I Saw This And Wanted To Try ✨

I saw this and wanted to try ✨

Please don’t feel pressured to do this

@dabihawksluva

@dabixobsessed

saw this trend on twt and wanted to do it sooo...

your love type x your f/o !!

link to uquiz !!

tagging: @usononai-namida, @make-my-dream, @rebeccaselfships, @kits-ships, @gothamlonelyhearts, @shirogane-oushirou and whoever else wants to do it !! but as always, no pressure to either ^^/<33

Soul On Fire Ch.2 I Get It

Soulmates were always something you laughed at. Nobody was perfectly made for another person. The world didn't just click into place. The world didn't seem brighter, nor did you wake up with a mysterious tattoo of their first words to you written on your body.

Soulmates were something that didn't exist in real life.

But when every different version of your boss starts showing up, you start to question if maybe you had the idea of what a soulmate was wrong from the start.

Bakugou X Reader, Soulmate AU

Ao3 / Prev Chapter

General warnings for chapter: Mention of injuries, Slight Angst, Fighting, Aggression, Wound Care, Suggestive Situations, Sexual Tension, Comfort, Mentions of Assault, and Fluff.

Kirishima quickly ushered you out of the kitchen after dinner was eaten. Who told you that he would clean up the dishes since he didn’t cook. Bakugou made his way up the stairs and you were left to do nothing else but lounge on the couch and try to catch up on some work.

You don’t know exactly what time it was, but when you start to come, you feel the gentle sway of your body as you are being carried up the flight of stairs. The familiar aroma of campfire and pine encouraged you to snuggle into the warmth of the person who held you in their arms. Your head tucked gently into the crook of his neck, as Bakugou easily handled opening your door and walking you inside.

He laid you down in bed and pulled the covers over your tired body. Making sure to tuck you in without waking you up. You couldn’t miss the way he lingered around for a few extra moments. Like he was making sure that you were truly ok before he left.

You don’t remember him walking away from the sound of the bedroom door shutting, but you woke up the next morning with a loud yawn. Your body felt like lead and refused to move willingly. You had to take the extra time to force life back into your body with gentle stretching and a couple of minutes of turning your body slowly underneath the covers.

Finding your phone, you tap the screen to see the time and realize it was almost noon!

“Shit.” You mumble out as you finally throw the covers from your body and roll out of bed. The wild events of the last couple of days must have really taken their toll on your body if you slept for that long.

Trudging your way into the bathroom, you decide to start the day as late as it was with a shower. Starting the water, you walk back out and grab one of the matching sets of underwear and leggings with the shirt that went with it.

Tuning the water to your preferred temperature once you made it back. Stripping out of your borrowed clothes, you begin the tedious task of trying to wash your hair without aggravating the injury to the back of your head.

The doctor had said you could get them wet long enough to wash your hair but that you should dry it as soon as possible. You washed your hair, keeping the area as untouched as you could manage. It was tender, so anytime you got too close to touching the stitches you had fair warning it was going to hurt.

But after that, everything else seemed easy to do. Finally, stepping out and wiping the fog from the mirror you set off on doing your morning routine. Brushing your teeth and fixing your hair in a style that would conceal the nasty cut on your head.

Throwing on the clothes you had to compliment the cut and style of the shirt and leggings you bought. You had a little doubt that they would fit initially, but now that you had them on, you could see that you were wrong. They hid what you wanted to hide, but also flaunted the natural curves of your body.

Finally dressed and ready for the day, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. Set on maybe making a cup of coffee to fully wake you up.

Upon entering the kitchen, you found nobody around, but you didn’t find a note sitting between two pill bottles next to the coffeemaker.

‘Had shit to do. Ei and I will be gone most of the day. Take both of these when you wake up.’

It was a simple note and definitely along the same kind of notes Bakugou would leave for you at the office. His neat handwriting was always so pretty, coming from such a masculine guy. You almost expected him to have chicken scratch instead of the somewhat dainty script he writes with.

You were actually kind of jealous of it if you were being honest.

You start the coffeemaker and pick up the pills to inspect them further. Both of which were prescribed to you, and one seemed to be anti-inflammatory and the other a mild painkiller.

You sat them back down on the counter for now. You weren’t in a lot of pain at the moment, but you never knew you might want them later on.

After making your coffee, you sit at the kitchen table and play on your phone. Going through emails and checking your social media for a while until your cup was empty. Locking your phone and sitting it down, you wondered what you could do to pass some of the time for the day.

When I idea hit you that you could always swing by the agency and pick up your computer and a few of those long overdue reports you hadn’t found the time to finish yet.

Maybe one of the side kicks could give you some information on the copycat Bakugou and if he was still there.

That was all the motivation you needed to lace up your new shoes and grab your bag. Making sure that you stopped back by the kitchen for a bottle of water and your medication, in case you needed them after a while.

The clouds completely covered up the sun, and the wind was a little harsh, but you didn’t let that deter you from your destination. It was only a few blocks away if you remembered correctly, and it would do you some good to get some fresh air.

People were busy just like you were. Walking briskly to make the next train and hopefully beat the rain before they got caught up in a storm that was headed their way.

Following your GPS, it was an easy couple of turns before you found yourself outside of the agency building and all of its glory. Tall and modern with lots of windows, it was perfect for letting a ton of natural light in on the days when the sun was shining. The large double doors swing open as two of the girl from the third-floor head out for lunch.

Slipping I’m before the door closed, you stopped by the front desk and asked how things had been in the two days you had been gone. The old lady at the reception desk fanned over, being able to see your face once again. Offering you a piece of candy as she did every day that she worked.

It was always from the same stash that she kept locked in one of the drawers, a little Carmel salt water taffy. Only today she hands you the rest of the bag, giving you about a dozen pieces, as a welcome back to work present.

It was very sweet of her; you know how much of a sweet tooth the Older woman had, but ever since you had started here she had taken to spoil you a little like this.

She takes a little time to talk to you while you pop the taffy in your mouth but finding the opportunity to leave her behind once her phone starts to ring, waving softly as you head towards the elevator.

People got on and off on different floors as you rode all the way to the top. Pulling out your phone, you pay them no mind as they keep to themselves.

Once you made it to your floor, you walk over to your desk. Packing away your laptop in your bag and grabbing the various files that you had stashed away. You look around to see if either of your bosses were in, but it looked like it had been a while ago. Sighing, you pack away the rest of what you need and head back down towards the main floor.

But once you made it down there, it seemed like you had picked the wrong time to come to ask any questions. All the sidekicks were either out on patrols or on a lunch run. But you didn’t let that get you down for long.

If you remembered correctly, Kirishima had said that they were keeping the mystery man in one of the holding rooms a couple of floors down. Maybe you could soothe your curiosity and take a peek and see if he was still there or if they had found a more permanent place for him.

Hopping back on the elevator, you ride it down four more levels, the soft ding signaling that you had made it to the bottom-most floor of the building.

You hated it down here. There was no sun, and it was always so much colder down here than anywhere else. You understood completely why they had these rooms down here, but that didn’t stop you from getting the creeps each time you had to venture your way here to find one of your bosses.

There were four holding rooms in total, with a small kitchen space and a spare room that could handle paperwork or be used as a meeting room. But you spotted him almost immediately as soon as you stepped into the spare room. It gave you a view into each room via a two-sided mirror. Exactly like you have seen in countless cop movies.

But he was there.

Sitting head slumped forward and hands restrained to the table in front of him. He was still covered in plaster and soot from the other night.

You felt a pang of sadness settle in your chest at the sight of him. And before your mind could catch up to your body, you were quietly cracking open the door and stepping inside. He still didn’t lift his head, but he was clearly awake. Because you could hear him no doubt forming words in his native tongue.

Whatever he was saying, he said it a little sluggishly. Like he hadn’t been able to move or stretch since he arrived here.

“Hi,” you say softly from the door.

And the sound of your voice had his head snapping up in an instant, a smile on his face even though he had dried blood caked on the side of the temple and a busted lip.

He was smiling at you, and your name rolled off his tongue with a sigh of relief.

You give him a tiny wave, and watch as he attempts to mimic you, raising his hand as high as he could with the restraints on his wrist to wave back. But he was looking at you the same way the other night.

Like you were a sight for sore eyes.

Feeling brave, you decide to step a little closer but still stay far enough away to keep yourself safe. Despite the previous encounter with the strange man, you didn’t want to give him another chance to overpower you again.

But you feel your guard being let down when he softens and says your name again. Not gruff and harsh like the other words he had been putting together, but gentle enough to tug at the strings of your heart.

He looked tired the closer you got to him. Dark circles under his eyes and the blood crusted on the corner of his mouth were starting to aggravate his skin, and the wound on the side of his head looked like it was still painful.

And by the time you even realize it, your hand was reaching out to touch his cheek.

His skin felt like it was on fire under your fingers. As he leaned into your touch, much like a cat when they want you to pet them. Nuzzling his head further into your hands with a soft sigh.

You watch as his shoulders lower and his body starts to relax with you near him like he felt safe enough to let his guard down. You felt the need to at least get him cleaned up. And you wished that you could find out if he had eaten anything or not.

That was when you had the idea that you could run and grab a first aid kit and something to eat from the kitchen upstairs. It would be quick in less than ten minutes. Get him fed and cleaned up and out of here before anyone notices.

“Bakugou.” You say the name softly, hopefully gaining his attention.

You hear him grunt and open his carmine eyes and look at you.

“Katsuki.” He grunts out the first name you know so well.

You pull away from him, and he frowns at the loss of contact. But you stand and make the motions with your hands, hopefully trying to ask him if he was hungry. Nodding his head slowly, you understood he was willing to accept your offer.

You hold up a single finger, letting him know you would be back, and rush out the door. Despite his angry-sounding complaints, you head back to the elevator and beeline to the kitchen a few floors up.

The company hired a new chef to make lunch for most of the employees here. The new chef prepared fresh salads and a selection of fresh foods that could be eaten in a rush.

Lucky for you, nobody else was in the kitchen when you arrived. Giving you ample opportunity to sneak in and out without being noticed. You grab one of the small salads and started filling up a takeaway container of other foods. Some rice and fried chicken. A heaping helping of roasted veggies before closing the container and rushing back the way you came.

It was easy to locate the first aid kit once you got back to the basement. Put away and easily visible sitting on the wall, you snatch it off with your free hand and make your way back to your mystery man in the next room.

His eyes were on you as soon as the door started to open. Walking inside, you go and sit both of the items in your hands down on the table in front of him. But you quickly realized his hands wouldn’t be able to feed himself.

It left you in a tough situation.

You either kept your distance to keep yourself safe, or you could sit on the table in front of him and feed him as quickly as possible, and clean his wounds.

It wasn’t like he could really do anything to you restrained like he was.

It was an almost automatic response. Climbing across the table until you could sit with your legs hanging outside of his own. Your feet dangling just outside his muscular thighs, you try to scoot yourself closer before reaching behind you to grab the food.

Instantly, his hands reach as far as they could and rest on your hips, squeezing the fat beneath his fingers softly before he tries to pull you closer to him. The heat from his palms felt burning hot even with a barrier of your leggings separating you from him.

It seemed like having you in close quarters like this was soothing something inside of him. His features soften and a lazy smile graces his lips as he looks up at you. Opening the takeaway box, you grab the utensils and gather a bite of food, motioning with your mouth for him to open his.

And he let you feed him with no problem, eager to receive the small intimate act of you taking care of him. More than content at the moment to feel your body against his while you fed him bites of food. This felt oddly like the right thing to do. It wasn’t something you had an answer for but you didn’t question it either.

Just happy to live in the moment.

And to no surprise, he ate every single bite you offered him. You started to wonder if he hadn’t eaten in a while or if he just seemed to like you as you set about opening the salad you grab. Still feeling his loose grip on your hips as you pour your dressing and toss the vegetables around. Taking a couple of bites before you offer him some as well. But unlike before, he turns his nose up at your leafy greens and grunts in disappointment.

The sight of him acting childish about eating vegetables made you giggle. This was the first time you had ever seen an adult ever turn down something that was good for them.

But the way he looks up at you when he hears your voice made your stomach jitter around with butterflies. He was giving you that soft little smile again, and it was becoming harder and harder to deny you enjoyed the look of his happiness.

“You sure you don’t want a bite?” You ask, offering him yet another bite of the salad in your bowl.

And yet again, she scrunched up his nose and turned his head.

“Bakugou. “You coo sweetly at him. Hoping that maybe he would answer the name of your boss again.

“Katsuki.”

Much to your surprise, he corrects you. So far, the only word you had understood from him was your name, and that he liked to be called by your boss’s first name.

You had to remind yourself, though, this wasn’t actually your boss. The two of you didn’t speak the same language, and even if he was your boss, he would never allow you to be familiar enough to use his first name so casually.

Sitting down your food, you decide now was the time to try to clean him up, or at least what you could. You knew that you didn’t have long left before people would no doubt start flooding back into the agency, and someone was bound to catch you in here.

Placing the med kit in your lap, you get to work opening it up. Pulling out ointments and bandages, hoping he didn’t suffer anything worse than a few bruises and cuts like the real Bakugou had.

He lets you take a wipe and clean at the cut above his brow, your hand gently holding his chin in place as you examine the small injury. It wasn’t deep, but it was irritated and red around the edges. Sighing softly, you pat around the area in hopes of keeping his anger at bay. You didn’t need two angry blondes after you today.

Even when he winced from the sting of the antiseptic hitting the wound, he didn’t try to pull away or scare you off. He just closed his eyes and leaned more into your touch.

“The fuck are you doing in here?”

The angry bark from the door causes you to squeak in fear, instantly the Bakugou in front of you tightens his grip on your hips and pulls you from the table and into his lap, your legs clumsily landing outside of his as he attempts to hide you from the other very angry blond in the room. The rough growl he sends his way rumbles through his chest and vibrates off your own.

You can hear his angry stomps towards you like a warning bell for death. He was pissed, and he had a right to be. Despite the intense and feral sounds coming out of the man you sat on top of, the real Bakugou leans down and wraps his arm around your waist, freeing you from the lap of the other man. His yelling only got more aggressive and desperate the further Bakugou carried you away.

“I was only feeding him, and making sure he was ok!” You try to reason with your boss.

It wasn’t like you came here to let him loose in public or anything.

“Thought I made myself clear last night that you weren’t gonna go anywhere near him!” Now it was his turn to scold you.

He struts all the way to the door and finally sets you back down to stand, his body almost shielding you away from the imposter still tied up halfway across the room. His glare made you want to run all the way back home, but you had good intentions of coming here.

“Yeah, but I-!”

