” she says, her voice hushed, “Most wives don’t have the freedom to say their husbands don’t care what they do. Had you married that Zenin, you’d be pregnant by now.”

You shudder out a breath, nodding once more. 

“I’ll see you after dinner, my lady,” she says, moving out of the way as you stare quietly at the floor before leaving silently. 

—-

Tonight for dinner the cooks made you a wide array of different dishes, all from the Northern shore. There are different types of fish, each cooked in various ways. It looks delectable, a feast fit for a king. 

You feel awful, though, seeing that you can’t eat any of it. 

The last time you had fish your face swelled up and couldn’t breathe properly, so that family physician told you to steer away from it. But you’re here now, and it somehow slipped your mind to ever mention this little fact to them, so you’re awkwardly poking around some of the vegetables under the fish, looking for something to eat. 

You pile some potatoes and carrots on your plate, scraping off any bits of fish on them as you hold this wasn’t your last meal. 

The only sound that fills the room is your fork and knife sometimes hitting the porcelain plate, and you look up every now and then as you chew, looking at the paintings on the wall. 

You’re so focused on a portrait of an old man that you don’t even notice the figure standing at the entrance of the dining hall, not until you hear a muted curse. 

You look up instantly, your fork and knife dropping to the plate as you stare at the man in front of you, eyes wide at the sight of your husband. 

He stands there, blinking slowly as you stare back. 

You could swear time has never moved so slowly before. 

You can hear him mutter a quiet shit under his breath, not knowing if he should make this worse by turning around and leaving or if he should join you. 

He’s wearing a simple tunic, his face a little flushed, hairline beaded with sweat. Did he just come out of training? He must often do that, you decide, seeing how he must’ve felt comfortable enough walking in here without any clothing of import. 

His eyes seem to track your little movements; the way your chest rises and falls in a slow movement, the way your fingers have frozen in mid-air, lips slightly parting. Your eyes dart around the room, everybody seeming to have tensed up.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’ve never been so moved to silence. It seemed as if years of learned vocabulary slipped your mind within an instant, and no matter how hard you tried, nothing was coming back.

Gojo looks behind his shoulder, at the large double doors he entered through, deep in thought. This would be the first time the two of you had seen each other in weeks, and his tirade of avoiding you has come to an end. It looks like an entire battle is being fought in his mind, and you don’t know what to do.

Suddenly, you watch as he shakes his head, deciding to give in and join you for dinner. 

The seconds go by like hours as he walks up to the seat at the other end of the table, staring at his seat for a brief second before he pushes it out and sits there. 

You don’t know what to do. 

Servants and maids quickly swarm the room, setting up his plate, cutlery, food, and drinks. It was all so hectic and rushed, but you were glad that it offered some sort of noise in the drowning silence.

A part of you wants to say something about the fish but you know this isn’t the right time. 

In the flurry of movements you allow yourself to discretely look at him a little better, seeing how the last time you saw him was so brief and hurried. 

The man radiates a different sort of aura you’ve never experienced before. While your father was one of the most powerful men in the West, Gojo was the strongest throughout the majority of the North and East. His frame took up the entire chair, his muscular shoulders and arms visible even through the loose fabric that was draped over him. You feel a little disappointed, knowing that if you were a different girl you’d probably be able to enjoy all of this. 

You try to make yourself seem indifferent, moving some of the vegetables in your plate around, but secretly just trying to shovel them down as fast as humanly possible to get out of this thick atmosphere. 

One of the men who was setting up some of the plates in front of Gojo takes notice of this, a smile overtaking his face as you briefly look up from your plate, startled to see the man walking closer to you.

“My lady, I’m so happy to see you enjoying our Northern delicacy!” He claps his hands together as you stare at him with wide eyes, your mouth still full of potatoes as you try chewing faster to get it all down before he gets closer to you. 

His eyes wrinkle around the edges, his graying mustache trimmed ever so carefully, and you can tell he’s trying to loosen up the tension, but you stare in abject horror as he stands at your foot of the table. 

“Would you like some more?” He motions to the fish that lay untouched in front of you, and you glance over to Gojo, hoping that maybe he is focused on his meal, only for your heart to sink at the fact that he is staring at you. 

“...y-yes,” you croak out, wiping some of the carrot remnants from the corners of your lips as you give him a wobbly smile, “It’s alright, I can serve myself,” you exclaim, trying to thwart him off as he quickly waves this aside, shaking his head as he grabs the tray, beginning to portion some hefty pieces of fish onto your plate.

You don’t have the heart to tell this jolly man that this amount of fish would kill you within an instant, or even that he was wasting this all on you, so you just sit there, giving him a tight-lipped smile as you try not to breathe it in too much. 

“Is that enough, my lady?” He asks, setting the tray down as you look at your plate now full of different sorts of sea creatures you swallow slowly, looking back up at him as you give a wobbly smile. 

“This is great,” you muster up and watch as an even larger smile takes over his face, and you feel awful for it, “Thank you so much,” you tell him, watching as he bows lowly, excusing himself as he, and the other servants, leave the room,

Leaving you and Gojo alone. 

You’re grateful that he’s already dug into his meal, not looking at a struggling you that’s moving the fish around with your fork as you try to find the last bits of vegetables you had saved up for yourself. 

The smell itself is enough to make your stomach turn, and you wince, reaching for your cup of wine to wash some of the nausea down.

“You have very good wine,” you say suddenly, against your will, and have an out-of-body experience as you realize what you just did. 

Gojo looks up from his plate, a little startled as he looks at you and the goblet in your hand, his white brows furrowed. 

He nods once, not saying anything, and you feel the strange need to continue, somehow enjoying the feeling of stabbing yourself in the foot.

“Our wine back home tasted like cow piss,” your eyes widened at your slip of crass language, “Er - not piss, um, urine…?” You wince even more, feeling as if a ghost with awful intentions had taken control over your body, “Not that I’ve had cow piss - urine!” You correct yourself, “But I imagine that if I had…that, um, it would taste like o-our wine back home...”

He’s staring at you, unblinking, and you smile awkwardly, raising the cup to him as a sort of cheers gesture. 

You count twenty seconds of silence in your head as you set the cup down, playing with your fork as you glance back up at him. Gojo looks as if he is regretting his decision to stay, his fingers tapping on his knife in a hurried sort of way. 

“I don’t really like wine,” you continue, feeling like the only thing that could stop you now was if somebody were to bludgeon you to death, “I like juice more. Oh, well, but I guess…wine is juice…?” you mutter to yourself, contradicting your own words mid-sentence, “Back home we had this mulberry juice and it tasted nice. Kind of like your wine,” he’s not even looking at you and so your words die, quieting down as you sink back into your seat, hoping it could eat you entirely. 

“Do you like wine?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, smiling faintly, awkwardly, “Or juice? Or… mulberries…?” 

He shakes his head, still not staring at you. 

“Did you have a good-”

“I prefer eating in silence.” Gojo finally said, raising his head slightly as he stared directly at you, watching as your mouth clamped shut. 

Your smile grows small, eyes falling to the table to hide the embarrassment in them. You give him a brief nod, mumbling a quiet apology under your breath as you begin moving some pieces of carrot around on your plate. 

You can hear the clinking of his utensils against his plate, wishing you could somehow fit an entire fish down your esophagus to escape this moment. 

You give it a couple of seconds, counting the groves in the wood of the table, and rise, stomach empty, heart churning as you finally excuse yourself. 

It only takes you minutes to find your room, quicker than last night, and allow yourself to sink against your bed, rubbing your skin raw of the rouge Alina had applied an hour earlier. 

—-

You don’t tell anybody of the awful encounter with the man that’s legally your husband, but you’re sure that those there to observe have already begun talking about it. You try to pretend nothing happened, but Alina could pick up on your closed-off demeanor that night, her hands gentler than usual when helping you take off your garments, her eyes filled with concern. 

“How was dinner, my lady?” She asked, staring at you as you waved off her worries, mustering up a lame excuse of a smile as you took off your silk shrug, avoiding any sort of eye contact as you slipped into your nightly garments. 

“It was good,” your words are void of emotion, “I had fish.” 

The following days are empty of any sight of your husband, but you’ve grown to find that normal. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about how idiotic you acted, your big mouth never knowing when to stop, tossing and turning in your bed at your excuse of an interaction. 

You continue with your old routine of walking around the estate, sometimes trying to track down Alina and your other maids, seeing if maybe they had some free time to spend with you. You know there’s a town nearby, the girls often talk about how they go there sometimes at night, but you’re too afraid of going out alone, not used to that sort of thing. 

Sometimes you sit out near the fields with a book, twisting the ring that’s searing into your finger, mindlessly taking in the words on the page. Other days you walk around the gardens, picking out some flowers for the vase in your room. On the days when you’re feeling really adventurous, you’d go near the east wing, where you’ve heard Gojo’s room is, and look at what sort of things lie there. But most times you chicken out, going back near your side just as quickly as you went.

You never see him at dinner again, knowing he wasn’t about to put himself through that torture again, so you go back to eating in silence, sometimes pretending that the chairs were full of people and that you were in one of those balls you longed to go to as a kid.

They seem to keep bringing fish out for you, and it’s in so many days deep that you’re in this sort of limbo where you can’t tell them you’re deathly allergic to it without feeling awful for all the work they’ve put in just to realize it’s gone to waste, so those nights, tonight, for example, you try finding as many vegetables as you can. 

The roasted asparagus and beets are lovely, but there was only so much of it. And you find yourself getting a little bit sick of it too, your stomach-churning as you try to chug as much water as you can to get rid of the dirt after-taste that the beets have.

You thank the cooks and the servants as you leave for the night, your stomach still relatively empty as you get to your room, telling Alina to leave early for the night as you get ready for bed by yourself, wanting to be with yourself just for a little bit. 

You lay on your bed, staring emptily at the ceiling, one hand on your stomach as if gurgling, still hungry for more. You try to sleep, trying to pretend like you were at your old home, those nights when this would be normal, but it’s no use. You’ve been too spoiled at the Gojo estate, and no matter how much you try to ignore the pang of hunger, it continues to bite you back. 

So you find yourself twisting off of the warm comfort of your bed, sitting in silence as you contemplate what you’re about to do, but give in, lighting a candle as you slide into some slippers, leaving your room as you try to find your way down to the kitchens. 

Thankfully, it’s well into the night when everybody is asleep, so this embarrassing walk of shame is only seen by the guards on duty. You walk down the testing staircase, careful to look around the corners for anybody there, but you’re alone. 

You make your way to the kitchens, not hard to find seeing that they’re near the dining hall, and you peep your head inside, a sigh of relief escaping your lips to find that it’s completely deserted. 

At your old home, your room was behind the kitchens. You grew up in a small room, nearly the size of a broom cupboard, but you made do with what you had. One benefit of this situation was that you were raised by the smell of different sorts of food, by people who specialized in the art of cooking. You knew how to make meals that nobody else in your family could even imagine, which you’re grateful for right now as you fumble around the kitchen, trying to find where they put different ingredients. 

You rummage through the cupboards, finding some eggs, bread, cheeses, and seasonings. You’re able to find the pots and pans a few feet away and start assembling everything for a little omelet.  

In your hurry of trying to be quiet and careful, you somehow manage to miss the large shadow figure that’s standing near the doorway, observing you. 

You crack the eggs into a bowl, beating them together with a fork you found, too tired to look for an actual whisk, turning around to throw the eggshells away when a cry of surprise escapes your lips. 

“Oh!” Your heart nearly falls right out of your ribcage, your hands flying to your chest as you find yourself staring at him, cheeks heating the way they seem to do whenever you’re looking at your husband. 

His blue eyes are tracking you, watching what you do, brows furrowed slightly as the two of you can’t do anything but stare at each other. 

“I…” You can’t find anything to say, looking at him and then behind your shoulder, to the things you have found, and swallow thickly, wetting your lips as you straighten your back up, suddenly aware of just how flimsy and bedroom-worthy your outfit is.

You can only stare at the ways his arms are crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, and lips pressed into a thin line. It seems like he wasn’t planning on seeing you here, yet another moment in which he’s probably going to regret somehow finding you in such a large estate.

“I’m making an omelet,” you finally say, your words falling like a whisper from your lips as you point to the eggshells now discarded in the trash, “I tried to be quiet…” you shake your head, eyes dropping from his heavy gaze for a second as you glance back up at him, lips upturned in an apologetic smile, “...sorry.” 

Gojo doesn’t say much, you’ve noticed that, but now you’re wondering if he has some sort of impediment that stops him from speaking to specific people. 

His chest rises briefly as he inhales, his white hair a little tussled as if he were sleeping. It doesn’t make sense why he’d be awoken, though. The kitchens are a far walk from the east wing…?

“I wasn’t asleep,” he finally says as if reading your mind, his voice deep as you feel it rattle your bones.

You nod once, not knowing what to do with the information. 

“Well…um,” you fidget with your fingers, “good, that’s good.” You nod once, as if that was all you were going to say, and look at the slight wrinkles in his clothes, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling naked with the way you’re not wearing any undergarments under your little nightly dress. 

“I’ll call for a cook,” Gojo murmurs, looking you up and down one final time as he turns to leave, seemingly done with this conversation. 

You sputter, shaking your head as you watch him turn to look at you through a confused stare. 

“No! Sorry…no, no need,” you say quickly, taking one step forward as if to stop him, “Please, it’s alright. I can cook myself,” you motion once more to your eggs and little station, noting the way he’s looking at you strangely, and so you feel the need to continue talking, perhaps one of your worst flaws.

Gojo looks at you finally, his fingers tapping on his arm. 

You notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring, your chest filling with a strange feeling as you try to hide your ring-clad finger. “Do you not like their cooking?” He asks, and it takes a second for you to blink out of your stupor, a weird sensation in your throat as you shake your head slowly, trying to pull your eyes away from his hand. 

“I do,” you assure him, the words falling thickly from your lips, a lump in your chest, “I just feel bad waking them up right now,” you shrug as if you weren’t feeling any of these strange emotions, “And as I said, I can cook…so…” 

He nods, seemingly not believing you, not picking up on the storm that happening inside your head at the fact that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t an actual marriage, the ring was only for show. 

“Did you not eat dinner?” He continues, pressing, and your eyes widen slightly. 

You’ve always been terrible at lying, never able to do so. Even when your father's wife continued to drill you on who ate the candies from a party when you were younger, showing her your chocolate-stained fingers that you had hidden behind your back, not even a minute into the interrogation. 

“I did,” you say slowly, rubbing up and down your arms to warm them up from the chill breeze that seems to have picked up from the open windows, “The beets and asparagus were very nice,” you agree, not knowing what else to say without blowing this weird secret you’ve been holding onto. 

His brow raised slightly, lips pursing slightly. 

“And the fish?” 

You swallow once again, fidgeting with the fabric of your slip, your hands, your ring, and you don’t notice the way his eyes fall to the gold on your finger, darting back to your face when he notices you staring at him. 

“I…” you feel your face heating up beyond human measures, laughing awkwardly as you tug at your necklace chain, wishing that you hadn’t made that stupid decision to leave your comfortable bed, should’ve listened to your gut instead of your stomach, cursing your past self for being so rash, “I, um, I can’t…eat…fish.” 

Gojo’s stoic face, so sure and confident, seems to falter for a brief second.

His arms tighten over his chest. 

“...what?” He eventually asks after a couple of seconds of mind-bending silence, his head tipping in utter confusion as you sway from side to side on your feet, chewing your lips raw as you wish the ground could open up and never spit you back out. 

“The fish always looks great, don’t get me wrong,” you say quickly as if that’s going to do anything, “But I can’t eat fish. Otherwise I’ll swell right up and um, die…probably,” you wince at how bad you are at talking to people, your husband especially.

He lets out a little puff of air that sounds like a shocked scoff, eyes falling to the floor as he shakes his head, not understanding what you are saying. 

“But they’ve been cooking fish almost…four times a week?” 

You nod, smiling awkwardly, looking at the painting of a fish on the wall as you look back at him. 

“They have,” you affirm, leaning against a counter as he stays frozen in his spot at the door. 

“And you…you can’t have fish?” Gojo questions incredulously. 

“I’ll swell right up,” you repeat with a little smile that he doesn’t mirror, clearly not a man of humor, and you drop your hands to your side, “...kind of like a pufferfish.” You add quietly, looking at the ground as you say it. 

He coughs, his hand covering his mouth as you glance up at him, only to see him trying to hide the shocked laugh that had escaped him.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” He finally continues, and you hate the way all your hard work of just saying quiet isn’t working and is in fact, coming back to bite you in the ass. 

You shrug once more, shoving a grain of rice that was on the floor with the tip of your shoe.

“The first time it happened I figured I’d just tell them next time, but then that man kept on giving me more fish so I felt bad and I just never said anything.” 

Gojo stares at you, his eyes squinting together as if he were figuring out an enigma, a war strategy that even his best generals couldn’t get a grasp of. 

You look away, feeling like a fire was being lit under your skin. 

“Alright,” you say, clapping your hands together as your stomach grumbles once again, reminding you that it is still in desperate need of food, “I’ll be done soon. And I’ll clean up,” you promise, but you doubt he even cares as you begin to inch away from him. 

You watch as a strand of hair falls into his face, watch as he goes to move, never breaking his eye contact with you, until he looks behind you at the eggs and bread, and then to the window behind you, the moon as bright as ever.

He nods a final time, looking over you a final time before he exits. 

You make sure he’s far gone, letting out a heavy breath as you hold yourself up by the table, eyes wide at the fact that you had spoken more than two words to the man who seemed to despise your entire existence. 

You go back to your eggs, whisking them in silence as your mind reels. 

—

Gojo is there, for dinner, the following night. 

You enter the dining room to see him at the end of the table, already eating, and glances up briefly when he sees you walk in. 

Trying to hide the shock on your face you quickly look away, finding the way to your side of the table as you look around to see what they’ve given you tonight. A sigh of fleeting relief escapes your lips at the lack of fish, glad you’ll be going to sleep full of food tonight. 

You serve yourself, piling roasted meats and potatoes onto your plate as you fill your cup with water, not trusting wine after the last time you had it in his presence, and pretend that everything is normal as you pick up your knife and fork. 

His words rang in your mind from the last time, the fact that he ate in silence, so you forced yourself to clam up, knowing that it was probably from the best and save you from any more mortification. 

Your eyes fleet up now and then, grateful that he’s never looking up when you do, and give yourself some time to really take him in. Maybe in another universe where everything was normal, this could’ve just been another regular thing, and you try pretending that it is.

He’s probably only here because of a timing issue, you tell yourself, maybe this was the only time in the middle of training, state affairs, or other things that he was able to have dinner tonight. Yes, yes, that has to be it. 

You look back down at your plate, chewing as quietly as possible, missing the way he lifted his head to look up at you. 

—

Dinner with Gojo becomes a strange weekly occurrence.

The two of you eat in silence a couple of times a week, and every time it happens you’re so sure it’s going to be the last. 

On one of the nights you find yourself accompanied by the man you decide that the silence is more choking than whatever it is you find yourself saying. 

“Have you been notified about this…gathering in a couple of weeks?” 

This gathering was something you were told about that morning by Alina. One of the smaller families allied to the North, the Tokoshi’s, had invited you and your husband to join. 

“Yes,” Gojo says, and you’re a little surprised that he didn’t just give you a faint nod, “It shouldn’t be too big.” 

He cuts off a piece of his lamb, dipping it in some of the gravy as he glances up at you. 

You try to hide your excitement, not only from the fact that he’s spoken to you but also from the fact that this was an actual ball you would be able to go to. You knew that marrying him meant attending more of these sorts of events, but seeing how this was your first one, it was hard to not act a little giddy. 

“You have a lovely library,” you speak after carefully chewing through some of your food, your pointer finger resting on your fork as your legs crossed. 

Gojo glances up at you, those mesmerizing blue eyes finding yours from across the long table. 

“At my old home,” you pause briefly, wondering how he feels when you refer to his estate as your other home, “I wasn’t allowed to go into our library unless my tutors asked to have some of our sessions there. So I just wanted to say thank you for letting me - um, go there,” your words quiet down at the end, looking at the roasted pig in front of you momentarily as you wonder what you were even trying to get. 

He takes a sip of his wine. 

“The grounds are as much mine as they are yours,” he says, but his words sound rehearsed as if he were told to say this. 

“Even the east wing?” 

You regretted it the moment you asked it. 

Shit. 

Gojo opens his mouth and then shuts it. You chew on the inside of your cheek, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything, but it reverts to that same silence that floods your senses and makes you aware of every other sound in the room.

Your burst of what you attempted at comedy seemed to keep coming back instantly in your face, a form of punishment for somebody who never knew how to make uncomfortable situations better.

Suddenly, all of your appetite is lost. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you can only chide yourself, the food in front of you, no matter how good it looked, felt like it would taste like ash on your tongue. You kept feeding this burning fire that was your marriage, expecting your hay-like words to act like water.

There’s a thick tension in the room, and you look around, blinking slowly as you fidget with your fingers. 

You try to go back to eating. 

You were wrong,

That initial silence was better. 

—-

That night you found yourself back in the kitchens. 

You’re wiping at your cheeks, hoping that the therapeutic motions of baking can help alleviate some of your many turmoils. 

When you were younger, you were used to silence. People normally avoided you, and those who didn’t weren’t ever your age. The cooks at your old estate were kind, but they were usually too busy to entertain a little girl. You would usually help the maids out with their washing and folding, rather doing something than nothing. You would listen in on their gossip and stories, always happy to be included. 

You assumed that it would be the same here. 

But the maids assured you that a lady of such high rank shouldn’t be meddling in such lowly tasks, and the cooks here were cooking for such a larger number of people that you knew you couldn’t bother them the way you used to. 

So you find yourself with a lot to say but nobody to say it to. The jokes and ideas that pop into your head fall flat because the old ladies who helped clean the bedsheets and used to laugh hearing them are no longer here. In those moments you’re with Alina or your other maids are sparse, and so you sometimes imagine that if you speak more when Gojo is around, he might warm up to you. 

You also had to remind yourself that your track record with men wasn’t the best either. Those fleeting crushes on some of the other boys who you’d see at balls always ended with them scurrying away from you as if you were the plague. The only other marriage offer you’d gotten was from a man who had struggled with finding a woman who could keep up with his awful ways. So the fact that Gojo Satoru, the most well-known man in the realm, didn’t want much to do with you wasn’t shocking. 

And Alina was right. A lot of wives aren’t as lucky to say their husbands don’t care, but you wondered how it would’ve been if he did. You exclaimed to her a couple of nights ago that you should’ve just married Naoya, but deep inside you knew that’s not what you wanted. A part of you knew ever since you agreed to this arrangement that you wouldn’t be getting an actual husband out of it. 

You sniffle, your eyes blurry. You don’t like crying in front of people, and so you allow yourself to do so in the pale moonlight of the kitchen, the only sound other than your ragged breathing being the repeated sound of flour falling softly in your mixing bowl. 

Baking was something that nobody ever could judge you about. You were good at it, and you knew you could do it with no error. Your cakes and pastries always turned out well, save for the minor problems you ran into as a kid, but you sometimes act like you’re baking for a group of people, about to take it out to see a sea of smiling faces who are happy to see you and your deserts.

“I thought you only cooked when they served fish for dinner.” 