“But what?” He barks, leaning down further into your personal space. “Thought that I wouldn’t know where you went?” He asks mockingly. “That I didn’t think you would try to sneak off at some point? I’m not an idiot, sweetheart.”

All the while, is he berating you, you hear the other blonde that just a minute ago was so soft and willing to let you touch and bandage him, matching the volume and tone of the original in front of you. Ranting and raving about who knows what, but either way, the harsh-sounding words escaping his mouth you felt were directed towards your boss.

Only serving to piss him off more.

Whipping his head around, he snaps at the copycat at the table.

“Nobody can understand, you dipshit!”

But that didn’t make the other blonde stop running his mouth at all. If anything, it only served to have him amplify his already booming voice even louder, quickly jutting his middle finger toward your boss with a nasty smirk on his face.

“Yeah fuck you too, you copycat bastard!” And Bakugou, as childish as it seemed, only meets his middle finger with one of his own, before he drags you out of the room.

Your name echoed off the walls as you both left the still-injured blond locked to the table.

“Will you just listen to me?” You yell at him and dig your feet into the tile.

If he wanted to, he could easily start to drag you again, but instead, he stops when you start to resist. His shoulders move up and down as he tries to calm his breathing, refusing to turn around and look at you just yet.

“What you gonna tell me he is just some harmless puppy? Cause he fucking smiled at you?” He says lowly turning his head to the side. “Did you forget who had to come to save your ass in the middle of the night from him? Or the way he had you pinned to the fucking bed, two seconds away from rap-“

“Woah! What are you doing here, sweetpea?” Kirishima asks as the elevator doors open and he sees the two of you standing there fuming.

Bakugou’s snarky reply was cut off by his partner, a look of worry in his ruby eyes as he walks off the elevator and towards you. Quickly trying to diffuse the situation by placing himself between you and the explosive blond.

“I don’t think he wants to hurt me!” You yell, looking to the redhead that tried to separate you from Bakugou. “Or else he would have done it already!”

It wasn’t like you to get this emotional over a complete stranger, but you felt the pain of his isolation start to weigh on you.

“We talking about copycat?” Kirishima asks, turning his attention towards you.

“Little sneak was in there alone with the fucker.” He seethes, glaring at you over Kirishima’s shoulder.

“And look!” You say, turning your body in a circle as if to prove your point. “Not a single thing wrong with me!”

“See! I knew that he wasn’t going to hurt her.” Kirishima says all too happily for Bakugou to stand.

“Don’t encourage this shit. Just get her out of here.” He barks at his friend.

You can see the reluctance brewing in the redhead’s eyes as he goes back and forth on who he should side with.

“I, I think he maybe you!” You blurt out after a moment of silence, the tension becoming too much for you to stand any longer. “Or at least a different version of you.”

But all Bakugou does is roll his eyes at the statement.

“Yeah right. And why is that, hah?”

He was trying to stare you down, intimidate you to back away. But even if you couldn’t explain what it was that was keeping to try to plea for this mystery man…

You knew you were right.

“Please. Can you just trust me?” You ask, finally letting the anger fall from your face in hope that a softer approach would work on him.

And he tries for a good minute to avoid looking at you. He stares at Kirishima and then to the floor. Only to look down at the new tennis shoes on your feet before he slowly takes a deep breath and drags his gaze to meet the big doe eyes you were trying to kill him with.

“You get five minutes to prove this shit, or else.”

You could tell he hated to give in, as pigheaded as you knew he could be. It took a lot for him to bend to someone as delicate as you.

It wasn’t easy to convince Bakugou to stay outside the room and simply study what you saw from the two-way mirror, but with a little extra convincing and help from Kirishima, you agreed.

Steeling your nerves, you give yourself a moment before you walk back through the door. And the Bakugou still shackled to the table was back to having his head hung low, his arms resting on the table in front of him.

You walk inside and gently shut the door behind you, taking your time to be cautious of the blond in front of you, just in case.

It was only when you gently reached out to touch his shoulder did he react. His movements were defensive with a loud roar as soon as you touched him.

But when his eyes land on you, the fire and rage in his eyes dies almost instantly, replaced once again by the calm demeanor he had graced you with before.

Your name fell softly from his lips.

“Hi,” you offer him softly with a small wave of your hand.

He smiles as he mimics your gesture with a wave of his own. “Hi.”

And honestly, him being able to understand you, even if it was something small, made your heart flutter. You motion back to the medical kit that had fallen to the floor in the scuffle earlier and he nods his head as if giving you permission to finish what you started.

And once you pick up all the scattered bits and pieces and place them back in the box, you resume your position from earlier. This time he leans back far enough so you could climb over his arm and helps you sit back on the table, his hands once again coming to rest gently against your hips.

This time, though, he kept himself busy studying your features as you worked on his injuries. His hands toying with the hem of your shirt like he was trying to remember the way it feels between his fingers. Occasionally, the tips of his fingers would touch your skin. Skimming along the elastic waist of your leggings.

He wasn’t doing it with any real purpose; it was just something to soothe himself and maybe you too. The warmth of his hands keeps you in place as you look him over once more.

Satisfied with your work, you finally turn to put all the unused supplies away, ready to set the box aside until you glance down at the table and see just how best up his hand was. Quickly, you turn and pull his other hand to where you could see it better.

Sure enough, it looked just as rough.

Patches of green and purple lined his knuckles and fingers. A couple of his massive fingers were swollen and looked too stiff and sore to move. Not to mention the condition of his wrists.

Turning towards the two-way mirror, you motion for either of the men on the other side to come into the room.

“What’s up, sweetpea?” Kirishima asks popping his head into the room.

You can hear the rumble of Bakugou’s chest as he prepares for another round of arguments, but you were quick to reach out a hand and run it through his soft spiky hair.

“I wanna fix his hands, but,” your trail off, not exactly sure of how to ask for what you wanted.

“You know he will never agree to that,” Kirishima says, almost disappointed.

“Please, I can’t leave him like this. It’s bad enough he’s been chained to this table for days.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

It only takes about thirty seconds before you hear a boom and a no in the form of a yell. Rolling your eyes, you count the seconds until the familiar stomps of your angry boss steadily grow closer.

“I said you had five minutes to convince me. I didn’t say jack shit about uncuffing the bastard!” He barks.

“Look at his hands!” You plea with the blonde, turning to face him.

“What about my fuckin hands huh?” He yells, and you feel the tell-tell signs of the exact situation happening once again.

The yelling, the growling. The way his hands started to latch onto your thighs, ready to jerk you into his lap as a means of protecting you. You needed to stop this petty argument before it had a chance to start back up. If any of you stood a chance at figuring out what was happening here, you needed to be quick.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath before you give them both a yell of your own.

“Katsuki Bakugou!”

Both men freeze up at the use of the shared name. There was an overwhelming moment of silence following the boom of your own voice. No longer was anyone trying to grab at you or argue. Eyes wide as they almost reel back from the anger you displayed.

“Please. He isn’t going to hurt me. I need to take care of his hands.”

It takes him longer than you thought it would before you hear him speak again, although this time his voice was softer now.

“And how do you know that?” He grumbled

And it was simple.

“Would you hurt me?” You ask him, and you watch as he shakes his head no. “Then he wouldn’t hurt me. He is you. I know you don’t want to believe it.” You say, turning back to the injured blond between your legs. “Help me help you.”

The room was silent yet again. The only sound you hear is the jingle of keys by your side, and the sight of something silver floating to your left. Your boss stood there still skeptical, but willing to let you prove him wrong.

And when you turned to take the keys from his hands, you gave him a smile. Noticing just how busted his hands looked as well. Looks like you had more than one reckless blond to take care of today.

“Thank you.”

“He’s dead if he hurts you. Hope you can tell him that.”

You nod and wait for your boss to leave the room before you attempt to reach for the other Bakugou’s hand. One by one, you move the cuffs around and unshackle him from the restraints.

He just sat there patiently with his hand still on the table. Not moving until you reach for the medkit again and grab a couple of things. Letting you guide his hands into your lap as you look over the bruised and broken skin.

He hisses slightly when you apply some pressure, but nothing that made you worry. To make your boss feel better, you worked quickly to bandage his hands.

Luckily for you, it didn’t take long at all, even though you had two sets of identical crimson eyes staring at you. Working diligently, he keeps his hands to himself this time.

“I know we can’t really understand each other, but,” you start giving his bandaged hands one more look. “But I feel like I can trust you to behave.”

Peering up, you lock eyes with the copycat in front of you. He looked exhausted, and a little worse for wear at the moment. Now that his injuries were taken care of and he had some food, you could see the way his eyes started to feel heavy. A loud yawn escapes his mouth just as he goes to try and wipe the creeping sleep from his eyes.

He surprises you when you feel him trace his fingers over your hand, causing you to show him your palm as he gently turns your wrist. His thumb caresses the pulse point in your wrist as his hand covers yours.

He mutters softly as he looks at you. His eyes filled with a longing that you could almost mistake for homesickness. Both of you could feel the way your quiet time together was coming to an end quicker than you would have liked. But he was more understanding this time around.

He leans forward, shortening the distance between the two of you, his forehead resting softly against yours, and just sighs. His eyes closing as he finally relaxes for a moment.

You don’t know what he said, but you feel the butterflies erupt in your stomach when he cups your cheek and pulls you in the short distance to place a gentle kiss on your lips. Although this time they were a little chapped and still sore from where they were busted in the corner, he took the pain in stride.

Brushing his nose against yours in an act of intimacy you haven’t partaken in for what seems like years. It didn’t last long, but you felt the heat of them even after he pulled away. Finally, dropping his hands away from you and back down to the table at your sides.

As much as it hurt to have to place the cuffs back on him, you still did it to appease your boss. He was just on the other side of the glass, watching you.

No doubt angry and filled with anxiety as he waited for this whole thing to be over with.

Your copycat didn’t fight this time, as you finally drag yourself away from him. He simply just stared at you as you gathered your supplies and head back toward the door.

“I’ll try and come back soon, ok?” You say with a sad smile.

You really didn’t want to leave him here.

But the last thing you wanted to do was push your luck even further than you already had with your shenanigans. Because as soon as you close the door, leaving the sad blond behind, your vision was soon filled with one that was seething.

He was standing just off to the side of his redheaded friend, who looked like he was trying to talk him down, but his focus was on you. Eyes overflowing with anger, but something else just lying underneath it.

‘Take her home Red." He says, eyes locking with you briefly before he turns his attention back to the redhead at his side and walks off.

You felt horrible that he was so upset with you. The last person you wanted to piss off was him. He saved you. He was housing you as well. And all he wanted was for you to rest up in his home and leave him to do his job.

Your feet start to move towards him as he hits the button on the elevator, but Kirishima’s arm shoots out to stop you before you could get any closer.

“Give him some time to cool off.” He says as he pulls you gently to his side.

But you couldn’t just leave him like this. It was clear he was angry at you, and the last thing you wanted to do was get even more on his bad side. You had seen the wrath he could bring down people who didn’t know not to test him.

“But I need to apologize.” You say softly, still looking at the closed door.

Glancing back to the tall redhead next to you, he just gives you a knowing look.

“He’ll be alright in a couple of hours. Let’s get you home for now.”

And that afternoon Kirishima walked you back to your shared home. Making sure that he kept a watchful eye on you the entire time. Bakugou, on the other hand, was avoiding you like the plague. He was coming home late and leaving before you had the chance to even crawl out of bed.

And after four days, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It was eating away at you that he was avoiding you like this. So you made the decision to follow him to the agency. Dead set on making him finally speak to you.

You woke up early. By looking at the time on your phone, you saw it was just shy of five am. With a soft yawn and a few minutes of bending and stretching your body back to life, you slip into your clothes. Tiptoeing your way to the front door with your tennis shoes in your hand.

You heard the door shut about ten minutes ago, and you wanted to give him a chance to get to the agency and settle in before you confronted him.

You had it planned out perfectly.

He had a routine he liked to follow. On days that he had a light load, he took a jog to the agency. Spending some time in the gym there before he showered and made his presence known. Leaving the door to his office open and available for you to come in and deliver notes and go over reports.

Always at the ready with your clipboard and a fancy pen.

He always told you just how ridiculous you always looked when you walked, in the same way, each morning. Coffee in one hand, while you carried your clipboard, clutched to your chest. Telling you it didn’t have to be right that second that you had to go over everything and you were allowed time to fully wake up. But still, he never complained about having you there.

And by the time you made it to the doors of the agency, you saw that the lights were still dim. No sight of anyone or anything alive, stirring behind the tall glass doors to the lobby. But as per usual, you typed in your security code and let yourself inside. Greeted with the silence of a still sleeping building and no one around to wake it quite yet.

Wandering your way into the kitchen, you set yourself up to make a cup of coffee and a tea for your grumpy boss. While he was never the type of person to need caffeine, a little peace offering couldn’t hurt.

But as you finish your drinks and move to the front door of his office, you notice the lights were off and the door was still locked. Leaving you to wonder where the angry blonde might be. So, with a curious walk, you make your way down to the elevator once again and head down to the floor with the gym. If he wasn’t in his office yet, maybe he was still down there.

But instead of being met with the harsh drums of some heavy rock song blasting on the speakers, you are once again in the dark. No lights or sounds, anything that would give you the indication that life was around.

Maybe he made an extra stop on his way here? Or maybe you missed something on his schedule. Pulling out your phone, you pull up the pro’s calendar and look at the date.

And it all made sense once you saw what today was.

Both Kiri and Bakugou were going to be out-of-town today, some semi-annual ‘bullshit’ meeting on the other side of the city. The same one you basically had to force him to attend, even if he thought it was pointless.

Which meant both of your bosses were going to be gone for most of the day.

Almost instantly your mind wanders to the almost barbaric copycat still sitting in the basement. You had promised him that you would come back to see him, and conveniently Bakugou wasn’t going to be around today.

And before you even realize it, you are in the elevator and heading down to the lower floor. The silence of the morning is almost soothing as you wait. The automatic lights turn on as soon as the doors open. Each step you take causes another light to come to life, all the way down the short hall.

Only your mystery man wasn’t in the same room as he was before.

It was clean and showed no sign of having anyone inside of it. Which you hoped meant that they had placed him in a holding cell. Picking up your pace, you hit the button that would bring you to the set of rooms you needed.

In a secure location, with only one exit. There he was. An arm was thrown over his eyes as he lay on his back. The harsh fluorescent lights shone too brightly for the small space he was locked in. You watch him for a moment, relieved that he looked to be ok. The steady rise and fall of his chest was an indicator that he was still breathing.