A voice, one that’s seared into your memory, says from behind you. 

It takes everything in you not to jump from surprise, and it takes even more willpower not to turn around. 

You quickly wipe at your cheeks, breathing in to make sure your voice won’t come out in bits and pieces. You keep your back to your husband, continuing to sift your flour in the bowl, a continual motion like waves hitting against the dock.

“I’m baking,” you specify, cringing at the way you sound like you’re fighting a nasty cold. 

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a beat and does nothing to move. You’re glad he doesn’t, too scared that if he saw your puffy eyes or your tear-stained cheeks he’d begin to think that you have no backbone at all. It felt almost pathetic to have the world's strongest warrior see you recover from crying alone. 

He hums in the back of his throat at your words, and you wonder what he looks like right now. 

“I doubt these walls have seen a lady of such high rank before,” he comments, and you look up briefly from the mountain of white building up in the bowl, “They must whisper to themselves once you leave.” 

You let out a little puff of air, something resembling a soulless laugh. 

“Everyone whispers to themselves after I leave,” you say, reaching for a whisk, “I’ve heard more whispers than my own name.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you quickly try to wipe at the corners of your eyes.

“You come down here a lot,” it’s posed as a question, but Gojo says it like a statement. He must have eyes everywhere, reporting to him what you’re doing. You wouldn’t be shocked, but you just nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you begin to whisk your dry ingredients together. 

“I hope it’s okay,” you throw in a pinch of salt as you mix, “I like the kitchen.” 

He let out a little breath as if he was about to chuckle, but then he got confused. You decide to spare him the endless questions that must be going on in his head, wondering why somebody in your position would prefer the kitchens rather than anywhere else. 

“My bedroom used to be behind a kitchen. I’d have to go through the pantry just to reach it,” you turn briefly to grab your bowl with the wet ingredients, pouring it slowly into your flour and sugar mixture, mixing it in slowly and carefully. 

“My father’s wife wanted me out of sight. That estate had never used one of its actual bedrooms to sleep the daughter of a whore,” you can hear him inhale sharply, “I woke up to the sounds of people shouting for different ingredients, to pots and pans clanging against each other. I learned how to cook and bake when I was young, and I usually helped them cook the food my family would eat for dinner.” 

When your batter is all mixed through you go to find the pan you have buttered and dusted with sugar, pouring it in as you wipe off the side of the bowl that had some remnants of batter dripping from it.

“They never asked me to, but I liked it. I liked feeling useful,” you peek over to your side, seeing him leaning against the wall adjacent to you, silent as a mouse. 

You walk over to the other side of the kitchen with your pan, careful with the lid to the brick oven, heated with the fire you had lit an hour ago, and slide your cake pan into it, closing it shut as you stand up straight. 

Finally, you look over at him. 

His eyes rake over your face, lingering on the circles underneath your eyes, the redness that stained the whites of them. He’s clad in the simple tunic and breeches he had worn to dinner hours ago, his large shoulders leaning on the wall as his arms lay crossed over his chest. 

“I won’t go to the east wing,” you say in a whisper, your voice quiet but heavy as it falls from your lips as a promise, trying to muster up a smile but it comes out wobbly, “I was just trying to make you laugh.” 

His lips looked pinker than usual as if he had been chewing on them, something you often did when you were deep in thought. His white hair had been messily pushed back as if his fingers had been combing through them continuously. 

“These grounds are yours,” Gojo says, his words thick from his throat. His exhale and inhale mirror the way you breathe, your two chests rising as though living with the same lungs.

You shrug, a melancholy look on your face as you shake your head. 

“Maybe if I was your wife,” your words are said without any malice, “But I’m just another person who sleeps here.” 

Gojo tilts his head slightly as if your statement had somehow wrenched itself into his mind, weighing it down. Even in the limited light, you could see the way he looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I know I took away your chance to marry somebody you actually wanted, but my father told me you were okay with the arrangement. I wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise,” you twist your wedding ring around your finger mindlessly, a little habit you’ve grown over the weeks here, “I never wanted to be selfish, and I truthfully never wanted a husband. I just wanted a friend.”

—

Ever since that night, you eat your meals in your room. 

Alina protested, saying it’s not right to eat alone, but you told her not to think about it, saying how you liked the silence. 

You mustered up the courage to ask some of the coachmen to take you to the nearby town, starting by looking around at the little shops, keeping a hood over your head in case somebody saw a new stranger.

Sometimes you’d go inside the shops, finding little trinkets that you thought your maids might like, or ornaments that might help fill up the empty spots around your room. You’ve never been able to decorate before with how small your old room was, so you decided to take advantage of its space.

When you’re walking around you sometimes see Gojo, either in the training yard or walking around with one of his advisors. There have been moments when the two of you catch each other's stares from across the room, but you’re always the first to look away, making sure you’re going in a different direction than him. 

You knew that you’d have to talk to him eventually, especially with the gathering that was coming up at the Tokoshi manor, but each night you pretended it was another day away, instead of one day closer. 

Your maids came bustling in and out of your room more often than usual with preparations for the night that was closing in, shoving you into different dresses, not satisfied until they found the right one.

Alina noticed your shift in demeanor, never picking and prodding at it, but silently observing. You could tell she knew something was wrong, but you didn’t know how to put exactly what you were feeling in words. 

It didn’t help that the closer you got to the night of the event Gojo seemed to be everywhere you were. The gardens, the library, the field, the stables. He probably just had business to attend to, but it didn’t help that whenever he saw you it looked like he wanted to say something. It also didn’t help that you’d scurry away when you saw him open his mouth. 

The weeks turned into days, the days into a day, and that day into hours and you found yourself perched uncomfortably on a chair as three different women attended to your face, hair, and accessories. 

You watch them work silently, taking in all the jewelry and makeup that you’ve been looking forward to wearing. It’s nothing too drastic, but that 

girl who longed to wear pretty things inside of you is gleaming right now. 

“…Lord Gojo requested for her to wear another pair of earrings,” one of your maids says, looking at the earrings Alina had picked out for you. 

Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, watching Alina as she perks an eyebrow up. 

“When did he request that?” 

The older lady looks at you in the mirror and then at Alina. 

“A couple of nights ago,” she shows Alina another pair, a sapphire one that seems to gleam brightly, “he dropped them off when she was…away…” the maid trails off, noticing the fact that you were eavesdropping.

Your eyes dart away as if that would help, but she quickly changes the topic, and you huff in annoyance as Alina sends you a knowing look.  

“Your husband is a strange man,” Alina mutters in your ear as you giggle quietly, rolling your eyes as she playfully shoves your shoulder. 

You don’t say anything in retaliation, and sit back as you put in your new earrings, grateful that they still complimented the color of your dress, and try to pretend you are going down for dinner rather than a gathering with people you didn’t know. 

You’ve been learning this entire week how to properly hold a spoon and fork, and how to cut your food appropriately. You’ve been taking dancing lessons, discovered how to properly greet people, and even learned how to gracefully enter and exit a horse-drawn carriage. All things you should’ve probably learned earlier, but were never able to. 

Alina helps you out of the chair when they are all done, giving you a second to look into the mirror. The dress they had wrangled you into was beautiful, your hair done in the way you liked. You thanked them all, expressing your endless gratitude for their hard work. 

You take a deep breath as you exit the room and go out into the hall, leading yourself down the stairs and through multiple corridors, trying to calm down your palpitating heart. 

It takes a few minutes but you find yourself at the front of the manor, standing alone and looking around, trying to see if you were at the wrong place. But in the distance, you can see the coachmen and the carriage, the door shut, still waiting for you. 

You take a tentative step forward, nearing the entranceway that leads outside, but feel a soft touch hovering above your elbow. 

It’s strange how he usually finds you before you find him, but as somebody who’s trained to know and find things before others do, you suppose it makes sense. You glance to your side, already expecting to see those cerulean eyes as you look up. 

Gojo looks good, somehow better than usual. 

He’s clad in dark blue garments, intricate with Northern design, and your eyes look up and down his entire body. His usual muscular build seems to be outlined by the stretch of his overcoat, the way the fabric is sitting snugly over his chest. 

He seems to be doing the same, though. You can feel his gaze drop to your dress, to the way your lips are a little redder than usual, your hair done in a way that suits your face. His eyes linger on your ears, and there’s a small, barely noticeable tug to the corners of his lips. 

“Ready?” Gojo asks, the first time he’s spoken in a couple of weeks, and you hum. 

He takes his hand away from your elbow as he rests it on the small of your back, and you feel heat travel from his fingertips through the fabric, through your corset, your undergarments, and straight to your skin. 

They bring the carriage out a little closer, a coachman opening the door for you. You brace yourself, heaving your dress upwards as you go to grasp the rail on the side.

But Gojo moves swiftly, offering you his glove-clad hand as you look over at him in surprise, taking it after a moment of hesitation, and haul yourself inside. 

It’s far bigger than the one you usually take to town, and you settle for a corner on the left-hand side near the window. The walls of the carriage are lined with this sort of fabric that feels like it’s lighter than a cloud, colored the traditional blue of the Gojo family. You’d guess it could fit at least an entire family comfortably, so you’re not too worried about the underskirt of your dress taking up too much space.

You watch Gojo follow you in. He looks around, having to duck his head (and a lot of his back) as he sits in front of you, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

The two of you sit in awkward silence, your gaze settled on the door that they shut after Gojo entered, and your eyes quickly fall to your hands resting in your lap, neatly folded.

The carriage starts a little bit later, the wheels humming to life as the coachmen yip at the horses to start. The sudden rocking movement that you’ve become familiar with sways you side to side, and suddenly you're totally aware of the fact that you’re alone in a limited space with the man you’ve been avoiding for the better half of two weeks. 

You can feel his stare boring into the side of your head, can hear the way his breathing is coming out strangely as if he wanted to talk, but kept stopping himself off before he could say a word. 

“Did you like the earrings?” Gojo finally asks, and you glance up, eyes narrowing for a second in confusion as realization suddenly comes rushing in. 

“Hm? O-oh, yes!” You quickly stutter out, your hands flying to your ears as if you forgot they were there, “Yes, thank you. They were beautiful. They kind of looked like the inside of a belly button,” you say.

Your husband blinks, brows furrowed slightly as you think about what you had just said, eyes wide in shock.  

“Er…well, gods, no, not bellybuttons,” your head falls to your hands as you shake your head profusely, “Sorry, they don’t look like belly buttons-” 

But you stop when you hear a small laugh from him, quiet as he looks away for a second, a tiny slightly visible grin on his face as he looks back at you. 

“Did you know that sometimes,” his eyes are a little upturned as if he fighting back an actual smile, “I make a bet with myself about what you’re going to say?” 

You smile slightly, your head cocking to the side. 

“Have you ever won?” 

Gojo chuckles, and your eyes suddenly fall to his hand, at the way he’s fidgeting with his ring, his wedding ring, the same way you seem to do whenever you’re thinking about everything and anything all at once. 

“Not once.” 

You grin, and though you still feel this heavy weight of unspoken things resting in the middle of you two, you decide not to acknowledge it at the moment. Things unsaid, unheard, weaved through the air, tying you and him together like a tapestry. 

You fidget with your skirt, looking out the window at the moving scenery. 

Gojo breathes deeply through his nose, his pointed finger tapping on his thigh. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he finally says, and your eyes dart away from the trees and the sky to look over at him. 

His bottom lip is caught underneath his teeth, his blue eyes shining with a different hue. He takes up a lot of room with just his size alone, but it looks like he’s trying to make himself seem less intimidating, less of a warrior, and more of a…person.

You don’t say anything, opting to stay quiet to see what it is that he is trying to formulate into words. 

“That night,” Gojo twists his ring back and forth with his thumb, “I…” It’s weird to see somebody so sure of themself struggle to speak, and your brows crease in the middle, not knowing what it was he was trying to get at. 

“I wanted to tell you that you too had a right to a good husband. Somebody who didn't rush you into a marriage because of his own mistakes…somebody you wanted.”

Where is he going with this?

You suddenly feel your throat dry up, swallowing thickly as Gojo looks out the window momentarily before looking back at you. 

“My parents never told me who I’d be marrying,” Gojo explains, his voice hoarse, “I figured out the day of the wedding,” he twisted his wedding ring, looking at the way it shined, “And I wanted to hate you,” 

His words punch you square in the gut, but you can only bring yourself to keep on looking at him.

“I wanted to hate you so much because it would be easier to act like this wasn’t my fault if I could…but,” he sighs, his chest rising and falling, “I don’t think it’s possible to hate you.” 

Your lip trembles slgihtly, a sheen over your eyes. What is he doing?

“I’ve been raised in a way most people our age aren’t. My parents wanted me to be the strongest so was put into training since I was four, and I think this entire time I’ve been trying to approach you like a…military strategy. You were this map in my head that no matter how I approached it nothing made sense. But that night, in the kitchen, everything finally did.” 

Your eyes flitter downwards so that he couldn’t see the waver in them

“You didn’t deserve how you were treated in your old life, nor this new one,” his hand covers his chest, and you feel lightheaded, “And I promise to you I’ll do everything in my power to make this one better. If you don’t want me as a husband, than as a friend.

“I’d like to be your friend, if you’d allow me,” he whispers thickly, his voice heavy. He fidgets with his fingers, moving them together and back out again, and you notice how he does this a lot whenever you’re near.

Your heart is beating so quickly that you feel like it's going to stop, and your mind is working so hectically that you don’t know what to think. This is the same man who looked at you as if you had torn down the moon and stars when he saw you the first time, the man who never seemed to be that interested in what it is you had to say. The very same person who would’ve rather married a broomstick than you. 

…right? 

And yet he’s here, asking to be your friend. Something that nobody has ever asked before, something that people wouldn’t ever dare to murmur out loud to you. He had no beneficial gain from doing this, no ally that he would please if he offered to be your friend.

Your heart twists because why does he look like he cares about what you say? His eyes are creased slightly around the edges, his lips pressed together as if he were preparing for whatever outcome it was to what you said.

Nobody has ever told you those things, the things that made years of pain and hurt strummed into one beat that your heart never wanted to drum to. This man, your husband, Gojo, was supposed to be another cog in that old machine, one that hummed and spurred like it was about to eat you alive. 

But the more you look at him, the more you let your unspoken words speak in silence for you, you realise that he isn’t lying.

You open your mouth to speak but are cut off when the carriage comes to a sudden halt. 

The two of you look at each other and then to the door, watching as it opens up, greeted to the sight of a large manor with multiple people walking in hand in hand. You swallow your bile, not knowing what to say, deciding to flee instead of face him like you should’ve. 

—

The gathering itself was far more boring than you imagined it to be. 

You and Gojo had the mutual understanding to act more…well, like a couple, than you actually were. You didn’t comment on the way his arm circled around your waist a couple of minutes into making your rounds talking with people or the endearing way he referred to you as my wife. 

You’re glad that he doesn’t do anything to talk about what he had told you in the carriage whenever the two of you were alone, acting like nothing was wrong and everything was normal as he inquired about your day. 

You told him brief things, still trying to shove his words out of your mind, but it was no use. I’d like to be your friend, your mind kept repeating, and you were too scared of brining it up in case he had changed his mind in between those minutes of quiet.

People you had never seen before congratulated you on your new marriage, their brows raised in that excited way as they motioned to your stomach, hinting at a special little someone who might be joining your lives soon. 

“Soon!” You said with a curt laugh, glancing momentarily at Gojo only to see him already looking at you, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

He made sure not to stay with people who were strangers to you for too long, not wanting to bore you to death, and allowed you to take in more of the well-lit and vastly decorated manor. 

Though its size was incomparable to the Gojo estate, it was still massive. The Tokoshi family had been a family with the Gojo one for centuries, so there was no question that the riches they had amassed over the years by being trading partners with them had culminated in this. 

Gojo told you earlier in the carriage, before everything else, how the young Tokoshi couple were good people. They liked to throw parties a couple of times a year, inviting only a select few. He liked them far more than a lot of the other people he had been forced to grow up with over the years. 

You look at the dining hall, at the corridors with openings that allow you to look outside without the glare of glass. His arm never left your body, holding you close to him as he let you walk around, your mouth hanging open slightly as you craned your neck to look at everything. Candles were lit everywhere, the bouquets of different assortments of flowers decorating the stone flower holders carved into the walls. 

You mentioned to him in the privacy of the carriage, that you hadn’t ever been able to experience a party of this sort of caliber before. You could see how he wanted to ask more questions, but you could see the answers already formulating his head as to why.

“We probably look like one of those couples where the wife’s dying and the husband takes her out to see the stars one last time,” you whisper to him, still looking around in a stunned sort of way at the beauty of it all. 

Gojo’s head ducks down a bit, trying to hide the chuckle that had broken out and made its way onto his face. He coughs into his fist as if that was the issue, but you look over at him to see the humor in his eyes. 

“Did you lose your bet again?” You ask, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes as he looks like he’s fighting the grin that’s threatening to take over. 

“I’m always losing that bet,” he tells you.

Though he doesn’t do anything to bring up his conversation, you can see it in the way he looks at you, as if he’s still teetering on an edge, wanting to know what you were thinking in that frazzled mind of yours. 

You decide to push past it.

“Can I get in on it?” You ask, turning slightly so that you face him, very aware of the fact that his hand hasn’t moved from its spot on your waist.

You try not to think about it, reminding yourself that it’s just for show, but you can’t stop the feeling of heat that travels wherever it is he seems to touch you. His hand is larger than an average one, his fingers moving mindlessly up and down on your corseted stomach. 

“Do you need the extra coin?” His voice is carrying a strange tone…is he teasing you? 

But again, you try not to think about it, it’s all for show, (you also try not to think too much of the fact that you’re pretty separated from everybody else).

“No, I just need coin,” you explain, fixing one of the medallions on his chest that had been slightly slanted, “I have nearly nothing left.” 

Gojo moves barely away from you, his eyes searching yours as if to find the joke. 

“Have you run through my family gold already?” His voice is still toying, but now it’s filled with a little confusion. 

“No, of course not,” you snort, rolling your eyes as you tilt your chin up to look at him better, “I haven’t touched any of your gold. I just ran through mine.” 

His brows quirks upward, mouth parting slightly. 

“You’ve emptied the gold your family sent up?” 

It’s your turn to be confused. 

“What gold?” You ask, moving away from him, his hand falling to his side, and you suddenly miss his warmth. 

You remember your father talking about how the Gojo family had rejected your initial dowry, saying something along the lines of outlandish practices, but aside from that, you weren’t told about any other sort of money that was supposed to be sent with you. 

He pinches the bridges of his nose, sighing deeply. 

“The gold that they sent with you? It wasn’t supposed to be a lot but it was supposed to suffice for the journey here.” 

You blink owlishly at him. 

“What gold have you run through?” He specifies, plastering on a fake smile when he catches the eyes of somebody behind you, but then focuses his stare back to you. 

“Well…” you shrug, “My gold.” 

Gojo looks like he’s about to make a new bet, one that’s with every time you’ve almost given him an aneurysm trying to figure out your strange riddles and rhymes that are supposed to be actual words. 

“I used to make some gold at my old home,” you explain, keeping your voice low in case somebody was somewhere that you hadn’t seen, but realizing that Gojo was lost, you continued, “The stable boy gave me some of his salary if I took care of the horses and cleaned the stables. Sometimes he’d give me extra if I could haul in the large bags of hay.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head slightly. 

“Why?” That seems to be a question he’s been asking lately. 

You shrug again, feeling his hand circle back around your waist as some people come near you, 

“I needed new clothes and my shoes had holes in them. My father’s wife didn’t let him give me much, so I tried to fill in the gaps.”

You smile at one of the couples that are coming near you, going back into your other persona as you begin chatting with them. Gojo pulls you in tighter to his side, staying silent. You don’t notice the way he hasn’t stopped staring at you, nor the way his heart seems to have churned so painfully in his chest. 

—

The night progresses and you find yourself inside the dining hall, being shown to your seats by one of the maids, finding your name next to Gojo’s on a name card. 

The two of you sit down, watching the people the file in, the sound of laughter filling the room, the clinking of china against each other filling in the rest of the silence. You take it all in with a smile, looking every and at everyone.

“I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” you whisper as you lean closer to Gojo, an apologetic smile on your face as you sit further into your seat, “This is all just so new to me.” 

You don’t see the ways his eyes soften, his hand inching closer to yours as he shakes his head. 

“You’re not embarrassing me,” he murmurs back, leaning his head closer to yours, wanting his words only to be heard by you, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” The smile that makes its way onto your face could power the universe, and Gojo feels like the wind had been knocked from his lungs, far worse than in training when somebody's foot slams into his chest. 

“I am!” Your enthusiastic and hurried words are hushed, but he can still hear the way you’re trying to hide your joy. The small talk is horrific,” he laughs a little bit, “but still I love it.” 

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the sound of a knife hitting glass. 

“Everyone! Give me your time, just for a moment!” Miyo Tokoshi, whom you spoke to briefly, stands up, his chair behind him.

All eyes in the room fall on him, people still smiling, their teeth glimmering in the light. 

“I cannot express my joy to be in a room with you all tonight,” he says, looking around the room, making sure he saw everyone for a split second. “And my wife and I couldn’t be more ecstatic to host the first gathering of the season!”

You look at the woman sitting next to him, Lana, who you had also met momentarily, is gleaming at him, her face full of genuine adoration. She, along with everybody else, claps, laughing joyfully. 

You wonder if this is what a real husband and wife should look like, and you look briefly over to Gojo, your mind reeling with the charade the two of you have been playing this entire night. 

“And we couldn’t be happier to welcome the first couple of the year,” he exclaims, pointing his glass over to you and Gojo, saying your name and then your husbands as he claps his hand softly against his wrist, “May every moment you spend together be better than the last. We wish the two of nothing but a lifetime of happiness and prosperity. 

Gojo raised his glass to him, his hand grasping yours as he lifted it to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it. 

You feel like you’ve stopped breathing with the linger of his lips on your skin, the last time that happened on the night of your wedding, and watching him grasp it even tighter when he sets it back down, weaving his fingers through yours. 

Stop, you chide, raising your glass as well, a shaky smile on your face, it’s just an act.

He winks at the two of you, nodding once more as he focuses his stare somewhere down the table, obstructed by where you are sitting.

“And to the future couple! Naoya and Freya!” 

Gojo turned his head immediately to look at you, watching the color drain from your face, and before you knew it, the man, Naoya, was standing up, a hand over his chest in faux gratitude as he thanked the host. 

You could never mistake that hair, the feline look in his eyes as he scanned across the room, a slimy smile on his face. You watch as it grows even wider when he finally catches his prey when he finally sees you, and you feel nauseous, like you’re about to throw up all those little crackers they had given you earlier that evening. 

The hand holding yours squeezes, knowing he can’t say anything right now, and you swallow thickly, eyes darting over to his as you feel your head about to sway. 

Naoya’s here. The man you turned down for Gojo. 

The rest of Tokoshi’s speech is muted to you. It feels like your head is being held underwater, and you feel sweat dotting your forehead, your chest, and your palms. You can feel Gojo’s eyes on the side of your head and can tell he’s trying to tell you something silently. 

The clinking of glass brings you out of your haze, looking up mindlessly as you haphazardly clink yours against Gojo’s, rubbing a hand down your face as if that would help. 