Even from this distance, he looked like he was fairing far better than he had been just a short while ago. His hands were now bandaged better than what you were able to do, and he looked clean. He didn’t have any lingering specks of soot or dust clinging to his hair or face. His clothes had been changed out of the primitive attire, for something that looked more modern. Simple and light, more than enough to have him pass as a normal citizen of the city.

Now that he was in the black sweatpants and matching black t-shirt, it would be almost impossible to tell the difference between him and the real Bakugou. The only real indication this was your copycat was that he was slightly bigger than the real one. Bulkier than you were used to seeing every day, but still so much alike.

It hurt to see him still locked up in here. It had been days since he had seen the sun, let alone step a foot outside. The thought crossed your mind about just how scared he might be. Even if he only showed himself to be fearless and unstoppable, being in a whole new world and not able to speak or understand how anything works must be upsetting.

An intrusive thought crossed your mind.

What if you let him out? Nobody was around to stop you, and maybe you could pry some kind of answer out of him if Bakugou weren’t around to stop you. You could slip him out of the agency and hide away for a while. IT wouldn’t be just beneficial for you to help him out, but you would be helping your bosses figure out a little more about this guy. Maybe put you back in the good graces of Bakugou.

It didn’t matter at this point, anyway. Your boss was already avoiding you, might as well give him an actual reason to be mad, right?

Right?

Logic and reason didn’t have a lot to do with the events of the past week. Nothing made sense, and you hoped that your theory was right.

The pad that kept the room locked was staring at you. The keypad mocking you for not realizing that you would need the password to unlock it. So you type away all the important dates you could remember. Bakugou’s birthday, Kirishima’s, the date the agency was officially handed off to the pair.

But nothing seemed to work.

As a joke you go to type in your birthday, frustrated that you didn’t think your plan through. But what shocked you, even more, was the keypad lighting up green and the sound of the door unlocking.

That roused the head of the sleepy copycat to pop his head up towards the door. Waiting for you to turn the knobs and enter his room.

“Hi,” you speak softly to your copycat.

A small smirk finding its way to his lips as he sits up, speaking your name, his voice still drenched in sleep. You can’t deny the sight of him brings a smile to your face. Even if he wasn’t your boss, there was just something that was pulling the two of you into the same orbit.

With a roll of his shoulders and popping his knuckles, he sits up and stands from the bed. Giving his stiff neck a gentle roll before he walks over to you. His still-bandaged hands reach out to you and pull you to his chest. Hot hands land on your hips as he envelops himself in you. Dipping his nose down until you feel it nuzzle into your hair. His soft puffs of air soothed your nerves about what you were doing.

As much as you enjoyed this, you had to get him out of here.

It wasn’t fair. He had proved to you that he wasn’t a threat, not just physically, but you could feel it deep in your gut.

Pulling away, you set your half-baked plan into motion. Taking his hand into yours and quickly leading him out of the small cell and into the elevator. You didn’t ecstasy know what you were going to do once you were out of the agency, but anything had to be better than this.

The world was still in the early stages of waking up. Lucky for you that meant that there would be fewer people around to witness a giant half-feral man who was letting you drag him along down the sidewalk. The sun was just starting to poke its head above the horizon, and a slight chill ran through your body.

Taking your time, you slow down as you walk. Allowing him to take in the world around him. His eyes bounced from the signs hung above the roads, to the way the neon signs of the coffee shops and bakeries flashed brightly.

He seemed so enamored with everything; you hadn’t thought about it before but it must be off-putting to be here. Thrust into a part of the world that didn’t look the same. You had no idea what his home looked like, but by the way, his eyes were on high alert. You can only assume it was nothing like this.

From the way his eyes lit up like that of a child when they see something new, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. The noise and hustle of the city was making him overstimulated, as far as you could tell from his body language anyway.

Maybe you could take him to the park? Or away from the main part of the city for a while. Just something to calm down his overstimulated mind, and spend some much-needed time without others around.

As you pass the huge display window of a shop, the idea hits you.

You could take him on a small picnic over by the mountain. You didn’t have to hike it, of course, but it would be perfect. Spend a little time tucked away in nature, and make sure he ate a proper meal.

You’ve heard the stories that Kirishima and Bakugou would talk about when they went. On the slim chance they had a day off together, they would make the plan to explore a new area. The mountain in question was a favorite of theirs. Easy enough to climb in a few hours, and offered a wonderful view from the top.

With the weather still warming up, the chance that you would run into other people up there was slim.

With an idea finally settled on, you squeeze his hand softly to gain his attention. His eyes finally settle back on you as he hears the honk of a car passing by.

“I know you can’t understand me, but I have a plan.” You smile as you speak, hoping that he would trust you.

He meets your smile with one of his own. The small lopsided smile filling you with a sense of peace. And he lets you lead him down the street. Flowing down the sidewalk until you reach the place you needed to go first.

The grocery store.

Luck was on your side when you read that it was open. Tugging him gently behind you as you enter the store. He watches the place with a cautious eye as you pick up a basket and start to make your way down the aisles. Picking various items and placing them in your basket.

Anything and everything you could think of that would be convenient to eat on your adventure to the mountains. Fresh strawberries and apples. Cheeses and meats, hoping that you could make a lazy charcuterie board.

You still glance behind you every so often to check on him. He would occasionally reach out and look at the items on the shelves. Poking and squeezing the items, figuring out what each thing was.

He really was taking in the world much like a child would. Touch and sounds being his guide on working out what something might be.

It didn’t take long at all to gather up a nice spread of food to be eaten. Satisfied that you had managed to grab enough to at least keep him full enough until. you could bring him back. They even had a picnic basket kit of sorts on the shelf. Everything you would need to have a convenient outdoor experience. They included cute but simple plates and utensils, along with a small blanket.

You swipe it fully, intending to use it.

As you tug him along through the check outline, you are quick to place your food into the basket and pay for your items. Tapping your phone and paying before you leave.

After that, it was an easy path to get to your destination. Pulling out your phone and following the path, it directed you down. Past the busy lights and sounds of the city and into something softer and less daunting. The air already felt fresh here.

Crisp and clean as the trees started to grow thicker and taller the longer you walked. The smell of dewy grass and flowers invades your sense of smell and you take in a deep breath.

It felt like a whole other world out here.

And as you expected, the hiking trail was empty except for the two of you. The cool temperatures of early spring were more than enough to ward away most novice hikers.

Katsuki seemed to be feeling a little better if the quick glances you gave him were any indication. His eyes weren’t bouncing back and forth anymore, and his head wasn’t snapping towards every sound, looking for a threat to appear.

No, now he was doing the same as you. Taking in deep breaths and sighing out of relief. His hand gripped yours a little looser now that the city's busy life was behind you.

Turning your head back to face in front of you, you point to a worn sign just up the trail.

“I figured we could hike a little way and stop for some food if that’s ok.” You tell him more than to ask.

Forgetting for the moment that he couldn’t understand anything you were saying. He gives you a soft nod as if he could and lets you lead him. Cupping his hand tighter in yours as you pull him to stand beside you. You had the fleeting feeling like he would let you lead him to the end of the earth if you desired.

Which was a feeling you never thought you would have about anyone.

But like everything else in your life as of late, you couldn’t exactly explain what your life was anymore. Not a lot made sense, especially when it came to Bakugou or his clone. You were simply letting your heart move on its own, and so far, it hadn’t led you into too much trouble.

The further you walked up the trail to the forest, the more you realized you weren’t meant for hiking.

What were once steady breaths of air leaving your lungs had become labored. Your shoes that used to be comfortable were now hurting the arches of your feet. You were struggling, and you hadn’t even made it to the difficult part of the hike yet. You slowly started to curse under your breath the longer you were walking. The incline of the hill stole your breath before you could muster up more than a few words.

But the chuckle at your side stops you from muttering.

Glancing over, you see Katsuki’s amused expression. He had the tiniest amount of teeth showing as he watched you attempt to scale the start of the mountain. Stealing the insult you were about to berate him with as he poked fun at your misery.

Before you could utter the words, he tugs you to a stop, pulling you into his arms. Leaving you a little confused for a moment before he is moving you around. His hand leaves you for only a moment until he is bending down to one knee in front of you, offering you an uninterrupted view of the massive muscles dancing behind the compression shirt on his back.

Turning his head slightly and wrapping a hand around yours, he guides you to stand closer, leaving you to catch on to what his plan was. His other hand wrapped around your thigh, and in one quick movement had you lifted onto his back.

Easily baring the extra weight as you adjust your arm to grab for stability. He was just as quick to take the basket from your other hand and continue on your walk. He wasn’t struggling in the slightest to carry you up the steadily increasing terrain. His muscles worked effortlessly, moving with smooth precision as he enjoyed himself.

And you were too after you got over the initial embarrassment of being carried around like this. The heat radiating off his body pulled you into him further, enjoying the way he kept the chill of the morning from your skin.

It was so calm out here, so different from what you had grown accustomed to. There were no honking cars or people shouting, just the sounds of nature to soothe your mind. You could get used to this, the birds chirping and the gentle sway of the trees as the wind moved them. The moment felt almost perfect.

Until you felt the jarring vibration of your phone in your back pocket.

As safe as you can manage, you reach around and pull out your phone, looking at the screen. It was Kirishima’s happy and sharp-toothed grin filling your screen.

You heavily debated for a moment if it was safe to answer his call, or if you should let it go to voice email. But after, it would seem more suspicious if you ignored it.

“Hi,” you speak into your phone as you hold it up to your ear.

“Hey Sweetpea, just wanted to call and see how you’re holding up?” He says happily.

“I’m OK, just taking the time alone to catch up on some things. I completely forgot that you were both out of the office today.”

“Yeah, thought about shooting you a text this morning, but figured it would be easier to call.”

Katsuki turns his head slightly, slowing his movements as he looks back to you and the device held up to your ear. He goes to try and open his mouth before you are shaking your head in a silent plea for him to remain quiet.

“I’m actually about to get in the shower. Want to call me later? I’ll be fine by myself. I don’t want to distract you from your duties.”

“It’s not a problem to check up on my favorite assistant.” He says way too fast for your comfort.

It was like he already knew that something was wrong. Like he knew exactly what you were doing.

You try to make yourself sound convincing, but you were never that great of a liar. The only thing working in your favor was that Kirishima could see your face trying to work out a decent lie.

“I’m fine, really. I appreciate you calling to check up on me. But I left the shower running while I was getting my clothes! Sorry to have to cut our talk short.” You force yourself to get into character. Apologizing softly as Katsuki picks back up walking with you on his back.

“Is that all?” He says, a little disappointed. “Well, guess you better get in the shower before the hot water runs out.”

“Your right! Well, ill see you this evening!” You sigh as you feel the lick of victory set in that you had managed to pull off your half-assed lie.

Fumbling with your phone and mumbling a curse under your breath, you go to hit the red button to end the call before Kirishima’s voice catches you off guard. Your name is echoing out of the receiver, making you pause and lift the phone back to your ear.

“I caught the alarm before Bakugou saw it, by the way.”

Fuck.

You were stupid to think that you would ever be able to pull anything over on either of them. Of course, they would have an alarm on the door. That was probably the entire reason why he called was to get you to confess.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was a last-ditch effort on your part and a lame one at that. But you couldn’t help but want to continue with your little jailbreak.

“Look, I don’t get it. But I do. And I covered for you. But please don’t make me regret it.”

You can hear him sigh, and you can almost picture the disappointment written on his happy face. But he was at least willing to indulge you in this endeavor for a while longer. Both sides of your conversation are silent as you agree to keep this secret from the real Bakugou.

“I’ll have him back before you get back, I promise.” You tell him softly before glancing down at the massive man carrying you. Readjusting his grip on your thighs, digging his fingers into the plush skin beneath his fingers.

He felt all too real just to be a dream. The heat emitting from his body matched that of your hot-headed boss. He wore the same sour face, his hair stuck out the same. His arms and hands felt just as real as the ones you were used to grabbing for when Bakugou would demand to escort you home after those long nights at the office.

Strong and lean but no less warm. On that rare occasion, he was in a decent mood, offering to make a stop by a restaurant on the way and pick up dinner for you. He wasn’t much for conversation, be he had a way of making you comfortable in the silence. Tugging you closer to his side when you would pass others on the sidewalk.

In the end, you owed it not just to yourself, but to your boss as well, to find out what was going on.

“I’ll message you about an hour before we will be back. But if anything happens, don’t forget to hit the panic button on your phone. I’m serious. I would rather you stay safe than hurt sweetpea.”

“He isn’t going to hurt me, but I’ll keep my phone close. Thank you for trusting me, Kiri.”

He doesn’t say anything else other than a small hum of acknowledgment before he hangs up the phone. Leaving you once again to keep your attention on the burly blond that was now leading you off the well-worn path of the hiking trail and into the woods.

It was now or never. You either made some kind of breakthrough with Katsuki, or you were sure to be swept up in the wrath of Bakugou if you didn’t have any results from your little act of rebellion.

Tags

bakugou katsuki bakugou katsuki bakugou katsuki bakugo x reader bnha bakugo katsuki bakugou x reader bakugo katsuki x reader katsuki x you bnha x reader bakugo katsuki katsuki katsuki bakugo masterlist katsuki bakugou x reader bakugo x reader bakugou x y/n Bakugou Katsuki x reader bakugou x you bakugou katuski x reader bakugo katsuki x reader bnha x y/n bnha x you to read series bakugou x self insert bakugou x fem!reader bakugou katsuki x reader series katsuki bakugo x reader angst

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zukowantshishonourback

8 months ago

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑 - gojo satoru

synopsis : burdened by the betrayal of your lover's affair, you meet a mysterious man with the strangest demeanor that beholds a scar on his right wrist and has the most beautiful, crystalline eyes. his vulnerability and sincerity stir an emotion you've long forgotten, challenging you to remember who this man exactly was in your past.

content : highly unedited due to wc. mdni. smut. she/her pronouns. afab!/fem reader. reader is smaller than gojo. mentions of suicide, death, miscarriage, and blood. infidelity. gojo has yāndere tendencies. cúnnilingus. creampíe. squirting. unprotected séx. car séx. pet names (princess, angel, baby, sweetheart). fingering. deep thrōating. missionary. manhandling. overstim. mention of baby trapping ? male masturbation. emotional/verbal abuse. mentions of audio/video recordings. Gojo uses a fake name. angst but a happy ending ◡̈ heavily inspired by ‘tears on a withered flower.’ especially with the big plot points/dialogue.

wc : 25k.... i should've split this into multiple parts.... but decided to just put it into one whole post. if it's too much for you, it's written so you can read it in multiple parts ◡̈

from ae : it's been so long since I've written anything... so I hope you guys can enjoy . love y'all !! header @/MJJ_0503 on twt

p.s. : i will not accept any slandering of the reader. if you do, I'll block you. Not all readers need to be boss ladies and independent. it's fictional writing, so become the character.