You're grateful for the flurry of movements and noises, everybody talking to somebody, the people beginning to serve themselves the wide array of food places in front of them. 

Gojo squeezes your hand one more time, and you finally look over at him, trying to muster up a smile but with how queasy you feel and the way your head spinning, it probably looks like you’re about to be sick all over him. 

“I’ll be okay,” you say through clenched teeth. 

Gojo nods, his thumb rubbing up and down your hand in a soothing way. It’s just for show. 

“I’m sorry my palms are sweating,” you laugh mirthlessly, and he squeezes it again, you’re sure he’s only doing this because of the extra attention of the two of you ever since they realized you and Naoya were in the same room, “you don’t have to keep holding it.” 

“Do you want me to let go?” He asks, and you stop poking around at the turnips on your plate. 

No. 

“N-no,” you croak out, desperate for his touch that’s grounding you, “No, please.” 

Gojo nods, his thumb not stopping its comforting motion of moving up and down. 

“Don’t worry,” he mutters, leaning closer to you as you duck your head so that your ears are near his lips, “My hands get sweaty too.” 

You laugh quietly and it sounds like wind chimes. You look at Gojo and watch as his lips tug upwards into a soft smile, one you had never seen before, and one you thought you never would. 

—

You tried to hide away the rest of the party, but Gojo didn’t seem to mind. 

When it was time to leave you accepted the gracious hug of the hosting couple, promising them that you’d come back for a more private dinner, and let Gojo lead you out into the courtyard where all the carriages were held. 

You slept the entire ride home, not wanting to mess anything up by taking, and you’re happy that Gojo didn’t bother you. You felt groggy when you returned to the estate, grateful for Gojo’s steady hand as he helped you out of the carriage. The two of you looked like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t, so you bid each other good night and went your separate ways.

Separate except for one brief moment. 

You were walking away and up the stairs when you suddenly stopped, remembering what it was that you wanted to tell him. You call out his name, watching as he turns, white brows slightly furrowed. 

“I…” you start but realize you didn’t exactly have a plan for what you wanted to say. He gives you his patience, not looking annoyed or frustrated when you try to think of the right words to string together. 

“I…I would like to be your friend too,” you finally say, and watch as a smile forms on his face, his pink lips tugging upwards in a way that made his eyes shine, the way your earrings did in the candlelight. 

He rakes his hand through his snow-white locks, pushing them away from his face. 

“I’ll see you at breakfast then,” Gojo says, and you dip your head down in a small smile. 

You give him a small wave, disappearing as you round the corner.

And since then, you found him joining you not only for breakfast or the sparse dinners but for any meal he possibly could. 

Gojo talked more, about anything and everything, and you did the same. 

You realized that he was actually an open person the closer you got to him, seeing that he too was capable of laughing and making jokes, his teasing eyes growing more frequent the closer your chairs got to the dinner table until you eventually just sat side-by-side, growing tired of shouting at each other across its length. 

On the days he wasn’t busy with strategizing or talking to other lords, he’d walk around the estate with you, telling you stories from his childhood, the times he’d run amock around the halls. Other times the two of you would go into town, looking at the different stores together. 

You could tell he was trying, could see it in the way he glanced at you from time to time to make sure that you were doing well. 

He’d accompany you to the library if you asked him to, and you’d go down sometimes to the training yard just to see him. Gojo would never tell you how much he tried to show off when you were there and knew he never had to. You could see the way he tried to appear even stronger when fighting with one of the other men, the poor soldier coming out with bruises and cuts all over his body.

Over many weeks, you find yourself looking forward to spending time with him, and a part of your cracked self begins mending itself again. 

It felt like after years of searching for somebody, somebody found you. 

On one of the nights when his sparring had gone on for far longer than it usually does, you decided to head down to the training yard after your night bath, tugging on a large robe over yourself as you walked the familiar stone steps down to where you knew he was. 

You could hear them before you saw them, a cacophony of fists hitting skin, groans, shouts from one another. There was a little perch from where you could watch what was happening below, and you usually hid yourself in a corner so that they wouldn’t see you. 

You’d rest on a pillar, arms crossed over your shoulder as you looked at the men below. Gojo was always easy to find, the flurry of white hair a tall-tale sign of where he was. You had watched him before, but you never got tired of it. You found it almost inhuman the way his movements seemed to flow like water, the way his hits were precise and direct. 

Gojo truly was the best warrior the North had ever seen, and sometimes you forget that you’re married to a man who brought down entire armies with just his bare fists. 

You watch as he jests with one of his friends, his chest rising a little bit at an irregular pace, slightly out of breath, but happy to be there. He turns to one of the guys behind him to say something, but his eyes immediately track upwards to the figure trying to stay hidden, you and a wide smile break out on his face. 

He waves at you, and it gets the attention of the other men there. They all turn to see where you are, their boyish grins and calls making you roll your eyes at their antics, your face heating up slightly as you wave back at them. 

Gojo says something to the person next to him, and you hear the man shout at the other ones to wrap it up for the night. Some of them wave goodbye to you as they begin exiting, going back to their common rooms. 

You make a move to lean slightly over the railing, your arms crossed over the wood as you peer down at the ground where Gojo remained alone, finding him to already be looking up at you. 

“Care to come down?” He juts his chin at the staircase to your left, the one that leads down to the courtyard, and you nod, disappearing behind the stone pillars as you take the steps leading downwards. 

You’ve been here a couple of times, as per your own request. You wanted to see what they did during training, what the training yard actually looked like from the ground. You lift the ends of your dress up slightly as you near the bottom, rounding the corner to see Gojo standing in the middle. 

He’s waiting for you, his eyes tracking your movements as you come near to him. 

His nose twitches slightly, his eyes squinting as he lifts his head in the air, suddenly picking up the scent of something unusual. 

“What’s that smell?” Gojo asks as you come to him, his eyes looking over your body as if it were emitting from you. 

You scoff, appalled, and then suddenly remember that Alina had applied some lavender oil to you after your bath. 

“If it’s a good smell then me,” you cross your arms over your chest, nose wrinkling in disgust as you take in his smell of sweat and grime, “If bad then you.”

Gojo snorts, coming closer to you as he continues sniffing, exaggerating the sound. You step away from him slightly, the smell of sweat overpowering, and he takes notice of this. 

“What?” He inquires, annoyed that you are moving away from him, and he takes a step closer. 

“What do you mean what?” You tease, moving again as he tries to smell the air, “You smell like an army of unshowered men. I just took a bath.” 

Gojo seems offended at this, trying to move back closer to you but you side-step him, apparently serious about this. 

“You really won’t let me come near you?” He sounds like you’ve kicked him down, his cheeks stained pink from earlier, and you laugh slightly, shaking your head. 

“I really won’t,” you affirm, shoving the back of your wrist to him to show him that what he was smelling was in fact you, “See? Lavender oil.” 

Gojo just seems to be getting more annoyed the more you try to evade him, his blue eyes swirling with an idea as you look at him in worry. 

“No, the smell is coming from somewhere else.” He argues, changing his footing so that he stands right in front of you and you let out a shocked laugh, not expecting this as you take a step back. 

You don’t know where else he can smell the lavender oil. Alina dotted it to your wrists and your neck, but surely can’t differentiate the difference in location…right? 

“Come here,” he almost whines, “I’m not going to rub off my smell onto you.” 

You laugh again out loud, picking up the skirt of your dress as you try to outrun him slightly. 

“You will!” You insist, motioning to the sheen of sweat on his body, “You reek of sweat. I swear it’s just lavender oil!” 

He groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at this inconvenience. 

“You’re killing me right now,” Gojo dramatically grabs his chest, “You won’t let me smell this strange aroma and it’s killing me,” his face breaking into a little pout as you laugh even louder, shocked at how petulant he was being. Your laughing seemed to spur him on even more, running towards you as you ran backward, hoping you didn’t trip on the fabric of your dress. 

“You have a plethora of bottles of lavender oil in your own room,” you argue, “this isn’t something innovative that you’ve never smelled before.” 

Gojo shakes his head, and your heart flutters at the way his smile is so playful and teasing, the way some of his hair falls into his face in that messy way when he’s usually training and not caring about his appearance. 

“It’ll only take a second,” he reasons and you shake your head no, your eyes both shining with playful laughter. 

The courtyards lead out into the large fields of the Gojo estate, and you look behind yourself at the opening. It’s night, there’s nobody around. Nobody would judge you for running away from your sweaty husband. 

You look back at him, see the gleam in his eyes, and know that he’s not going to back down. 

He can see the thoughts forming in your head, can assume them before they’re even created, and so he’s straight on your heels as you sprint away from him, a large smile on your face as you squeal out loud. 

“Please!” You shout over your shoulder, running down the little hill as the moon lights the way for you, “I just took a bath! Leave me alone!” 

You can hear the grass rustling beneath your feet, your screams of laughter contagious as you try to outrun the fastest person ever, and try not to slow yourself down by looking over your shoulder to see where he is. 

But after a couple of seconds of running you realize that the only footsteps you hear are your own, and you pause momentarily to look behind you and are surprised to see that he’s not there. 

Did he not come after you? 

You look around the field, the large blades of grass looking like waves that move with the wind, and whip your head around every time you hear a twig snap. 

You're a little bit further away from the manor itself, and the only thing you can see besides its large stone walls are the torches lit outside. You can make out the guards who are standing outside, but no sign of Gojo. 

You try to catch your breath, confused as to where he could’ve gone when a force stronger than a horse running at full speed slams into your side. 

The scream you let out echoes around the field, and you brace yourself for the harsh impact of hitting the ground. With your eyes squeezed shut you wait for the flash of pain, but peek them open to see Gojo framing your head with one of his hands, his body shielding you from the impact as he lays on top of you. 

“How…?” You scream, your chest moving up and down with your fit of giggles, trying to push him off of you, “You’re a beast!” You cry out, moving your head to the side as he laughs along with you, his chest rumbling with the movement. 

You shove his face away with the palm of your hands, shoving your wrist into his nose as if that would satiate him. 

“I took a bath you behemoth!” You whine, thinking about the dirt and mud that must be staining your skin and dress right now, “Are you so void of any good fragrance in your life that you must hunt me down for it?” 

Gojo tsks, shaking his head as he swats your wrist aside. 

He’s also slightly out of breath, most likely because he ran across and entire field from another entranceway that you weren’t aware of to catch you off guard, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how close to two of you are together. 

His hand is still cradling your head, the other one holding your hips. Truthfully he doesn’t even smell bad, which is frustrating that it’s just another one of his many talents. 

He judges your jaw up with his nose, and you helplessly comply, your heart hammering wildly as he leans in closer to the skin of your neck, taking in a whiff as he looks back up to you, his eyes gleaming. 

Gojo’s hand on your hip moves up slightly to hold your waist, not hard, but to stop you from squirming around. 

“It smells different here,” he nudges your neck with his nose again, and your breathing hitches, “Smells sweeter.” 

You swallow thickly, blinking slowly as you crane your neck slightly upwards to give him more room. It’s like your body is moving on its own, and you’re not to sure how you know what to do, but you just do. 

“That’s not possible,” you try to argue, trying your best to keep your voice from wavering, “You just lack the nose for good oils.” 

Gojo laughs lowly, shaking his head at your antics as he braces his knees on either side of your thighs, caging you in. 

“I have a very keen sense of smell,” he boasts and you snort, looking away as he pinches your hip to which you yelp.

His hand moves away from your head and to your shoulder, to where your nightgown had slightly slipped off and runs a thumb down a patch of your skin where it was slightly raised, a faint scar on your collarbone. 

“Where’d you get this?” His voice is slightly hushed, and you look down from your chin to where he is talking about. 