Grandma used to tell you stories about the demons that lurk at night. She would bewitchingly share in a calm voice, where even the hottest of summers felt cold during those darkest of nights whenever she told this story with her frail fingers brushing against your cheeks as you stayed hidden under the blankets.

The Devil’s hours.

“They wait for their next victim in the dark,” she warned, her face devoid of playful gestures, yet her lips threatened to twitch when she witnessed your facade flood with a multitude of expressive emotions, “they wait just for the right time for people to become weak, and it’s only then…!” she would startle you, always with the same threat of tickles and peppers of kisses.

“They’ll devour and spit out the bones of any disobedient children that don’t listen to their Obachan,” pinching your nose before placing a soft goodnight kiss on your forehead, “so young lady, I hope I don’t hear of any silly business during the night coming from your room.”

“But Obachan, I always listen to you!” cheerfully retaliating with only your face peeping through the blankets, your small hands grasping against the edge of the fabric.

“Of course, you do, my sweet pea,” your grandma's voice slowly faded, “never trust the devil —”

A distant memory dulled through your thoughts as you heard a familiar ring.

Despite being years since you’ve last heard such a tale, you should’ve known getting a text at 2:37 am never meant any good — it was called the devil’s hours for a reason.

A sixth sense? Or was it your poor intuition?

The whiplash of anxiety that crept through your bones the minute you heard your phone buzz, immediately woke you from any intent of possibly sleeping.

But you guessed it couldn’t be so bad to open it. Demons were nothing but folklore, an urban legend the adults believed.

But… Grandma was never wrong.

And through your ignorance, that night you were faced with three misfortunes.

First, the bright light of your phone burned into your iris, almost making it seem as if what was your deemed punishment to witness such a scene.

Second.

“Hanako,” a familiar voice moaned out, gripping her body with his face caved into her neck, clinging onto her as if she was his lifeline — his refuge.

You could hear the sinful slapping of their sweaty skin brewing a crimson red as their naked bodies linked as one.

You can almost see the sweat dripping down his temple, his hot breath fanning over her face as her feet pushed his hips further down into her body, his throbbing cock filling her to the core.

It seemed too natural for this to have been any mistake. You wonder if he wore the cologne you’ve bought him, yet she was the one to inhale the scent of your man at night. The red claw marks of her nails scratching against his muscular back, gripping onto his heated body as his cock crashed into her repeatedly in impactful motions, her voluptuous mounds bouncing with each desperate thrust of that man — your fiance.

Your boyfriend embarrassingly in the talks of hopefully getting married in the next year when you’ve paid all his debt, fucking another girl with desperate grunts and needy moans. Though grainy you can see his ignorance of being filmed when he sobs out her name.

And there, clearly visible was her face smiling, taunting as she placed a mocking kiss on his shoulder, the edges of her swollen lips with lipstick smeared turned upward with a lascivious smile, her nimble fingers combing through his hair as she whispered into his ear,

“You’re mine, baby, harder!”

You should’ve known nothing good comes out of the devil’s hour. Approximately around this time was when legend states the devil roams to haunt its prey, gathering weak souls to harvest and devour during the quietest of nights.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he groaned into her neck, biting at her skin as Hanako looked straight into the camera, “‘m close.”

Maybe he was in search of you — a pawn prepped for the demon himself to consume.

While she, as her name resounds, bloomed like a flower, shamelessly opening up herself to whom you supposed was your man.

“feels so good,” her voice elevated in pitch, her body bruised and marked while her breasts bounced with every stroke of your lover’s cock inside her, pushing her tight walls to embrace the length of your man, “you’re so big Kento,” she bewitchingly purred.

Yes, because surely nothing good comes from receiving a text at this time of day. With your heart thumping in your chest while your hands shake from the horror that you’ve just seen. Your world completely shattering at the crack of dawn.

A text at 2:37 A.M from an unknown number.

It’s never wise to be awake during the devil’s hours.

Force yourself to close your eyes at the least, and maybe the demons won’t rob you of your subconscious.

For the demons lurk in the dark, voraciously starving for their next meal, reeling you into his possessions to harvest for himself.

Ding!

You hoped for an answer to this debauchery, anything to save you from this mess.

But there you receive your last misfortune in the form of a mysterious man and a text.

From: Satoru.

Just ended work ~

See you tomorrow at the bar, angel.

—- months prior.

Your lids felt heavy. Each step up to your boss’s office felt tortuous from the lack of sleep you’ve gotten the past couple of nights. It didn’t help that your fiance hadn’t come home the night prior, nor were you getting any thoughtful response outside of his blunt answers of “busy” or “can’t talk.”

“He’s probably busy,” you reassured yourself, despite the tickling of uneasiness that energetically synergized in your heart, making you feel nauseous, as you scrolled through your last messages with him, “yea, he’s just busy.” You tried comforting yourself — a skill you’ve mastered over the lonesome years.

Kento Nakamura, your boyfriend of thirteen years, got hired into an established company a couple of months back. It wouldn’t be out of the norm for the new hire to be front-loaded with new tasks and responsibilities, trying to learn the job while impressing his coworkers and higher-ups, attending late company dinners to pour liquor for his boss.

Slightly jolting when you felt your phone vibrate, a short wave of expectation that threatens your mind only for disappointment to shatter all existence of hope when the sender was from anyone but him.

From: Akiyama-san

Hello dear! No need to come in today! Someone has bought out the whole motel for the night! I’ll manage the night, so rest up.

To: Akiyama-San

No, it’s okay! I’ll still fulfill my shift —

And before you could respond you received another text from her.

From: Akiyama-San

You’ll still be paid so don’t worry.

“Guess this is good,” you muttered under your breath as you continue your way, quickly responding to the text with a thank you, “Kento usually comes home early today,” you sighed. Your chest felt heavy, a dull ache that resonated deeply inside from somewhere vacant and dismissed, “M-maybe I can make his favorite dish and surprise him.”

You nervously typed out, carefully curating a message that wasn’t too clingy, yet showed how much you’ve missed him — needed him.

To: My Kento.

Will you be home for dinner today? Miss you…

Maybe tonight you could finally confess; surely, he’ll understand. He's always wanted —

“Dress up a little, yea?” Kento boringly berated you as he examined your clothes, giving you a moment of attention as he lied in front of the television.

“I just don’t have much,” you softly confessed, folding up his new undergarments while sitting on the floor to organize your boyfriend’s clothes.

“You know, guys don’t like it when their women wear shirts that are all stretched out and old-fashioned? Have some decency, will you? It’s embarrassing.”

“What’s wrong with what I have?” you questioned, now used to the cold banter of your fiance, “w-we just don’t have that type of leisure, Kento…”

“There you go again bringing down the mood,” Kento disapprovingly sighed, his attention back to the screen, “read the room, it’s not like you’re the only one working,” he murmured just loud enough for you to hear.

Your finger hovered over the send button, biting your lip as you contemplated, your heart rate ricocheting in your chest wondering if he, too, was awaiting your message, or if he’d reprimand you for bothering him while he was busy at work.

You hoped Kento would come early to simply be with you, for today was rather a sensitive day. A day where it feels more gloomy and weathered than usual, the type of day that pulls you down and strips you of any dignity — left to crawl on the dirt and succumb to the wounds of an unfair world.

Your mind wanders to the last memory of the photo lay hidden in a box — a secret between you and angels that took such sacred possession from you, a tale Kento has yet to find out.

You didn’t have the leisure to think further when your boss interrupted your inner dilemma.

“Good morning,” he welcomed you in, chuckling, “don’t just stand there, come, come and sit.”

Quickly turning off your phone and stuffing it into your pocket, you figured you could think about it later.

“Ah my apologies,” you murmured, ashamed your boss might assume negatively of your character for standing outside his door without quickly alerting him, “Good morning Ishihara-San,” you quietly sat on the couch, “is there a reason why you needed to see me, sir?”

“Ah yes,” Ishihara-San took a sip of his coffee, “I need you to do me a favor,” he let down his cup as his eyes gleamed with hope, “Not particularly a favor, but a duty?” Ishihara-San formed a crooked smile, “There’s been a request from a possible investor that he meet with someone from our company.”

You were confused as to why that had to do anything with you because your work generally consisted of inputting data, making copies for meetings, and brewing coffee for your project lead.

“Sorry sir, I’m having a hard time following why you would need to consult with me over this, there are many qualified —”

“Well… the thing is,” your boss crossed his legs and leaned back with a gentle smile, “he wants you.”

“M-me?” skeptical of such truth, weighing on the side that your boss probably heard wrong, “Are you sure, sir? I’m not one to know much — ”

“Very,” he grinned, “he was very clear about it.”

“Well, I’m sorry to say but I won’t be able to commit to such an agreement tonight,” quickly looking down as you tightened the nervous grip of your palms, “I have a prior engagement,” you solemnly confessed.

“Is it because of your part-time job?” Your boss bluntly questioned, “If that’s the issue then no need to worry, he stated you’ll be compensated generously for your time.”

“No no, not today sir,” you smiled, “I just wanted to do something nice for my fiance,” you cracked a nervous smile, rubbing your thumbs together as a measure of self reassurance.

“Ah, I see… Well,” exhaling a long breath, “that can’t be helped —” his phone vibrated on the coffee table, illuminating a contact name that you failed to see.

Immediately grasping hold of his phone, “If you’ll give me a second,” his expression eased with what he’d read, “well, it must be your lucky day,” your boss hummed, quickly standing up, making his way over to you. “The investor pushed forward the time, so if you go now, it’ll give you plenty of time to have your date with Kento-san.”

“S-sir!” Your boss was unwilling to hear it as he pushed you out of his office, and gave a supportive squeeze to your shoulders.

“I’d advise you to go now, don’t want to keep our guest waiting!”

“Who is it that I’m supposed to meet?” you quickly asked, shocked at the quick your boss was to kick you out.

“He’ll find you.” Was all the advise he gave you before sending you off.

And that’s how you end up walking up to a dimly lit bar, on a Wednesday afternoon at the center of Tokyo’s metropolitan area. It was close to the flower shop that you worked at during the weekends, and a few blocks down from the motel you were supposed to spend the night working at. It was oddly strange to come across such a place since you never had the leisure to look beyond the steps that you took ahead for work.

“The map says this is the place,” you murmured, looking up at the sophisticated restaurant sign that illuminated brightly, which contrasted your somber, drained expression. The world looked beautiful, foreign outside your scope of reality. You immediately felt out of touch, isolated and lonely.

The atmosphere itself felt expensive with its polished furniture and reclusive dining options for those in the upper echelon, and it certainly didn’t feel comfortable walking in with your mundane articles of clothing that dampened your features compared to those who dressed eloquently beside you.

You normally didn’t wear much makeup, nor doused yourself in perfume. Living leisurely was a luxury for you. Especially when there was a mountainous amount of debt that’s been accruing interest with each breathing moment.

Everything was shattered — dishes, cups, the beloved lamp that you’ve cautiously stored as your grandmother’s loom laid barren on the floor, lifeless yet chaotic.

You didn’t even have the energy to cry, or the courage to breathe yet tears streamed down your face as you slumped to the floor from the recent distress of loansharks rummaging through your shared apartment, breaking anything and everything they came across.

By default his arms tightly weaved around your stomach, his shaky breath reassuring you as he shamelessly hid his face into the crook of your neck – he too shaken from the abrupt mayhem witnessed not only but five minutes ago.

“I’m sorry, baby,” his voice felt shaky under his breath, “i’m so so sorry,” he repeatedly confessed as you woefully cried in your distress.

… “When we pay this off,” his tears pooled on your shoulder, “let’s get married, yea? I promise… I’ll make you happy.”

That was already five years ago you mindlessly thought while scanning the room, looking for the stranger that you had to accompany for a possible business investment while absentmindedly touching your ring finger still vacant of any promise of marriage.

“Find me?” you questioned your boss’s words, “how does he know me?”

You wondered who this person could be that they were adamant that it had to be you. Was it a past acquaintance? No, you didn’t know anyone in such authority, albeit someone powerful enough to invest money into a company.

Or was it a debt collector? No… they haven’t been showing up since you’ve been paying them promptly.

Maybe it was some old freak that you encountered at work? You come across those occasionally. Asking for sexual favors while drunk, when all you’re paid to do was assign them a motel room and hand them the key, wishing them a good night.

The job paid well, and Akiyama-san was a nice older lady. You were in no circumstance to contemplate if a job was worth sticking through or not when there was a pile of debt to be paid by the end of each month.

You best decided it would be better to keep your guards up, whoever it was… he wasn’t someone to be trusted.

“Found you,” a deep voice whispered behind you.

Quickly turning your head to see a white haired man, looking at you through his sunglasses, the hint of his cologne was hypnotizing.

“My,” his voice was sultry and enticing, like a predator luring in his prey, looming from the heights as you flinched at the sudden attention, his face dangerously close to yours, “you’re even more beautiful up close,” the stranger whispered, his eyes landing to your lips.

“Excuse me?” you fastidiously grasped hold of your ear in shock from the impending behavior of this odd stranger.

“My apologies, I didn’t intend to scare my future business partner,” he smiled, still craning down to meet your height as his face level with yours, his cerulean eyes mildly covered by his sunglasses as he scanned your face,, “let’s just say I like pretty things.” his canines sparkled under the light.

You looked up, immediately locking with his eyes, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest — intense yet soft lazuline and deep, an abyss filled with wonders, tempting you into it. There was something oddly familiar in those eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint as he stared back at you, it held something that you couldn’t understand.

Taking a step back, unable to hold eye contact with such intensity as you clutched your chest, you held out your hand to properly introduce yourself. This is work you reminded yourself of. Ishihara-san would be displeased if I was rude to a potential asset to the company.

“Hello, I’m —”

“Acting so formal,” the man plopped down on the counter seat, his veinous forearms showing with his shirt properly buttoned to his elbow, propped out on the edge under his large coat, “sit, I don’t bite.”

Strange. He was most definitely unusual.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you softly stated before carefully sitting next to the man, quickly noticing his features.

He was big — heads taller than you. His stature was prominent, more defined than a models when he simply wore a black dress shirt with a couple of buttons undone, black slacks slightly more fitting on his thighs with a belt that accentuated his thin waist, an expensive-looking watch with shoes perfectly buffed.

His hair was anything you’ve seen. White with a shine that made it obliterating graceful, tempting to run your hands through, the polish slightly undone to create a lightly distressed look, yet still exquisitely showed his forehead.