 “Hm?” You look around, see that he’s pointing to the tiniest little scar, and chuckle slightly, “Oh, that?” Your eyes squint as you try to remember, “I tried to climb up a tree once when I was little and fell.” Gojo huffs out a little laugh, his eyes still focused on your skin as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

“It probably looks far worse compared to anything you have,” you say sarcastically, “The family physician kept saying I wasn’t going to make it through the night.” 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your antics as he raises himself, moving away from you as he sits back down on the grass. You miss his warmth, the way his heat radiated onto you like a furnace. 

“I don’t know how you keep surviving between your inability to consume fish and your near-death occurrences,” Gojo’s voice holds a teasing tone and you smile, moving up so that you’re facing him. 

You rest your weight back on your hands, kicking your legs out in front of you as your skirt flows around the grass. A while ago you would’ve felt improper sitting like this in front of anyone, but you don’t seem to care all that much when it’s Gojo. 

“I showed you my battle would,” you say, putting one leg on top of the other, “What’s your worst one?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in questioning. 

Gojo purses his lip, thinking. 

You imagine that he’d tell you or probably motion to where it was, but a second later you watch, shocked, as he tugs his tunic upwards, your face heating as he rises it slightly so that you can see a part of his stomach. 

You hate how utterly built he is. 

His skin is pulled taught over the smooth stomach of his abs, his chest huge with pure muscle, his arms, bulging through the sleeves. It’s something you thought you’d get used to, something you told yourself to stop ogling at, but never could.

But you shift your focus to a large scar that runs across his chest, from the bottom of his hip under his arm. It still looks relatively new, and the scar itself still pink. You could see the way it was jagged, not one smooth line, and gods, fuck, why do you want to touch it?

“Well,” you try to think of something witty to say, seeing the way he’s looking at you as if waiting for it, “Clearly not as bad as mine, but it comes in as a close second.” 

He throws his head back as he laughs, his muscles contracting as he does so. You feel flushed, not able to look away from the scar, knowing that you were merely compensating for not knowing what to say. 

“I know,” he says eventually with a shrug, looking down as he surveys the scar, “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been.” 

You pout slightly, thinking. 

“Does it hurt?” 

He looks up at you, at the way you can’t take your eyes away from it, and shakes his head. 

“Not anymore,” he sits up a little straighter, closer to you as you watch him move, “Sometimes I can feel it sting, but it’s barely noticeable.” 

You beg to differ. 

The two of you don’t say anything and a part of you has decided that silence is bad for you. Because before you can really think about what you’re doing, you push yourself upwards, leaning in closer to him as you try to get a better look at it. 

He doesn’t say anything, but if only you could see the way he could barely use his lungs to breath right now you’d make some sly remark about how the best warrior of the North was growing shy from just a look. 

But suddenly you’re not looking anymore as you shuffle in a little closer, your fingers reaching upwards to touch the skin. 

You can hear the wind move around you, the grass rustiling as your fingers run across the scar. His abs flex at the coldness of your hand, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. You’re studying it intently, wondering what sort of weapon could’ve caused this. 

Gojo’s size dwarfs over yours, but you don’t seem to mind. Your lips as slightly pursed as you take it in. 

“Did you fight a bear?” You finally ask, peeking up to look at him. 

You’re startled by the way the flush on his cheeks has grown even more red, or the way you can’t see the blues in his eyes anymore. Has he always looked like that?

Gojo shakes his head, taking in a shaky breath, looking at the top of your head as you go back to looking at the scar. 

“Nearly,” he tries to joke, but his voice is weak, laced with need, “But I doubt a bear would even want to be compared to the man who gave me the scar.” 

You look up, your brow quirked in curiosity. 

“Who?” You ask, shocked at how quiet your voice came out. 

Gojo smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tongue clicks against his teeth, his hand rising up to grab yours, pulling it away from his chest. He can’t bear to have you touching him like that anymore, not trusting himself to restrain the pure desire that bubbling inside his veins. 

“Naoya,” he says hushed, watching as your lips part and eyes widen. 

There’s a beat of silence, a moment when you think you can hear your heart beating in the same rhythm his is. 

Your hand curls into itself, shock taking over your features as your eyes drop to his scar and then back up to him. You find yourself wanting to say everything and anything, but can’t somehow find the words that you’re looking for. Gojo beats you to it, thankfully. 

“I’ve been having this recurring dream ever since I fought him of that same moment over and over again when he cut me open. But it’s changed, recently,” He sits up straighter, so close to you that your chests are almost touching, “And I keep seeing him marrying you, what would’ve happened if you had said yes.”

“And gods, fuck,” he ducks his head down, raking an agitated hand through his hair, making it even more messy, “I…” He chokes on his breath, looking back at you, and suddenly you see the glossiness in his eyes, the way that tears brim his waterline. 

And suddenly you see the Gojo Satoru, the Lord in the North, the most powerful man alive, cry. 

“I keep reprimanding Naoya in my head about how awful he is, about how I’d kill nearly every person alive if he ever touched you, b-but I was just as awful. I think about the first time I saw you, about the first weeks you were here. I think about how you must’ve felt, how alone you were. Every day…” he wipes messily at his cheeks, his lips wobbling, “Every day I wake up and think of you. I think about your face, your smile, your eyes, your lips, the way your nose scrunches, that line between your brows when you're confused, and every night I go to sleep hoping that this was all an awful dream and I haven’t ruined your life, but then I wake up, and it starts all over again.” 

“I know I’m a selfish man,” Gojo says with a wet chuckle, his cheeks wet with tears, “I know I shouldn’t, but I want you to myself, I want you forever. I want to be your friend, I want to be the person you sleep next to, the person you go to when you want to talk about your little stories. I want to hear your jokes and I want to see you laugh. I want to hold your hand, I want to put that ring on your finger every morning, and I want to propose to you each night.”

He shakes his head, swallowing his cries down, the moon lighting the tear tracks that start from his eyes and end at his chin. 

“But I know you don’t want that. You told me that you wanted a friend, but…” he shrugged, his smile sad, aching, longing, “I think along the way of being your friend I realized I wanted to be your husband too.” 

“I understand if you want to leave. I’ll tell my parents the truth, they’ll understand. I have a house ready for you near the sea, one away from your family, where you can start over.” 

The wind rustles the hills, and you look at the field, watch the way it moves in tandem with the life around it. 

You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, and know that even if you blink them away it’ll do nothing to actually hide them. There’s a burning feeling in your chest, one that you’ve never felt before, one that rings with Gojo’s words. 

You run your fingers through the grass, looking up at him with a certain fire in your eyes.

“What if I don’t want that?”

He blinks slowly. 

“I,” Gojo sniffs, nodding profusely, hoping you don’t see the way he crumbles, “I understand, I promise I do. The house is a couple days-” 

“No,” you cut him off firmly, wiping your palms furisuly across your cheeks, to rid them of the pesky tears, shaking your head, “What if I don’t want that?” You move up to him, reaching your hand down his tunic, your fingers moving against is chest as you dig out the gold chain that’s wrapped around his neck. 

The one that holds his ring, the one he told you about one night that keeps it safe whenever he’s training. 

“What if I want this?” Your voice is cracking, and you tug the chain tighter.

“What if I want all those things? What if I want you to love me?” The ring shines in the moonlight, mirroring her pair thats wrapped around your finger, “I want to be your friend,” you stress, your brows strewn together as tears overflow from your waterline, “And I want to know what things you like. I want to walk with you all around the earth and walk back home again. I want to sleep next to you. I want to make you laugh, and I want you to make me smile. I want you to be my husband so that I can be your wife,” you cry out, your chest heaving up and down as he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into his lap as he tries to quickly wipe your tears away. 

“I want you too, Satoru,” you whisper, broken with your wet sniffles, a wet laugh escaping your lips when you see him crack at the way you said his name with so much care, your thumbs gliding across his cheeks. 

You slide closer into him, your legs splitting across his huge thighs as he hugs you tenderly to him, his head resting on your chest so that he can hear your heartbeat, make sure that this wasn’t just another dream.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs against your bosom, looking up at you with glistening eyes. 

“Then fight for me,” you whisper, your hands on either side of his face, “Give me all those things. Give me more,” you smile when his arms wrap around your waist a little tighter, his hands holding you up, “And I’ll do the same.” 

He nods, holding your hand that was still holding onto his ring to his chest, one hand moving to your back, and in the mess of tears and broken laughs the two of you seem to move together, meeting each other in the middle as your lips find each other in the dark shadows of night. 

You gasp when his lips capture yours, and he moves towards the sound, wanting to hold it, keep it forever. 

Gojo moves slowly, knowing that this is your first time, and cups your jaw, helping you move along with him as you lips slot and lock against each other. It’s messy and with no order, your chin staining with sweat as you moan against him, feeling delirious without the touch of him. 

You know this isn’t the easiest position for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He groans against you, his eyes squeezing shut, trying to memorize your taste in case the world ended tomorrow and this was his last meal. 

“Is this-” You cut him off when you swoop in again, his laughter cut short by your needienss, the way you paw at his chest, your hands winding up to his hair as you tug harshly on the soft strands. 

He moans at this, at the way you grind mindlessly on his thigh, your need for each other bleeding out into the open. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against you, kissing down your chin and then back up to you, his tongue swiping against your lips, savroing your whine, “I love you so much,” he says to everybody, hoping even those on mountains oceans away could hear, “I love you, my wife,” and you giggle, eyes bright when you hear those words. 

“Say it again,” you ask, your nails drawing little shapes on his nape, and you see him break into a smile. 

“My wife,” he repeats with a peck to your cheek, “My beautiful wife,” he kisses the tip of your nose, smiling at the way it scrunhed up slightly, just the way he adored, “My wife,” he kisses your jaw, “My wife,” your giggling nonstop and he hopes to bottle up the sound and hear it on his deathbed.

His hands travel back down to your hips, adusjsting you slightly so that you wouldn’t feelt he embarrassing hardening of his dick just from kissing you, and moves his lips down to your neck, hearing the way there’s a hitch in your laughter. 

“Why’d you stop?” he nudges his nose at that spot pf your neck that still smells like lavender, his favroite scent in the world, “Hm?” Gojo hums against that spot, licking a wet stripe up it, sucking at the skin, feeling the way you arch into his chest. 

“Y-your reeking s-scent infiltrated my nose,” you murmur, biting on your lip as he pinches your waist. 

“Yeah?” Gojo continued to tease you, sliding the sleeve of your dress down, giving you more access to the skin of your collarbone, “Want me to stop?” 

“No!” You cry, totally against your better judgement, moaning when he sucks another mark into the skin, biting it, and then presses a soft kiss to it as an apology, “Please, please, don’t stop.” 

He chuckles darkly, shifting you around so that you are lying back down on the ground, his body framing yours as he continues tugging down your dress, going slow in case you ever wanted him to stop. 

His fingers are quick at untying the string that holds you bodice together, unravelingit all until it falls off and he’s greeted to the sight of your heaving chest, the way your naked breasts rise and fall. 

Gojo blinks for a moment, forgetting how to move. 

“W-what?” You ask, a little self-conscience as he continues to stare at your chest, “Do they look wonky?” You move your hands to cover up but a deep gutteral growl escapes his lips, pinning your hands back. 

“Beautiful,” he bites out, moving his head down, pressing a wet kiss in between the valley of your breasts, “You look like a fuckin’ statue,” he says, “You’re s-so beautiful.” Gojo repeats, and you can’t protest with the way he praises you, nor the way his lips hover over a nipple, finally leaning in fully as he sucks on it. 

“F-fuck!” You cry out at the sensation, your fingers lost in his hair as you keep him there, back arching off the ground, “That, that feels…good,” you can’t speak, not with the way his tongue slides across your nipple, pressing little kisses around you areola. 