He was probably in his 30s, yet he could outperform any man in their prime with the stature and face card that he’s got.

But his eyes, you couldn’t get yourself to think outside of the deep depth of power his eyes relayed. It was as if you were the one missing the piece, while he, a total stranger, knew everything there was to be about you. And you noticed, the scar under his right wrist probably feigned a deep, dark memory for him that pained your heart for this stranger.

But again, this was solely business.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, “just to make sure…” your heart still pounded, “are you the one Ishihara-san told me about?”

“Depends on what he’s told you about,” he lightly hummed, a small smile forming on his glossy lips.

“That you were looking to invest in our company?”

“An investment you say,” he chuckled as he turned his body around to face you, his cheeks resting on his palm, “well… I guess, you can say that.”

“What do you mean —”

“Yamakage,” he cut you off to introduce himself, “Satoru, if you’d like to get more personal, I wouldn’t mind,” he flirted.

Responding with heat to your cheeks, you gave him your name despite unknowing how to correctly respond to his proactive engagement of flirting in a business meeting, “Nice to meet you, Yamakage-san.”

“Yeah, I already know. It’s pretty,” he admitted. His innocuous tone felt something more as if he was agreeing at the foreknowledge of your name, or if he was simply playing with you, you weren’t sure. “Your name, it’s pretty.”

You couldn’t brush off the fact he felt so familiar, like a lost acquaintance that you should remember. Like a faint memory, his presence teased your senses.

“H-How do you know my name?” you found the courage to ask, quickly embarrassed at the question when Ishihara-san most likely informed him of his employee’s name, “ah I’m sorry for the stupid question… Ishihara-san probably told you.”

“I’m hurt,” Satoru pouted, a faint tease to his voice as he nonchalantly stared at you, “that you don’t remember me.”

“Have we met before?” you cautiously asked, worried that you’d upset him, possibly bearing a hindrance to the business deal.

“Of course,” he sighed, stretching out his long legs, caging your seated form as he easily scooted you closer in, “many times, in fact.” Again, whether it was a habit of his to speak to people so intimately, staring deep into their eyes, it was a fact that he was dangerously too close.

“‘M sorry,” you murmured, shy from the intensity of his eyes, “But I don’t seem to remember —”

You saw his eyes stop at a certain area of your face as you spoke, his gaze shortly fixated on the small scar you had just below your right eye. You swore you saw his jaws clench for a brief moment, before softening up when he answered you.

“The flower shop,” he answered, his face easing up with a sing-song tone.

Your ears perked up at his statement, questioning if someone like him had ever guested the shop.

“You work there every weekend, right?” Satoru continued, “Tell me, what must I do to get your attention next time?”

You distantly remember your coworker speaking highly of a man who would come every weekend, oftentimes pointing him out whenever he would walk through the doors. You faintly remember a white-haired man who would buy a bouquet of roses every time, but if you were frankly honest, you didn’t quite care who came in. A customer is a customer, and time was money. You had Kento and bills to pay, and that’s all that should matter. Remembering each customer that you’ve met was impossible with the multiple jobs you juggled.

“I-I’ll make it a point to remember you,” you tried making him feel better, the beating of your chest thumping loudly. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he could hear your heart by how close he was sitting, “I hope my rudeness doesn’t impede in your decision to invest in our company.”

“I hear you as making a promise,” Satoru chuckled, amused at your priorities to win over this deal, “promises are a dangerous thing to make, you know?” His words felt like a double edge sword with the way he stared at you so intensely.

“I simply wouldn’t want to disappoint my boss.” you honestly confessed.

“I see,” he hummed, “a businessman never forgets a promise, you know?” his words sounded like a threat, yet his demeanor was far from it.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you answered, “is there anything I can do for you?”

As if he’s been waiting for your invitation, Satoru slides his phone towards you with a cheeky smile, “Your number, that’s a great start.”

You type in your number, handing it over to him as he receives it with a smirk. Simultaneously his bodyguards quickly stand from across the bar, whispering in his ear and briefly bowing before making their way out.

“What a shame,” the mysterious man stated while standing up, a hint of impatience in his voice, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave now. I have some rather annoying business to take care.”

“Wait —Yamakage-San!” you quickly uttered, surprised as your hand immediately grasped hold of his forearm, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” he stated, pleased at the physical contact, as he glanced at your small hand grabbing hold of him.

“Is there a reason why you wanted to meet with me specifically?” still clueless as to why he asked for you when nothing was resolved in terms of this deal besides him getting your phone number.

Grasping hold of your hand, it felt warm, mildly calloused yet perfectly groomed and unblemished. Lifting it up to place a gentle kiss on the back, his lips felt soft as you assumed, “I just want to get to know you, that’s all.”

——

Kento knew it was wrong. He wasn’t brainless to know cheating on you was, in fact, wrong. It wasn’t something he planned on doing when he entered the company. The relationship started on a curious note. She was just so different from you and she itched a part of himself that he’s longed for you to embrace. To a drunken mistake after a company dinner, one thing led to another, and here he was with his cock shamelessly embraced by her warm insides, his hands molding her ass as he fucked her in the steamy car.

It was a shame right before fucking her, it was so easy to eat at your favorite restaurant that he’s failed to take you in years — with an old acquaintance a couple of years shy of both yours and his from college, Hanako Miwayaki.

No one at his company knew he was in a relationship before getting hired. Ever so, he was the handsome bachelor that his superiors tried to nudge him and the pretty, and young Miwayaki-san that feigned interest in him the moment he started, from getting together.

“I—I love you!” she managed to whimper out through their exchange of sloppy kisses, her long fingers grasping hold of his hair as she continued to press her body onto his naked torso, “Kento more!”

Kento held her hips close as he watched how his slick-coated shaft would go in and out of her swollen entrance, silently cursing at how warm she felt around him.

“Fuck,” Kento cussed under his breath, simultaneous to how he gently squeezed one of her mounds, the grip of her pussy suffocating him even more, “keep going, just like that,” he unabashedly confessed.

But all Kento could think of, despite the woman he held in his arms tonight, was you. It would always strike a nerve whenever he would open his eyes, instead of Hanako who appealed to his desires and easily spread her legs for him, he would suffocatingly see a glimpse of you.

And that made him want to fuck Hanako even more.

“K-Kento” she would sweetly moan for his name, pleased to see her lover rutting his shaft into her. Such a sight was enough for him to go crazy over, wanting nothing but to do this all night until they had satiated themselves with the reciprocity of love and lust combined.

Hanako had a mesmerizing beauty. And her skin was always perfect under her makeup. She smelled rich and always wore clothes that highlighted her hourglass figure, unlike you, who’d wear loose articles of clothing like an old lady.

Her breasts fit into the palm of his hands, but they seemed to always lack a certain something compared to yours. He thought it was a shame how he’d never noticed her before. Maybe he would’ve if all he’d ever known wasn’t you — his first love since high school.

The car quickly filled with a stench of lust. The windows were tainted with fog as the two of them filled themselves with one another.

Hanako started to mewl at how rough her boyfriend was being, the increase in his pace was too unbearable to last a second further when her impending orgasm was threatening to release.

“Ngh!” she managed to let out, with Kento’s cock pistoling inside her, his movements becoming uneven while spurts of his seed collected inside his condom.

“I wanna feel you without it,” Hanako pouted with her boyfriend’s face buried in the crook of her neck, further planting herself down his member, intentionally clenching on his overstimulated cock. With their chests panting for heavy breaths after their rendezvous, she was pleased to hear his groaning as his arms further embraced her tightly, “don’t you want to feel better, Kento?” she tried persuading like shaking her spanked ass.

“We’re not kids, don’t be so reckless,” Kento huffed out, unaware of the irony to his words while looking up at the ceiling, irked that you’d ask him to always wear a condom when —

“You’re no fun,” Hanako lifted herself to cup his sweaty face, her lips feverishly kissing her partner. Her tongue soon entering his mouth where the hot flesh swirled sinfully with his.

She smiled when she felt his cock hardened again inside her. “Kento,” Hanako bit his lower lip, teasingly looking down through her lashes as she pulled herself from his member, reaching down to pull off the used condom.

“Let’s go up to my apartment.”

Kento knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t come home the day prior, and you’d probably be stupidly waiting for him.

“I can’t tonight —”

Her lips crashed onto his again, a threatening message that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer, “You’re going to send away your poor girlfriend to sleep all alone at night?”

It’s not like you would entice him and want him like Hanako did. So what was the point of keeping some sort of loyalty to you when he’s just fooled around with another woman?

“Fuck it,” he groaned before quickly zipping up his pants, ignoring Hanako’s giggle as she led him up the stairs, practically prancing in her skirt with no panties underneath, uncaring of the person that may have seen such wretched acts he’s committed.

After all, it was shameless what he was doing. And Kento knew it. Because his thoughts weren’t of the woman he just had sex with, but it was filled with thoughts of you letting him slide his tip along your entrance.

As he mixed his body with Hanako, he thought of ramming his cock inside your tight, warm cunt, squeezed magically by your plush, velvet walls.

And as he kissed her, his thoughts were full of how your breasts would wildly bounce as he continued to hit your most sensitive spot, deeply inside.

Would you let him take you on all fours, just like how he had Hanako currently positioned? Ass up and breasts planted to the mattress?

Despite Hanako being deliciously naked before him, with his aching member ramming inside her, penetrating her tight insides until it becomes swollen and dripping with his cum, he hears your voice, oh so faintly as Hanako breathlessly moans, “I-I love you.”

——

It wasn’t common for Kento to not come for the night.

You wondered if he was alright as you sat alone in your apartment, with his favorite meal cooked you’ve splurged to make, dipping into your personal expenses — miso soup with grilled unagi.

You felt awfully lonely despite living inside a small apartment, and everything felt foreign and distant without him there with you. There wasn’t you owned, just the absolute essential. But it somehow always lacked a vital piece that would make you feel more at ease.

Him, you thought as tears coated your eyes.

You would often wonder where things went possibly wrong, and how you could fix it. But every time you would contemplate, you were stuck on finding the answer.

Your phone brightly illuminated the dark room. Your eyes blurry from the tears, you quickly brushed them off with your sleeve. It pricked at your sensitive skin at how tattered the cloth had become.

From an unknown sender

This is Satoru.

It’s a rather beautiful night!

Sends a picture of the brightened moonlit sky. Hope you sleep well tonight >_< It was nice to finally meet you.

And just when you were about to save his number, a single text popped up, immediately crushing your heart into pieces.

From: My Kento.

Gonna be late. Don’t wait for me.

—- a month since meeting Satoru.

If you were to say it was a coincidence that would be wrong because how many coincidences can there be to be a blatant fact that you might have a stalker?

“Yamakage-san,” you breathlessly stated as you almost ran into his chest, carrying multiple cups of coffee for your coworkers.

“You okay?” he chuckled, easily taking the cups from you with his large hands, “but fancy seeing you here,” he stated while looking down from his height at your disheveled self, quickly noticing something.

“Y-you scared me.” Your cheeks felt hot as adrenaline rushed through your body.

“Didn’t mean to do that,” Satoru chuckled as he put down the coffee, leading you to a seat before crouching down on one knee and tying your undone shoelaces.

“I- I can do that!” you tried to quickly swat his hands away, embarrassed at how many people were staring at the modelesque man being such a gentleman.

“I know you can. But let me.” His voice felt warm, caring almost. “Don’t want you tripping and falling over my good looks, do we?” he looked up, winking as he finished the knot. You noticed the scar again on his wrist, mutely blemishing his pale skin. It was hard to notice under his watch, but prominent enough for it to catch your attention.

“It must've hurt…” you quietly mumbled to yourself.

Or the instance when you were checking a customer out at the convenience store, giving them the total only to look up to see a silent man in a dark helmet, tall with wide shoulders, comforted in casual clothing as he slid his phone onto the counter.

Have you fallen for me yet? :P

“Yamakage-san,” you sighed out, “it’s dangerous to ride a motorcycle when it’s this dark. Are you coming from work?”

Your words took you aback.

Were you being too meddling? It’s a bit ridiculous to suddenly intervene when he was a grown adult. You nervously bit your lip if you overstepped your boundaries. Stupid, of course, he’s coming from home, look at his clothes.

“Something like that.” Pulling his helmet off, shaking his messy hair perfectly to look styled. “Then what should I do?” he asked with a playful smile, his hands grasping the counter as he leaned forward.

“Tell me,” he pressed, unbreaking eye contact, “I’ll be good and listen well.”

Turning your face away, you murmured, “Just be careful —” your eyes looking down to see his scar again, ”it’s easy to get hurt at night.”

His eyes immediately locate your attention on his wrist. And that did a number to him that he didn’t quite expect. You probably didn’t see the murderous grip he had on the counter, the throbbing pulse of his crotch suffocating in his pants as he clenched his jaw, doing whatever the hell he could, to contain himself from taking you as hostage and keeping you — all of you — for himself.

But you’d probably not like it. And he couldn’t afford to do that, so that was enough for him to swallow his thick, adrenaline induced saliva down his parched throat as he restrained himself from acting like a maniac.

Completely unaware and unsuspecting of the lascivious thoughts this man had of you, Satoru smirked as he lifted up the hem of his sleeve, showing more of his scar as your eyes widened.

So fucking cute.

His sharp canines glistened as he let out a handsome yet pestiferous smile. Satoru didn’t even bother hiding the corners of his lips from twitching. “It doesn't hurt, you know?” further pulling up his sleeve for you to get a better view, “you can even touch it, if you don’t believe me, angel.”

Lifting your trembling finger to gently touch his skin, “H-how’d you get it?” you cautiously asked hoping you weren’t overbearing.

“I tried killing myself.” Satoru bluntly stated, shrugging as he watched your finger glide against his skin.

In a split moment a static memory flashes before you.

“Onii-chan,” your small hands reach over to grasp the hand of a boy couple years older than you, patched up with bandages with tears welled up in his eyes as he stood over the rooftop ledge, “Obachan said that’s very dangerous! You’ll get a big owie when you fall.”

Your brought back to the present, shocked at the sudden memory you had.

What the hell was that?

Satoru’s face was indiscernible from where you stood. His soft blue eyes still magnificently sparkled, and his lips held the prettiest shade of pink. The wisps of his bangs, contrary to his usual updo style, hid a portion of his expression that you weren’t able to decipher.

What were you supposed to do? What can you possible say?

But before you could register, you asked him a simple response.

With unexpected tears dwelling in your eyes for the man in front of you. “Are you still hurting?”

For a brief moment everything within Satoru became still. The universe felt like it stopped spinning on axis, and the balance of the world had become altered. It was you — you had substantial power over him. And Satoru couldn’t help but feel euphoric, a deep sense of bliss brewing from the most inward portions, like a symphony building up to a fortissimo, Satoru couldn’t help but belted out a laugh.

You weren’t entirely sure if he was crazy, or if he was portraying a trauma response, but despite his rambunctious laughter, Satoru, like you, lived a life masked in pain.

“Yama —” Without waiting for your response, Satoru jokingly wiped off a tear, “I’m joking, princess. I’m too handsome for that.”

“You’re the worst,” you muttered before quickly turning away to finish restocking the aisles, “this is why you don’t have a girlfriend at your age,” you snapped at him.

Following behind like a puppy, wagging it’s tale waiting for his playtime, his height practically swallowing you, “sure… that’s valid,” nodding his head as he pursed his lips. “But, I think,” stepping closer, until completely cornering you so that you were forced to see eye to eye with him, “ that’s a you problem, princess.” Pinching your nose as his minty, cool breath brushed through your cheeks.

“But look at you!” His expression gleaming with his voice raised at a higher, teasing pitch, “worrying about me! I’m so touched!” tightly wrapping you in his strong arms, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

…

Or the other instance, just yesterday, when you met him on a rainy day, outside the flower shop just as you were about to make your way home.

“Are you stalking me?” Your words mindlessly left your lips. You’ve grown rather comfortable with the once stranger, now, unknowingly expecting his presence.

“Would you want me to do that?” He stepped forward, smirking in mischief as his height loomed over you, droplets of water dripping from his white bangs, his words testing you. “It’s quite easy to do that.”

It was undeniable you’ve grown accustomed to this man. Despite meeting him no more than a month prior, he felt rather comfortable. Like an old friend you’ve rekindled a friendship with.

Yamakage-San was kind. He was attentive and thoughtful. His words oftentimes left you speechless with his abrash ways of flirting, but he was nonetheless gentle with you. The way his fingers would lightly brush against your skin felt like a tease. And how he would attentively listen despite when you had nothing interesting to say, made you feel seen.

He somehow was filling an empty void Kento left vacant, and you subconsciously allowed a stranger you’ve met so shortly to fill that spot.

And how could you forget the texts he sends with unexpectedly cute emoticons even though you rarely respond back?

It was a lie to say he was simply handsome. He looked unreal. With his tall height and slender figure, packed on with muscles under his tight collar shirt, it didn’t take an artist to imagine the intricate details of his finely sculpted body underneath his clothes.

“Mind if I walk you home?” he softly asked, taking a step closer to button up your coat from the cold. You could almost smell his faint cologne as you looked at his feet placed right next to your smaller set.

“Will you leave if I say no?”

“Mhm,” he softly responded, “I told you I’ll listen and be good.”

You looked up at him. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, maybe that’s why his eyes seemed to sparkle even more. And it made your heart rapidly beat in your chest upon seeing his eyes again.

Strange, you thought when felt your stomach tickle.

“Only up to the bus stop,” you murmured, “Kento didn’t take an umbrella so I have —” You felt a sense of guilt when you said your boyfriend’s name. There shouldn’t be a reason to feel as such, but oddly you felt something tug at your heart when his name left your lips.

“Sure. Guess he forgot his umbrella?” Satoru was quick to respond, “ he’s lucky to have you,” he offered a sweet smile before opening up his umbrella and inviting you over.

Despite his long legs, Satoru walked rather slowly. Unlike Kento, where you had to catch up to his speed, this man seemed to carefully walk at your pace, maybe even slower to stand slightly behind you.

From your peripheral, you could see his right shoulder drenched from the rain. Yet, not a droplet of water hit you.

“How tall are you?” You managed to break the silence. Kento was tall, but Satoru felt even taller. “Are you over 6'0"?”

“I haven’t measured myself, but most likely.” He answered while glancing down at you, “Why? Do you know a lot about men’s heights?”

Of course, being together with Kento for nine years, you knew a thing or two about men.

“Mhm,” you nodded, ignorant of the slight annoyance on Satoru’s face.

“you're making me jealous.” Satoru gripped the umbrella handle, clenching his jaws before you made a stop to lightly tug at his coat to get his attention, innocently trying to make him feel better. “Don’t be! You’re taller, Yamakage-san!”

You hear a honk from behind. soon water splashed towards you as a dark vehicle drove by. And in that split second, you're suddenly caged in his arms, your cheeks resting on his strong chest.

That was scary and dangerous for anyone to be driving at such a speed, you mentally scolded the reckless driver.

You felt his voice vibrating through his pectorals, his body pressing against yours. “I’m big, huh?”

Wait. huh? What is this —?

“Excuse me?” Your cheeks heat up when you realize the compromising position you are both in, immediately pushing him when you feel the curve of his crotch firmly outlining against your stomach. “Sorry! Yamakage — ” You quickly removed yourself, your hands pushing against his damp coat soiled from the dirt that the car rudely splashed while driving off.

“No need, just saying that I’m tall,” he teased before wiping a droplet of rain that fell onto your cheeks, “also how about you drop the honorifics? I think we’re far past that, especially when you willingly put your cheeks on my chest and I just sacrificed my life for you.”

“I did not,” you embarrassingly coughed, emphasizing his name, “and Yamakage-san, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Boo,” he rolled his eyes before, “and they say chivalry is dead when I practically saved you just now,” the grown man mumbled under his breath, pouting as he continued to walk at your slow pace.

Satoru could see the bus stop was nearby, but off in the corner, he saw something that piqued his interest. A couple running under the rain, sharing a small umbrella much similar to him with you.

And if there was another thing your grandma taught you was that there’s no such thing as a coincidence. Everything is a result of a decision — good or bad.

“We’re almost here —” your voice suddenly faints when you catch what Satoru was looking at.

The heavy rain may have caused your vision to become blurry, but it was easy to mask the tears that suddenly welled up in your eyes. A rush of emotions and thoughts ran through your head, the insecurities and doubts that you’ve been pushing off to the side, were now forced in front of you to acknowledge.

“Kento…” you quietly whispered as you watched your fiance intimately running into a shop with a woman tightly embracing his arm.

Your heart hurt, melting into inexplicable pain as you watched him fondle another woman with such care and diligence as he wiped off the rain from her cheeks, and shoulders, smiling proudly with his cheeks a tint of rose from the cold.

You missed him, of course you did. That much more, it was harder to witness him looking so happy, knowing despite your efforts to reconnect and act like nothing strained your relationship with him, the pain was always there, stabbing you to the core.

Yet the only thing you could do was to look away. Trusting that it was simply a coworker Kento was being courteous too.

And your companion stood next to you, eyes void of emotion despite his impatience brewing as he watched you be soft to that thing when you were hurting because of it. Satoru couldn’t understand why you’d chose to waste your tears on such trash.

Licking his lips, he wished you would cry for him. Maybe if he pushed it further, you would. Then maybe he’ll have a chance at comforting you… but then again, that would scare you, and he didn’t want to do that. Especially not, when it took him so long.

Looking off in the far corner, his assistant stood in the rain, bowing to signal he’s concluded his duties, before taking off in a black car.

——

As usual, Kento came home late. Throwing down his briefcase, he grumbled at how wet his suit had gotten as he stripped himself to go into the shower, leaving a trail of his clothes behind for you to pick up.

And as he surpassed you, you got a whiff of a fragrant scent that was foreign to you. A woman’s perfume — it’s her, your intuition alerted you.

Ever since you saw him smiling at the other woman, that was the one thing that plagued your mind, and you didn’t have the courage to ask him.

“Did you get a new cologne?” Your lips trembled as you asked. Hoping, internally praying, he wouldn’t say anything to prove your cheating allegations.

“Yea, from a friend,” he bluntly answered, turning the faucet for his shower.

“Kento.” His name naturally rolled off your lips, and in response, his head whirled towards you in less than a second. “Is it hard at work? Y-you’ve been coming home late these days,” you muttered.

For a brief moment Kento looked expectant before his eyes quickly dulled out, now purposefully avoiding your gaze. At the moment, he wasn’t feeling guilty in the slightest, but the contortion of his visage as he answered you before going into the shower told you otherwise.

“Took you long enough to ask.”

“Yea… he’s just tired,” you reminded yourself, “I need to do better.”

——

You weren’t necessarily the best at responding to his messages. Hell, he didn’t even expect you to. Just knowing you’ve read them was more than enough for him.

Satoru said he’ll be patient. That he’ll wait until your relationship with your boyfriend came to it’s rightful end. He’s waited till now, what’s a couple more going to do to him — kill him?

But something in him presses as his consciousness, continually scratching at the memory of you secretly trying to brush off your precious tears as you nibbled on your lips to stifle the sob as you watched your beloved boyfriend prance around with his mistress. And that fucking irked him beyond rationality.

Everything dulled out around him. He couldn’t even hear the calling of his name from his best friend as he stared at his phone, drinking his hard liquor as he peered at the delivered message that had yet to alert “read” like usual.

“You good Satoru?” the raven hair asked, curious as to what soured his friend’s mood.

“I’ve been getting ignored.” Satoru dully expresses, gripping his glass cup causing his knuckles to turn white as he wonders why you’ve been getting distant.

“From her?” Sitting next to him as he sighed, Suguru shook his head in disbelief, already knowing the answer, “You gotta let her go man… it’s unhealthy.”

“What do you know,” Satoru hissed through his teeth. If Suguru wasn’t his best friend, his face would’ve been knocked out by now, hell maybe something even worse could’ve happened.

He thought you’d both had gotten a bit closer, but seeing those tears… you were still endlessly soft toward the pathetic fuck. And now you don’t even read his messages.

“You,” Satoru pointed at the well-dressed man standing in the back of the entourage, “have you killed someone before?”

“Uh, no, sir.” His assistant stuttered at the sudden question, “well, I wasn’t informed that I would be involved in anything like that, sir.”

“Boyfriend?” Hanako’s boss curiously asked while sitting at his table. Her boss had an unusual talent to sneak up into places without a sound despite his tall frame. It was even more strange how no one in the company ever saw or heard of him — only Hanako and his assistants.

The rumours that floated around of the mysterious VP that would silently dominate his rivals with his dashing good looks and wicked smile. Forcing them to their knees in submission as he got whatever he wanted.

“H-huh?” surprised at him looking down at her, cutting out a picture, hurriedly throwing a piece of it into the trash, “a-ah yes, sir…” she blushed at her confession.

“You both look good together,” the man smiled, “handsome man, too,” he complimented, stretching out his legs as he sat on her desk, “I didn’t know you were dating all this time, Miwayaki-San.”

The photo looked partially aged, definitely wasn’t within the last couple of years. Hanako looked much younger and brighter, clinging onto a man as she beamingly smiled without a care in the world.

“We’ve kindled our love. I’m hoping that he proposes soon —”

“And the girl in the trash, Miwayaki-San?” her boss lowly chuckled, “is she the third person in the relationship?”

Embarrassed that he’s seen her petty act of cutting out the woman who stood rightfully at her boyfriend’s side, “s-she’s no one!” Hanako stammered before reaching down to grasp the crumbled photo, only for her boss to quickly retrieve it. Handsomely winking, yet his voice sounded harsh, “I’ll throw it away for you. Don’t want anyone to misunderstand, do we, Miwayaki-San.”

“Ah… Thank you Gojo-san.”

It wasn’t like he was never going to find you. But if it wasn’t for his foolish secretary, it might've taken longer him than expected. Guess paying her generously beyond her skillset was worth the investment.

It was easy running a background check on you with a simple photo — your address, your job, friends, family, and the one that pissed him off the most, Kento.

Guess the gods were finally on his side because It’s been 20 years since he’s last seen you.

“So you can’t?” Satoru boringly stared at the man, his blood fuming inside from the lack of patience that he’d been tested with, his voice venomous to anyone who struck against him.

“I’ve never done anything of such a nature but if I handle it well and receive proper compensation…” This is what Satoru liked to hear. “I’ll do my best to not disappoint you.”

Satoru started maniacally laughing, head thrown back on the couch as he manspread on the seat, the tip of his black socks peeking underneath his tight slacks. Pleased at the newbie's courage, despite seeing him tremble as he said each word, cocking his head to the side as his eyes peered at him. “relax, it’s a joke.”

“Satoru you’re scaring —” Suguru tried to ease the tension, utterly failing when his friend immediately stands up.

“I’m leaving, it’s boring here.” Satoru dismissed himself, before turning back to Suguru, “The bill’s on you.”

Throwing back a middle finger, Suguru sighed as he took a whiff of his cigarette.

“You don’t think he’s being serious right,” the newbie cautiously asked Suguru.

Sighing as he shook his head, “I don’t know…” he honestly confessed.

…

“Fuck.” Satoru threw his head back, his head spinning from the bottles of alcohol he’d just had. Just one response, that’s all he needed to not go completely insane and overthrow all of Japan. He had the power, and it wasn’t like he had any conscience to care for anyone else. All he needed was you.

Closing his eyes, Satoru took a deep breath as he slowly stroked his hardened member, his hand moving on its own accord, feeling every ridge of length as he pleasured himself.

He remembered your plump lips, teasing him whenever you would give him the faintest of smiles. The way your body felt natural in his hold, and almost perfect as he stood besides you. He swore he felt electricity pumping through his body whenever his fingers would lightly graze against your soft skin.

Satoru let out a moan — gluttonous and unapologetic as he continued to jerk himself off faster, rougher as he called out your name.

He remembers the scar on your lower right lid. It looked beautiful to him and made him almost bust a nut when he saw it the night of the reunion. And your eyes still sparkled just like he last remembered.

He would treat you better, crawl on the floor in areas you’ve graced yourself if you wanted that.

You drew him utterly mad — insane and crippled.

You’ve grown so beautifully. Breathtaking. The little girl that followed him around, had become a woman more lovely than the most expensive gem, and more delicate than any flower.

His mind wandered off in thoughts of you letting him slide his tip along your entrance. Would you let him ram his cock inside your tight cunt, being squeezed by your soft, velvet walls.

He wondered how your breasts would wildly bounce as he continued to hit your most sensitive spot. Fuck. Would you scream for him to go faster, guiding him in the right path to find your secret spot?

Do you prefer to be pounded from behind, thighs shaking as he takes you on all fours. Or would you rather ride his hardened shaft, rolling your hips as your juices coated his abdomen.

Do you like it when he’s got you pressed against the sofa with your legs above his shoulders, letting you milk his cock with the tightness of your cunt. Satoru would release his warm seed into you in every position if he could. He would shoot every drop of his cum straight to your womb, no doubt impregnating you if that’s what you wanted.

He would like that.