His other hand goes to your other one, making sure she’s not feeling lonely, his thumb flicking over your sensitive nipples as you whine even louder. 

Gojo switches and you feel your breath shudder in an embarrassing whimper, your eeys squeezing shut when he bites at you, wanting to mark you up for those wretched gods to see and feel humanly jealous over. 

“So soft,” he murmurs against your skin, almost in awe, “feels like silk.” 

You would’ve had a witty joke about this, you know you did, but you can’t fathom to think about anything other than the way his lips feel on your tits, the way he seems like he’d die had he not been here sooner. 

But he then raises his head, and you whine in protest. Gojo almost break at the way you’re looking up at him, the way yor lips tremble from sheer desire. 

“Want more?” He presses, his hands, warmer than the fire that’s burning in your belly, trailing down, down to where your dress was slightly parting, “Here?” 

“Y-yes, fuck,” you moan, parting your legs to make room for him, not knowing what this feeling was but knowing that he was the only one who could soothe it, “Need it so bad Sa-satoru,” 

His eyes roll back, swallowing his primal groan at the way you plead for him, and nods, pressing a kiss against your stomach before his hitches the fabric upwards, sliding down your body so that his face is closer to that heat. 

You know you should feel more shame, but you feel like you’re going to die if your husband doesn’t do something soon. 

Gojo’s hand travels up your calf, trailing up your thigh, and suddenly stops. 

You go to beg, plead, for him, but cut yourself off when his lips find your inner thighs, pressign wet and messy kisses to them, getting dangerously close to where you felt like you were leaking. 

“You’re divine,” he whispers against your skin, hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulls them apart, “Fuckin’ divine.” 

His lips suddenly find there, you glistening cunt, and you mewl out for him. 

“Satoru,” your chest is heaving like you can’t find any air, “T-there, please, there,” and fuck the way you’re begging him is so sweet that he can’t find it in himself to tease you. 

His fingers seperate your wet lips, groaning when he sees just how much you’re dripping, and licks a tentative stripe upwards, your surprised gasp at how good it felt going straight to his cock.

Gojo carefully slides a finger through your tight walls, feeling the way you tighten around that, and lets his lips travel to your clit, pressing small kisses to it before he begins to suck. You clench around him, and your toes curl at the way he begins to pump it in and out, your essence soaking his skin. 

“So wet sweetheart,” he groans swapping his finger for his thumb at your clit, his tongue diving into your walls as he nearly cums from your saccharine taste alone, “S-shit, fuck, you taste like fucking heaven.” 

Your thighs tighten arund his head, but he craves the feeling, his tongue eating you out at such a fast pace that you begin to wonder if you need this more or him. 

“O-oh gods,” your grips his head tightly, can’t find the sympathy in yourself to feel bad, “‘Toru, oh, oh my, don’t stop! 

That coil in your stomach grows more taunt with each second. 

He alternates, adding in another thick finger, feeling the way you try to stretch for him. He glides in and out of you with ease, but he wonders what you’d look like on his thick cock, how you’d preen as he split you open with his girth. 

“Sweet,” he moans against you, his voice vibrating against your pulsing walls, “You’re so fuckin’ sweet.” 

You nod at something, whatever he just said, not fulling understanding anything around you as he continue to stimulate your clit, sucking on it, his teeth gliding across it with a little bite, and you moan out even louder. 

“I…” you can’t think, can’t breathe, “F-fcuk, ‘Toru, something, something’s happening,” you don’t know what this feeling is, this electric, all-consuming feeling that’s zapping through your body, making it numb yet aware of everything at the same time. 

“I know, I know,” Gojo praised you, one of his hands holding your stomach down, the added pressure making you whine, “You’re doing so good for me, you’re there, come on come for me,” his hand travels up your body, finding yours as he weaves your fingers together. 

“Shit, shit,” you mewl, “I’m coming, fuck, c-coming!” You cry out, your back arching off of the ground as your legs grow slack around his shoulders, your walls pulsing around him as that string tightens for the final time and then finally breaks. 

You can see white as your eyes rolls back into your head, squeezing his hand as tightly as you can, your yes dotting with tears. Your climax was all consuming, making you gush around his fingers and tongue, seeming to be never-ending, your body shaking in his hold. 

Gojo presses one final kiss to your cunt, licking off your release from his fingers, groaning at the taste, and lets you catch your breath. 

When you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, you peek them over to Gojo, seeing the way he tilts his head back, your cum still glistening on his chin and cheek, and whine out in embarrassment. 

“What?” He asks, eyes teasing when you go to hide your face in your hands. 

“I can’t,” your words are muffled, “I can’t believe I just…” 

Gojo kisses your forehead, wiping some of the tears from your eyes away as he kisses your brow bone. 

“How do you feel?” He asks, his eyes scanning over your body, glistening with sweat, and you take in a gulp of air. 

“Good,” you say finally with a soft smile, “Really good.” 

You look from his little grin, one that you peck at, your thumb rubbing up and down his jaw, and then look down, to the obvious bulge that’s hiding behind his training trousers. 

You’ve never seen a cock before but fuck he’s massive.

“What…” you trail off, sitting up slightly, and he helps balance you, “What about you?” you paw at his stomach, right before it leads down, and he lets out a shuddered whine. 

“As much as I-” he bites his tongue, feeling like he’s going to cum if you continue to look at him like that, “As much as I want to…not here,” he looks around at the field, shaking his head as a definite no, “Not here.” 

You go to protest, but he stops you, biting your fingers gently as you yelp, shoving his head away with little force as he chuckles. 

You let him wrap your dress around you again, tying some of the knots so that it doesn’t open up when you’re standing, and let the silence wash over the two of you calm your beating down heart down.

He plays with the ring around your finger, and you watch as the ring around his neck moves with his little breaths. 

“I want to sleep in your bed,” you say, and his blue eyes find yours. 

“You’re crazy if you don’t think I’m letting you sleep anywhere else,” he says in a shocked sort of way and you laugh, looking over to the side for a brief moment, and then look back at him. 

“Do you really love me?” 

Your words as whispered, but it feels like the wind picked them up and scattered them all around the field, around the river, the ancient stones, and right into Gojo’s heart. 

“I really love you,” he whispers back, kissing your eyelids, in between your brows, your forehead, the back of your hand, and murmurs the words, “my wife,” to nobody and to everybody at the same time. 

You smile, pulling him down by that necklace of his so that you can plant a soft kiss against his lips.  

exercise

missionary but you keep apologizing for being loud so he tells you to “stop fucking apologizing” and tilts your head so your mouth is lined up with his ear and just fucks you harder

stray kitten | r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rafe x homeless!pogue!reader, heavy somnophilia, blackmail/manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think :)

Rafe icon: @/rafesfavslvt on pinterest!

In which Rafe grants you the freedom to come and go as you wish in his condo—but in return, your body becomes his to use freely.

word count: 3.5k

rafe cameron masterlist

The first night you met, a crashing sound wakes Rafe from his sleep. He’s delirious and still wearing his clothes from the same day. His flight had landed on the mainland at 11 o'clock, and after a long drive to Kildare, he'd collapsed on the couch in his condo's living room. He couldn’t quite gauge the time, but the sun hadn’t yet begun to creep through the tall windows that framed his space.

His mind was still foggy but he knew there was someone in his home, “Shit,” He muttered underneath his breath as he pulled himself off the couch and attempted to get his bearings. He found his phone, close to dying, lying underneath a pillow. The time read 2:19 a.m., making Rafe wince. He knew he hadn’t given anyone permission to be in his house. Sofia was the only one with a key and they were currently on an “off” phase of their on and off relationship. 

Rafe tucked his phone into his pocket, letting his eyes adjust, and quickly determining his plan of action. The bookcase beside the large-screen TV held a drawer. Precisely, Rafe moved over to it, and quietly retrieved a handgun that was discreetly hidden inside. 

The sounds of movement grew louder from the kitchen, and he could pinpoint the exact location now. His gaze shifted toward the hallway just off the living room, the one that led directly to the kitchen. Without hesitation, Rafe made his way toward it, the weight of the gun in his hand grounding him. 

The floorboards at the entrance to kitchen creaked slightly underneath his weight. Rafe knew he wouldn’t have the upperhand for long, soon he’d come face to face with the intruder, and he moved with determination. 

His heart beat louder than he wanted. As if on cue, the noise continued, and Rafe’s gun pointed toward his walk-in pantry. A quick shuffle of feet, Rafe moved quickly, strong arms pushing the door to the pantry completely open with one hand, the other tightly gripping the gun. 

He second guessed himself as soon as he saw you. His eyes scrunched in confusion just as you dropped the glass cookie jar in your hands, and the glass shattered all around your feet. The sound echoed in the quiet room, sharp and jarring.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Rafe’s gaze searched your face before he scanned you over. Scrawny legs, dark, golden skin and bare feet that were unprotected by the glass now around your feet. 

His grip on the gun tightened instinctively, but he hesitated, watching as you flinched at the sound of the shattering jar. Frightened, doe-like eyes looked back at him, wide and vulnerable. Your face was soft, framed by large, unruly curls that tumbled down your shoulders, “Don’t move,” It came off more threatening than he intended, “You’ll cut yourself.”

You didn’t respond though Rafe could see you were holding your breath. He lowered the gun. There was something wild in your eyes, untamed. Rafe’s curiosity piqued, “Who-Who are you?” Rafe asked, “What are you doing in my house?”

A long silence followed and the tension grew thicker, “I know you understand me,” Rafe continued. He took notice of your clothing. Your jean shorts reached just above your knee and were practically falling off your hips. You wore a raggedy sweatshirt with all the letters faded and you were clutching an old, leather backpack, “You here to steal from me?”

Rafe appeared disheveled, his button-up shirt untucked from his khakis, but even in his disorder, he stood in stark contrast to you.

You shook your head, eyes bursting with fear, “I didn’t … I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t mean to?” Rafe replied a little too quickly and you gave him a look that said you might shrink in on yourself. 

“I’ll … leave. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were home.” 

“That’s called breaking and entering.” 

“I’m sorry,” You repeated again and Rafe couldn’t help the incredulous look that spread across his face, “All the lights were out and I just …I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

Rafe nodded slowly, trying to process your presence and the fact that he currently had the power to …possibly, do whatever he pleased with you. He could call the police. Or threaten to call the police. He could see what you were willing to do in order for him not to call the police on you. What would you be able to do? You barely looked strong enough to carry the bag on your shoulder. He didn’t need the gun or a threat to the police. He could easily overpower you. His thoughts wandered down that path, and he felt no guilt in doing so; he had long ago accepted the darker side of his nature. Still, you had taken the risk, broken in all on your own.

You were desperate, Rafe thought, as the realization sank in.

“You running from someone, sweetheart?” Rafe questioned further, “You got warrants? People after you?”

You shook your head quickly, “No warrants. No one…” It was vulnerable information, Rafe could see it in your eyes, but he currently held your fate in his hands. You had to trust him for the time being, “No one’s looking for me. My foster parents kicked me out, uh, a long time ago. And I just … don’t have that many friends right now. I was just going to crash for the night.”

“And take my food?” Rafe added, a tired smile on his lips. 

You were still unsettled, naturally, but Rafe had already decided your fate, “Yeah,” You admitted, “I’m sorry. If you let me leave, you will never see me again. I promise. Please don’t call-”

You froze when Rafe lifted his gun again. He made a show of him flipping on the gun’s safety and placing it on the kitchen counter. He took a step forward, luckily, he fell asleep in his Tom Ford loafers which could protect him from the shattered glass. He stood in the pantry, door way, reaching a hand out to you. When Rafe sensed your hesitation, he said, “I’m not going to call the police,” He reassured you, “Let me help you so you don’t cut your fucking feet and get blood everywhere.”

You let his larger hand, envelope yours, and you were about to take a hesitant hop over the glass but as you leaned closer, so did Rafe. Before you could react, he effortlessly lifted you, setting you down on the far side of the kitchen. “Stay there,” he commanded, his tone firm. “I’m serious, don’t move.”

You didn’t even know his name, yet his presence alone had you nodding in quick, unquestioning compliance.

His line of questioning continued as you watched him procure of a broom and dust pan, “You’re from the Cut?”

“Yeah,” You answered timidly. It wasn’t fully true. You’d grown up everywhere but the foster parents that had taken you in at fifteen were from the Cut and you’d made your Kildare your home over the next years. 

“I’m Rafe.”

“...Y/N.”

“And do you usually do your breaking and entering barefoot?”

"I don’t like shoes," you said, your voice carrying a weight of seriousness that caught Rafe off guard. He paused in his crouch, lifting his gaze to meet yours as he stopped sweeping the glass. His eyes searched your face, trying to gauge the sincerity behind your words. "Never have. And I don’t do a lot of breaking and entering…"

“You don’t like shoes,” Rafe repeated in understanding, “And you’ve got a sweet tooth?”

“You didn’t have much real food,” You said and regretted it quickly, “I mean-”

Rafe stood and you watched him bring the scraped up glass to the trashcan, “Noted,” Rafe interrupted, “I apologize, I travel too much. And I’m not much of a cook.”

“I didn’t mean…I’m sorry,” You spoke sincerely, pressing yourself back into his marble countertops. His kitchen was huge, covered floor to ceiling in white fixtures and marble accents. You could feed an entire orphanage with a kitchen like this and yet you had come to the conclusion that he lived alone, “I’m not picky. I’m really not. And I will pay you back for the jar.”

“Oh yeah?” Rafe’s eyes narrowed at you as he moved closer to you, “How do I know you won’t pay me back with money you stole?”

You couldn’t help that your jaw tensed at the question, “I guess you wouldn’t know.”

“And how do I know you won’t come back with one of your pogue friends?” He held you with his gaze, so much so that it became too late for you to realize that he was placing both his hands on either side of you, effectively pinning you against the counter. Instinctively, your hand reach out to keep him from coming closer. That was far too intimate, you realized, as your hands came in contact with the hardness of his chest. You gasped, your hand falling helplessly back to your side, “You sure there’s no lowlife pogue boyfriend out looking for you right now?”

“No,” You spoke rapidly, “Yes, I mean, I’m sure there isn’t. And I won’t come back-” 

“But you’ll do this again. You’ll get hungry or cold. And you’ll probably meet someone who’s not as kind and welcoming as me.” 

Your breathing started to grow uneven and your eyes began to look for an exit, an escape plan, “If you’re not calling the police then I’ll leave. After that, it wouldn’t really be your business.” 

He seemed to nod with understanding but he kept you trapped there, “I have another way you can pay for that jar, sweetheart. And the sleep I’ve lost. And whatever else you have stuffed in your bag.” 

A cold realization washed over you, “I promise I’ll leave and won’t come back-”

Rafe shushed you. You felt a hand at your waist, a hand so large it effortlessly almost encircled your entire torso. His finger traced the waistband of your jeans, the movement slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. Then, his thumb brushed against the skin of your stomach. The sheer size of him, his imposing presence, his towering height, felt like a physical weight pressing down on you. 

“You don’t want to leave,” He leaned down to speak into your ear. This was the reality of your situation. You were aware of the risks. You were only scared that he would hurt you badly, “You’ve got nowhere to go, sweetheart. You’re hungry. Tired. You want a warm bed to sleep in tonight, don’t you? A hot shower?” 

“Yes,” You spoke weakly. 

“Good, then stay,” His words settled into the air like a final decree, and you couldn’t escape them. Not physically, and not mentally.

The first night happened like a dream. He made you hot food, something that came frozen, but you could microwave in a few minutes. After he watched you devour the entirety of the meal, he led you upstairs to his bedroom. Even in the dim light, of the early morning, the hues of cream and white gave the room a serene feeling. It was a distinct reminder of how different your world was from his. 

He left you alone to shower in his luxurious bathroom. The rainfall showerhead cascaded warm water over you, washing away two days of grime and exhaustion. The soothing stream was almost enough to lull you to sleep right there. You explored the shelves, trying a eucalyptus soap and using far too much from the expensive bottles of shampoo and conditioner, their silky textures foreign to you. When you stepped out, the heated floor greeted your feet with comforting warmth, and you wrapped yourself in a fluffy white robe that felt softer than anything you'd ever owned.

Standing before the mirror in the double vanity, you finally confronted your reflection. You began detangling your hair with your fingers, doing your best before braiding it into long plaits. For the first time in years, as you stared at yourself, you felt a glimmer of humanity, a version of yourself you had almost forgotten.

Finally, you found a spare toothbrush and freshened up, the minty taste a small but satisfying indulgence. Layers of cozy linens and soft throw blankets seemed to call you from the bedroom. Quietly, you left the bathroom and stepped back into the dimly lit space, your eyes drifting to the man who had taken you in.

He lay peacefully in his bed, his business clothes abandoned. The faint glow of moonlight revealed the contours of his bare torso, and though he appeared peaceful, there was no mistaking that undercurrent of danger that lingered in his presence. Handsome yet terrifying, he seemed both protector and predator.

Logic urged you to leave, to take the fleeting comforts he had offered and disappear before he could demand anything in return. But exhaustion and the strong pull of his presence overruled your better judgment. Silently, you slipped onto the opposite side of the California king bed, careful not to wake him. When he didn’t stir, you allowed yourself to sink into the luxurious mattress. Sleep claimed you within moments.

Something, someone, gently lulled you from your sleep later in the morning. You didn’t know it then but it wouldn’t be the last time you’d wake up with Rafe on top of you. Soft touches, kisses, peppered across your cheek. Small pecks against your lips. The feeling was almost comforting enough for you to not realize the reality of your situation. As soon as you did remember that you were in a stranger’s home underneath said stranger, your body reacted accordingly. 

You bit down on his lip.

"Fuck!" he hissed, pulling back slightly. You seized the moment to push against him, but any hope of escape vanished as his hand shot up, gripping your throat with unnerving ease.

“Don’t fucking move,” he commanded, his voice low and razor-sharp.

Your words caught in your throat and you stared up at the man with wide eyes, “You’re feisty in the morning, kitten,” Rafe breathed out, wiping his lip with his free hand. A thin smear of blood painted his fingertips. “Calm down, your body’s ready, your mind just hasn’t caught up.”

Although you were unable to look down at your body, you realized that the robe you slept in was wide open, exposing your naked body, “You’re already wet. I made sure.” He explained in most normal of tones. You realized what he was implying. 

“You touched me while I was sleeping?” You were able to ask once you gave the impression that you were calming down and he loosened his grip. The words were weaker than you intended. 

“What was I supposed to do, huh?” A wicked smirk grew on his lips, “I’ve got a half naked girl in my bed. I’m s’posed to keep my hands to myself? Be a saint?”

You swallowed, “Can you just …” Your voice came out uncertain, “I d-don’t have that much experience.”

His smirk grew even more, “You don’t want me to be rough? Don’t want me to bite you so hard you bleed? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?” 

You threw your head back in frustration, “You scared me.”

“That’s not the response I was looking for, kitten.”

“I’m sorry,” You corrected yourself, “I’m sorry for biting you.”

“Good girl,” Rafe kissed the side of your lip and you tried your best not to squirm, “Ask me what you wanted to ask me.”

Hands on either side of your head, he pressed his lower body into yours and his hard member pressing against your naked skin made your eyes widen in fear. You couldn’t look down, knowing that if you could visualize how big he was, you’d never stop fighting him. 

“Will you be gentle with me?” You asked the stranger, “Please don’t hurt me, Rafe.” 

The words you spoke out of nervousness seemed to add to his exhilaration. His body enveloped yours, the weight of him pressing down on you. It was inescapable, Rafe pushing all of his length, slowly but fully inside of you, “Won’t hurt you, little one,” You held onto him out of necessity, wanting to stabilize yourself, but your body told you to do the opposite. Although your legs were pinned, you tried to push away from him, not believing your body could fit all of him, “I know it doesn’t hurt. You’re ready for me. Don’t you fucking run.” 

“Please,” You whimpered. He was right. It wasn’t pain that you were feeling, “It feels too … too much. Too full.” 

Rafe hooked his arms around your legs, folding you into yourself, as he pushed himself deeper, “Shit, shit, shit,” you gasped, the words tumbling out as your head fell back. “Ffff—oh my god!”

“You can do it, little one,” Rafe coaxed you through the sensation, “Look at you. Taking me so deep. You’ve almost got all of me.” 

Almost, the word made you want to explode. You tried to leave your mind, to not overthink in that moment, knowing your anxiety was getting the best of you. You focused on his words. Maybe he was right? You could do it and you could do a good job. He’s too big, but he’s right, you’re not in pain. 

Rafe’s face swirled with amusement and ecstasy, “Fuck, let me use that tight little pussy,” He groaned, shifting his hips slightly, only to test how much further he could sheath himself inside of you, “You’re being such a good girl, squeezing me so good.” 

The praise sent an unexpected jolt of pleasure through you. His voice was warm but demanding. He wanted you to surrender, and deep down, you wanted that to. 

Your breath hitched as he pressed forward again, and your body instinctively clenched around him. “Rafe,” you whimpered, his name slipping past your lips.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Say my name again, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, embarrassed by how easily he unraveled you, but Rafe wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, pulling you impossibly closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Say it.”

“Rafe,” you whispered obediently.

“Good girl.” His approval came like a reward. 

He adjusted his pace, moving in a rhythm that felt more intentional. It was overwhelming having him inside of you but you weren’t prepared for him to pull in an out of you, pushing deeper with each thrust. 

You weren’t sure if you were still dreaming. The gentle sound of the ocean outside the open windows providing a steady backdrop to the moment. The curtains swayed gently in the breeze, their flowing fabric catching the morning light.

It wasn’t a bad bargain, your mind started to rationalize the situation. When Rafe eventually finished deep inside of you, your body shaking beneath him, he proposed the idea of the two of you continuing your arrangement. Rafe traveled so much and it wasn’t in your nature to stay in one place for too long, he offered to host you whenever you wished. As long as you kept what was between your legs for him, you could make yourself at home, even when he wasn’t. 

He kept his fridge stocked for you, left you gifts in the form of new clothes (never shoes), and gift cards to restaurants and stores. 

Sometimes you’d go weeks in between seeing him, having missed each other, but when you were together, Rafe took full advantage. 

The sunroom became your sanctuary—a place where the world slowed down. You spent hours there, stretched out on a chaise lounge, the warmth of the sun blanketing your skin as you flipped through pages of a book or dozed off to the sound of distant waves.

Rafe loved to find you napping. The first time he came home from a long, work trip and found your body laid out on the soft carpet of the sunroom floor, he wasted no time. Easily, he lifted your patchwork dress and pushed your panties to the side. As soon as you stirred from your sleep, you realized he was pressing his length against your entrance, “Rafe,” You called out, half asleep, but he was already inside of you, “What –”

“Did you miss me?” He asks as he slowly moves in and out of you. 

You gasp from the sensation but also the shock. He doesn’t leave room for you to protest, to second guess yourself, because he presses his weight into you and pins you there to the floor. In prone position, he fucks you hard and slow, “Did you miss me, kitten?” He asks again and you try your hardest to form the words. 

“Yes,” You managed, able to feel just how much he missed you, “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” He confirms and you can practically hear his smirk, “This little pussy hasn’t been fucked in a week.”

The thought makes you grateful for that overwhelming feeling. That fullness. 

“Gotta take care of my kitten.”

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Pls reblog and let me know what you think!! :)