He would love seeing the residues of his wanton desire for you seeping out of your pussy, using his finger to push back his seeds into you, because he couldn’t afford to waste any chance to impregnate you.

Satoru thought it would be nice to see you cry. The idea of you weeping in his arms as he hugged you till you stopped, adorning you with love as your lips let out the most gluttonous moans. It fueled his blood, causing him to gasp at the closeness of his release.

Would you cry for him? Globular, fat tears streaming down your face as he pumped himself into you. Oh what he would give just to kiss those tears away. His hand feverishly stroked his heated member instead as he gripped a fist and gluttonously moaned in the shower. His white brows furrowed while panting through his mouth.

His stomach clenched, beautifully flexing the tight muscles in his abdominals, the tip of his head now a fiery red as his slit leaked of shiny fluid.

Maybe if he hurt you, you would cry and lean on him.

Looking at his right wrist, seeing the scar on his skin, he remembers your expression when seeing it. A monumental moment — the first time he’s every felt grateful for it. Your worried look as you ever so lightly grazed your finger along it, scared to almost touch him thinking it’ll hurt him — bewitchingly foolish — was more pleasurable than he imagined.

This scar — it didn’t hurt, he has no association to pain anymore — especially when you were the greatest memory he has from it.

But he wondered if he pressed you more on it, would you pity him?

ahh fuck he wishes he could see your face again. Droplets of tears streaming down your face as you kiss his old wound, your tender lips brushing against his skin.

But he couldn’t do that. And Satoru releases himself, hot strokes of cum ejaculating out of his throbbing cock. His precious seeds that should be painting your insides full of him were instead coating the dark, granite shower walls with splurts of thick white.

Satoru would never do that to you.

Chuckling at himself as he rested his head on his forearm, feeling lightheaded from the bliss, “I like you too much to do that.”

And if he couldn’t, then someone else could do that for him.

“Gojo-san,” his secretary walked into this office, “I was wondering if you’ve seen my phone here.” Satoru quickly closes his laptop as he cluelessly looks at her.

Hanako had lost her phone a couple of days back. He’s seen her frantically looking for it the days prior, but with no clue of its last use, Hanako decided to ask Satoru if he’d seen it by chance. She swore she faintly remembered her boss’s office being the last place she saw her phone.

“No, I’m sorry,” Satoru sounded apologetic, even walking around his office to look for her lost phone. “‘It must had some important files in there, seeing you so worried.”

“Uhm yes.” Gojo saw her biting her lipstick-coated lips, bile forming in his throat as he tried his best to compose himself.

“If I see it, I’ll let you know. But if you’d excuse me, I’m expecting a call soon,” Satoru calmly stated with a smile.

“Oh right!” Hanako bowed to her superior, “I would greatly appreciate it if you could.”

Watching his secretary leave his room, Gojo’s eyes immediately go to the multitude of files — videos, and pictures — downloading on his laptop, his interest piquing to a certain shameful video of Hanako and Kento mixing their bodies as one.

A pleased smile forms, one that incites joy in his heart, causing his fingers to tremble in ecstasy as he implants a tracking and audio recording device into her phone.

His legs shake in anticipation, palms starting to sweat as he waits for the ‘Download is completed.’ message to pop up before sending it off to his beautiful yet unsuspecting recipient tonight.

you.

no, he would never make you cry. never, but he’ll be the devil in sheep’s clothing to get what he wants, because, in the end, he’ll be your savior.

because no one is worth having you, but him.

——

It’s been a few weeks since that rainy day. And though Kento has frequently come home late, he managed to find time to spend occasional dinners with you.

“What are you cooking?” His arms snaked around your waist, droplets of water dripping from his hair, slightly pooling at your thin shirt as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Miso soup.” You stated, unknowingly squirming when you felt his thick crotch press upon on your ass, his firm chest securing you from behind. You couldn’t deny it, he still felt irresistibly so warm.

“Want me to taste it?” It wasn’t unusual for Kento to taste test your food, he enjoyed doing so. It gave him a sense of domesticity and a brief insight into what marriage would be like with you.

“It’s hot.” warning him before he remotely answered, “then cool it for me,” he responded, his lips gently grazing against your neck as he softly breathed near your ear.

Nodding you blew on the soup, carefully cooling it down before presenting it to your boyfriend to taste.

Taking a sip, Kento, too, felt warm with you. “It’s good,” he complimented, tightening his arms around your waist as he lightly bit your shoulder, “my girlfriend is sure a good cook.”

“You okay?” worried by his voice as he hid his face into your neck, firmly holding you from looking back at him.

“When…” Kento muttered, a strange wave of emotion fueling from his core as he held onto his beloved fiance — the boring, kind you who would do anything for him. “When the debt is all paid, let’s get married.”

Kento didn’t say those words out of guilt — far from it, he meant it. The reason he said words he normally wouldn’t say, wasn’t because he felt shame for being unfaithful with another woman… but he felt a void when he saw you standing alone, cooking up a meal in the tiny, godforsaken kitchen for him when he used to always be by your side, bothering you that it took much longer to prepare food.

He remembers the hopeful promises he’s made to you. But now, he can’t help but feel insecure in the life he’s given you.

“You’ll wear a beautiful wedding dress and your ring,” he stated while kissing your cheeks, cupping your face as he tenderly nudged his nose with yours, “I’ll get you a really expensive one, one with a huge diamond.”

“And once we get married, I’ll give you a big kitchen!” Kento tightly hugged you, spinning you around as you giggled in his loving embrace, “a backyard with lots of space for running around.”

“I don't need a big one, Kento!” Dwelling in his arms, you looked up at him, eyes crowning like moons in happiness. “Nonsense, you’ll need a big one for our family silly —”

You felt his hands gently grope your stomach, shaking you out of your memory as he swiftly made his way under your shorts.

With his lips parted, he knew his tongue could do a better job at playing with your swollen clit, lapping and sucking your juices as he fingered you just enough to hit your spot but for now, this will do. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “You’re so warm.”

Your nails immediately dig into his forearms, desperate to hold anything because this was dangerous to do in front of the stove but your mind wandered off into an euphoric abyss. You were seeing stars as your fiance palmed at your warm core, casually pulling down your pants as he pressed his hardened bulge on the crevice of your naked ass.

“Say you want me.” Kento enticed, his voice condescending and lustful as he undid your bra, the clasp easily snapping off for his hands to perfectly grasp hold of your plump mounds.

“I-I want you…” you mewled, feeling your core heat up when he further pressed his throbbing cock, the heat of his member radiating against your sensitive skin.

“Good.” Kento was satisfied with the wanton look that shined in your eyes when he leaned in to kiss you, the enticing urge of your dilated pupils as he grasped onto him for any ounce of support. “You’re so wet.” The thick squelches of his fingers playing with your sopping cunt embarrassed you. “Did you feel lonely because I’ve neglected you for a while?”

Kento didn’t have plans to fuck you. Instead, he was planning on heading over to Hanako’s later in the night, rolling around in her silk covers as he made love to her. But something in him sparked, making him feel warm, and dizzy when he remembered about promising a family with you.

But… but that was impossible. You said your body was too weak to consume children… that it would be difficult.

“Mmph —! A-aah!” you moaned when he lowered you both to the hard floor, pressing his body against yours, intoxicating you with skin to skin contact before he pressed his lips back together with yours.

Despite the tension you and he faced for months prior, you still allowed him to undress you, kissing you in places that he’s once labeled as his, leaving you bare of any clothing as he pressed himself down on you.

Your hands shook while trying to unbuckle his belt, gradually making your way to barely manage to unzip his pants and pull it down, just enough to expose his toned buttocks and free his heated member out of his briefs. He was already trailing soft kisses along your jawline while cupping your sore breasts to give a wanton squeeze.

Rubbing his reddened tip at your entrance, his eyes fully blown out in lust, he seethed through his teeth, “I’m going in.” It’s been close to forever since he’s felt your tight walls pulsing against his cock. Heavenly, absolutely magical. Hanako couldn’t compare to the warmth of your cunt.

“Ah w-wait Kento!” you huffed, the thick air of the cramped room barely enough to provide oxygen for two needy bodies, “c-condom… it's dangerous…”

Rage.

Fucking red was all he saw.

“Fucking shit,” he grasped hold of your cheeks, it hurt in the way he pushed his fingers against your skin, but nothing hurt more than the utter disgust Kento looked at you before spewing out his next words, shredding you heart into a thousand pieces.

“You can’t even get pregnant even if I dump my cum in you.”

“No! No — that’s not true!” you wanted to scream out, and grasp hold of him but the shock of his words dug deeper into your heart than you’d acknowledged, paralyzing you with an agonzing pain. Because soon Kento was immediately zipping up his pants, stomping his way out of the apartment, and leaving with a loud thud to the door.

And in your loneliness, a tear dropped from your eye as the faint steps of your lover slowly dissipated into the air.

“Nonsense, you’ll need a big one for our family, silly.”

“Family?” your cheeks felt warm at Kento’s words. “Our family. It’ll be me, you, and maybe one or two babies that will have your eyes… and maybe my handsome good looks?” his laugh rang euphorious to your ears. “That’s my dream.”

Family… that’s all you’ve wanted.

Your phone buzzes beside you before your mind slowly fades away to complete darkness...

The day felt gloomy. The air was humid and skies were downcast to further impede the depressive halls of the hospital. Being inside a cold room all day with the monitors constantly beeping and people showing their fake sympathy made the rage he felt inside that much more unbearable.

It wasn’t hard sneaking out of his room. The nurses were too busy gossiping – most likely talking about how sorry they felt for him. All he wanted was some silence from the suffocating room he was forced to be in for the past month.

So he sat on the edge of the hospital’s rooftop, breathing in the thick air as his casted feet dangled with his crutches thrown aside.

They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die. So you can make peace with your entire life in those few, brief seconds.

Does that mean they reflected back on their lives? Is that why they just left without regrets?

He wondered if he jumped, would his mind finally feel silent?

Would the guilt of being alive finally surpass him?

Why did he have to be alone?

Why did it have to be them?

Why… why couldn’t he just die?

Why? Why? Why?

After the surgery, he barely spoke after waking up from a long slumber. The day he opened his eyes, grandma was silently crying while grandpa stoically sat next to the window. An ominous anxiety crept over when they weren’t there.

“Obasan,” his voice barely audible, “w-where’s Okasan… and Otosan?” And after a long hesitant pause, Obasan told him the truth.

“They’re gone –” The boy didn’t hear the rest, because the sudden loud rasp of the oxygen mask rang through his ears.

His mind was still full with memories of his parents. It still felt so fresh, as if they would come back tomorrow and tell him this was all a bad joke. It was so vivid – his last meal, his last laugh, his last hug, his last birthday celebration, his last car ride to school with his parents before having them tragically stolen from him.

He prayed to god, to anything out there, each night that he wouldn’t wake up the next morning. Because if remembering them would be this painful, maybe forgetting them would ease the agony.

But as if the deities had another plan, his wounds recovered quickly and the blunt pain in his chest no longer hurt.

It was unfair, the injustice of it all was maddening.

Ironically, the boy found the answer as he stepped along the ledge of the hospital rooftop. He was the only one suffering. The dead have no regrets, it's those alive that have to burden the pain. Only the living must say their farewell – the balance has always favored the dead.

“They look like ants,” the boy commented, his voice void of any emotion as he looked down upon the people that entered in and out of the building. Some rushed in as they tried to muffle their cries, while others took their time exiting. Some spent time outside on the benches, while others strolled around, wheeling a patient.

The boy felt jealous of them. At least they all had a purpose – a purpose to be alive.

And maybe this was his purpose.

So in peace the boy stepped forward to embrace his fate. The breeze felt nice as it ran through his white hair. Maybe it won’t be so bad, the boy thought. If he could pay the price for doing what he wished, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much –

“Onii-chan,” a girl called out to him, barely grasping hold of his hand, “that’s scary…” she muttered.

“Let go of me.” The boy warned, “mind your own business and get lost.”

Tugging harder, “Come play with me, Onii-chan. If you get hurt, you can’t go home!”

Home.

Did he even have one anymore?

And for the first time since his parent’s demise, the boy had tears streaming down his face. His blue eyes once filled with pain and apathy, had life brought back onto him the moment this foolish girl held his hand. Looking back, the girl no taller than his waist was looking up at him with a missing tooth and chubby cheeks, looking awfully sad as her small fingers barely wrapped around his hand. Her touch felt oddly warm.

“You have an owie!” the girl muttered, lightly jumping on her feet as she hurriedly searched through her small bear purse, before taking out something small and handing it over to him, her soft fingers gently grazing over his wrist. “A bandaid!” She cheekily smiled, “Obachan said bandaids are for owies. So don’t cry!” only for her smile to slowly dissipate when the boy’s tears continuously flowed, dripping down his chin with some pooling on her arm as he reached over to take her gift.

Why did she look so sad for him? Why were her eyes pooled with tears, soft and gentle as she looked up at him? Why did her hand need to feel so warm? Why did his heart beat, pounding in his chest, from this little girl?

“Why’d it have to be me?” the boy muttered, his tears muffling his words as he fell to the floor, his body falling limp and mind hazy as the young girl sat with him, “why am I still alive? Why couldn’t they just kill me too?”

“Maybe…” her small hands wrapped around his fingers, “so we can go home together! So let’s be friends Oniichan —”

Her voice faded into a far distance as the boy sudden saw black.

“You’re a good girl.” the boy heard his grandma speaking with someone. Despite his eyes barely open, he could see a girl sitting next to his bed as his grandma patted her head. “Can you stay here for a bit, darling? Obasan needs to go take care of something.”

“Mhm!” She ecstatically responded, bouncing in her seat. “Oniichan is my friend. I’ll take care of him!” And the door closed.

“Hmm…” the girl hummed, playing with his wristband that was too big for his thin wrists, “Oniichan’s name is… ” sounding out every letter, “G-O-J-O S-A-T-O —”

“I thought I told you to get lost,” the boy muttered, “You’re not my friend. Especially not with those that can’t read.”

“That’s okay,” the girl giggled while putting her hands on her cheeks while leaning on his bed, swinging her short legs as she stared back at the boy, “you’re my friend.”

….

Has it been another month since he’s been at the hospital? The boy wasn’t sure, but what he did know was that this girl followed him around everytime she visited the hospital. And here he was, sitting at the rooftop balcony, handing her an icecream as he sat feeling the night air.

It wasn’t like the girl was sick — well, she didn’t look sick. Curious, the boy decided to ask. “Toothless, why are you here?”

“Because Oniichan is my friend.” Furrowing her brows in a pout, the girl answered while eating her icecream, “and my name isn’t Toothless.”

Awkwardly scratching the back of his head, he corrected his sentence. “I— I mean… are you sick?” but he couldn’t help but laugh when the girl did, in fact, have a missing front tooth with air whistling out whenever she talked.

“No —” the girl mumbled, “Obachan is…” her voice was faint, almost as if she was going to cry before quickly stopping herself, fastidiously blinking to pull her tears back in, “but Obachan said she’s getting better, so it’s okay.”

The boy was sure he’s seen her grandma in the oncology department. But, he guessed… miracles can happen — for some people.

“Oniichan,” the girl suddenly asked, “do you think we can play together when you get better?”

“Not sure,” the boy shrugged, wondering for himself when he’ll be discharged.

“Or! Oniichan!” the girl suddenly shouted, “let’s get married!”

“What?!” the boy almost choked on his spit, his cheeks radiating a rosy hue from her abrupt confession, “Do you even know what that word means?!”

Nodding her head, as she looked at him with her eyes wide, “Obachan said when you marry someone you can eat lots of yummy food together and have fun so everyday will feel so happy!”

“Well,” he laughed while ruffling the top of her head, “I’m too old for you. Maybe when you grow all your teeth, we can be friends.”

With a pout, she asked. “You promise?”

“Hmm…” the boy stood up, quickly patting his clothes from the dirt, and wiping his hands off before reaching out his hand to help the girl up, “ I promise — but c’me on, let’s go, your grandma is probably waiting for you.”

Hopeful the girl took the boy’s hand, giggling as she led him to the exit, “I’ll make you happy Oniichan!”

“Sure,” the boy chuckled at her absurd declaration, oddly feeling a sense of joy tickling his insides from her pure diligence in wanting to marry him despite not even knowing the significance of such sacred word.

Opening the door, the girl excitedly turned around to share, jumping on her toes that she failed to notice the stairs. “And I’ll share all my food with you, Satoru-kun —”

“Watch out!” the boy yelled, quickly pulling her into his arms before both bodies painfully rolled down the flight of stairs. The boy felt a rush of warm liquid drip down his temple as he held the small girl in his arms, noticing a cut just under his eyes that started to bleed. All his attention was focused on her face that he failed to feel the gashing wound on his back.

“Toothless, you okay?” though his voice was faint and his head starting spinning, he tried to wake her up, only for her response to be silence. And with all the strength he had, he pulled her limp body closer, whispering before he too fell weak. “It’s okay… I’ll give you a bandaid later —”

“What the fuck?!” you quickly woke up, “shit,” you clutched your head feeling dizzy from getting up so fast. Your back was drenched with sweat and your hands trembled from this dream you’ve just had.

Trying to steady your breath, you tried recalling what you’ve just dreamt. “Who was that?” Your chapped lips stung as you tasted a hint of blood.

In a flash you briefly remembered a boy with soft white hair and the prettiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen, bandaged and bruised as he cried next to you. “Oniichan…” you whispered. Your head pounding making you feel nauseous as a name repeatedly rang through your ears.

Gojo... Who are you?

You decided maybe a cup of water would help relinquish your parched throat and help cool you down. So by habit your hand immediately reached for your phone, hoping Kento messaged you after the fight you both had, as you carefully stood up to reach from the fridge door, only for it to be, again, someone else.

From Satoru.

The weather is so cold >_<

Dress warmly!

——

To say Kento was frustrated was an understatement. The level of anger that entered his body when he heard your words eroded his common sense and blinded him from thinking rationally.

He wanted to hurt you, destroy you because you were the one who was a constant reminder of his failures, and in that, he wanted to spite you.

It didn’t help how a man bumped into him as he made his way down, further fueling his rage. Instead of apologizing, that son of a bitch smirked, and his blue eyes pierced straight into Kento’s soul. And that fucked with his mind even more.

So in his resentment, he found himself in Hanako’s apartment, pushing her against the wall the moment she opened her door for him. Slamming his lips against hers with a harsh kiss, taking in her fragrant scent that muted all emotions, stripping any ounce of rationality from him.

For Kento, there was no passion, only carnal violence as he prepared to fuck her. But for Hanako, it was the complete opposite. The roughness and the eagerness of his fingers as he ripped off her clothes, caused her to further believe that this man was hers.

It didn’t take much time for Hanako to be completely stripped off in bed. She mistook his rage for wanton desire by allowing him to pull on her hair to deepen the kiss, shoving his tongue inside her mouth as it stripped them both of air.

Nothing else ran through his mind except for the image of your pained expression when he assaulted you with painful words. Hanako, with her breasts exposed, completely unaware of her boyfriend’s rage, laid bare as she pulled him in, wrapping her legs around his small waists while her dainty panties dangled at her ankles.

“F-fuck,” he groaned, “Let me just rub it, I don’t have a condom —”

“It’s okay,” she reassured, further pressing her legs into his waist as Kento stared at her, “I’m safe today.”

Her words made his mind short-circuit.

He wasn’t thinking right when he rammed his unprotected cock inside her cunt, because in a split second he was fucking her raw as she loudly mewled in pleasure, her legs trembling from the force of his thrusts.

“Y-you’re so big!” Hanako shuddered at how far Kento perfectly nestled inside her, with his balls pushing against her ass and his hips pressing against her swollen, needy clit.

He held Hanako close as her body jostled from below, his teeth sloppily marking up her soft skin, the puffs of his exhales forming sweat bubbles on her temples.

Clouded by wrath and lust, rutting his hardened cock into his mistress with forceful movements had her thighs shake in pleasure, and glistful tears to well up.

“K-Kento —!” her whimpers were sensual, “Just like that!” she screamed out, her nails painting harsh lines of red on his back.

Fuck. Fuck. It’s not like it was his fault that you couldn’t conceive. You promised to have a family with him, and now, you’re telling him that don’t want to?

Fuck that.

And if he could have sex with Hanako without any caution for a possible baby that could grow in her womb after this, he would do it. He wouldn’t have used protection all this time if he had no guilt behind fucking her raw.

Or at least, that’s what he ignorantly thought, a decision fueled by his spite until he actually did do it.

But it was already too late because he already released thick ropes of cum when he woke up to his senses and realized what he had done.

Immediately he pulled himself out of Hanako’s cunt to ejaculate the rest of his seed out of her, ignoring her needy whines as she pouted at the sudden emptiness she felt from Kento’s cock not filling her to the brim .

What the hell was he thinking?! There was no such thing as a safe day. Especially not when you were supposed to be his future. The rightful one to bear his children.

But underneath him was a smiling and panting Hanako, blissfully fucked as she mistook her boyfriend to be fingering her to force his leaking cum back into her. Foolishly wrapping her arms around his neck, she sealed the deal with a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love you.”

——

You didn’t have much growing up. It was just you, mom, and grandma. Well, that was until your mom passed away when you were in high school. Since then money has always been tight. Especially when trying to pay for Obachan’s medical bills, juggling multiple jobs after school was normal for you, getting wrecked by the cruelty of the world was a part of your daily life.

You worked through school, and college was nothing but an elite dream you not even dared wanted for yourself. That was until you met a strange boy, one who nervously pranced as he confessed his feelings to you on top of the school’s rooftop.

Kento Nakamura changed your life.

Kento was a kind boy. He listened despite you not talking much and would remember the smallest of details about you. Though awkward in his profession of love, he still cared for you deeply. It was in his actions as he held your bag and waited to walk you home after your part-time job. It was in his sweet gestures to pack you lunch, waking up extra early just so he could catch you before leaving for the day.

There was a sense of timidness you felt whenever he held your hand. As if he was scared you would break if he held it any harder.

He taught you to dream and enlightened your once dull days into something worthwhile. His smile illuminated your future, and to him, you entrusted your everything.

But it wasn’t until Grandma passed away you felt alone. A loneliness that ate up your core, slowly devouring every aspect of you, crippling you from freedom. The days when you sat alone at home, stomach grumbling from having little to eat as you waited for your beloved Obachan to come back home… only for her to never return deeply traumatized you.

So you vowed, that if Kento was the next best thing in your life, you wouldn’t let him go. The thought of feeling lonely again struck fear in your heart, causing you to cling to him even more.

The relationship was never this bad… it wasn’t until the debt started to fuel your fights. Nights that were once full of cuddles and warmth, slowly became cold and hostile with backs turned to one another. The bags under Kento’s eyes would increasingly darken, and his sighs deepened whenever he would see you in old clothes that were out of style.

But still, it was easier to deal with the neglect than to be alone again…

It’s a shame how even in the turmoil, you seek out what’s familiar, even when it eats you up from the inside. And somehow in the pain, you felt a sense of comfort.

But maybe this dream, like a glass menagerie that’s so fragile that seems to always taunt you, always feeling too far away to protect, wasn’t what you’ve thought was worth protecting.

And it scared you that he was nothing but a mirage, a foolish dream, of your delusions that one day better days will come…

But strangely so, you foolishly find comfort, again, in the man that you’ve recently met as he sits in front of you while boldly looking into your eyes. He’s smiling as if he, too, would protect you. Carefully listening to your few words as you spill the story about your miscarriage to him, he offers a smirk without any irreverence to life,

“Want me to kill him?” Satoru asked while sitting next to you, his cheeks feeling cold from the night. “I mean it,” he reiterated with a blank expression while looking forward.

“I wish,” you chuckle, feeling a load off your shoulders as you confess about the miscarriage you’ve suffered almost a year back. It was much harder then compared to now. It was hard to sleep with the debt collectors constantly threatening and trashing your apartment, your anxiety heightened every morning when you woke up. You didn’t mean to keep it a secret from Kento, the day you found out you’d lost your baby was the first day he didn’t sleep at home. “I guess I’m just afraid to bring it up to him.”

“Leave him and come to me,” the older man confessed, “I’m rich, handsome, and believe it or not,” he turned to you, “I’m very good in bed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his childish boasting. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was wrong to be here, feeling a sense of warmth in your heart while talking to another man who wasn’t your lover. But was it a crime to be selfish, just for once.

“Hm… Yamakage-san, can I ask you a question?” you hummed out his name, holding onto your beer can as you took a sip for courage.

“Sure, if you call me Satoru.” He smirked at you, pushing his hair back which exposed his chiseled jaw and pretty neckline.

“You’re silly.” Shaking your head before continuing with your question, seriously asking. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Like I said when I met you, I just want to be friends with you.”

“Why?” curious as to why someone like him would even want to spend a minute of his time with you.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re probably popular with girls, you're rich, and most likely have your life set for you.”

Cocking his head in confusion, “So, if I’m popular with girls, am rich, and have a bright future, I can’t be your friend?”

“No.”

“Then how about your lover?”

“You already know the answer to that, Yamakage-San,” laughing when you see him roll his eyes and mumble under his breath. “Yea, sure whatever, you’re still with the asshole.”

The cold must’ve gotten to your senses. Because you couldn’t help but look at his glossy lips pouting, wondering how soft it would be to kiss his lips, and feel his touch as he tenderly held you for an embrace.

Would it feel different from Kento’s?

Furthermore, you couldn’t help but daydream, maybe if the universe was fair to you just once… if you had met Yamakage Satoru before Kento… would your life have been a bit different?

Maybe if you made a decision, your fate could change.

So without much thought, you softly asked.

“Then can you kiss me?” in your thoughts.

——

Kento nervously sat in his living room, biting his nails as he waited for you to come back home. You were always quick to come home after work, ready to greet him despite whatever you were doing. but when he arrived, you weren’t there.

With no letter updating him like usual, or the freshly made soup and rice prepared for him for breakfast, the apartment felt vacant, absent of any life.

Guilt started to eat up at his core, especially after last night’s mistake of fucking Hanako raw and cumming inside her. What the hell was he thinking?

He didn’t mean for his affair to go this far. He just wanted a little fling to distract him from the frustrations he felt when he saw you — a constant reminder of his failures.

It was amusing at first when Hanako hit on him. The underclassman that used to follow him around in college, had now become a woman. And was willing to fulfill his sexual desires and stroke his ego as he wanted.

And with days that passed, Kento couldn’t help but feel enticed by the dichotomy of both women in his life. Hanako looked like she grew up privileged and loved, it was in her expensive articles of clothing and perfume she showered herself with. She was quirky and vibrant, ready to cutely embrace and shower him with affection. While you wore nothing but baggy clothes that did nothing for your figure and were boring like a wilted flower.

“Ahh,” Hanako threw her arms around him, her cheeks planted on his firm chest as he listened to his erratic heartbeat as both naked bodies cooled down from the intense sex they’d had prior, “I’m so happy I think I can get married at this instant if it’s with you,” she giggled while snuggling herself closer to him.

“Marriage?” Kento scoffed, a pang in his chest thickening when he immediately thought of you. Hanako didn’t know he was still with you, nor was it that she cared to ask. The conversation never flowed in that direction. And even if it did, what difference did it make when they’ve already fucked.

But unlike him, Hanako was serious about her relationship with Kento.

“You don’t want to get married with me?” Hanako pouted, “You should be happy your young girlfriend is even mentioning of getting married!”

Trying to change the subject, Kento asked, “Did you find your phone?”

“Yea! It was on my desk in the morning with a letter from my boss saying he found it!” She exclaimed while perched on her elbow, her voluptuous breasts littered with kiss marks, shamelessly laid out for Kento to see.

“Be careful.” His chest was relieved, “and delete those videos, what if someone sees them.”

“Hmph,” pouting as she pinched his nose, playfully glaring as she cupped his face to land a fat kiss on her boyfriend’s bruised lips, “no one will see, and who cares! We’re dating anyways!”

“But back to what I was saying, you’re at a good age to get married Kento. Don’t you want to settle down?” Resting her chin on his sternum, looking up through her wispy lashes, she asked with the expectation that her boyfriend would want to have a future with her.

Marriage. Kento once wanted that.

“I do,” he agreed with his lover, tightening his hold on her waist as he pulled her closer, “I just don’t think it’s the most feasible especially when it’s so hard to take care of myself.”

“Have you thought of wanting children, Kento?” the woman cautiously asked, imagining how good a father Kento would be for their future children.

“Mhm.” He’s thought many times about it. Too many that he’s often dreamt about it too.

“Tell me,” Hanako giggled, her love for this man growing in her heart.

“Nothing much. I just a child that looks like my wife and I.” His mind colored with a hopeful dream filled with you. “And maybe live in a small apartment where we can on weekend trips and eat lots of good food.”

Kento knew having a child with you was a luxury. But he couldn’t help but feel disappointment when you confessed it would be difficult. But you were always quick to remind him, if things got better...

He wondered if he was the cause of such misfortune since he had no money. And in his insecurity, he fueled his rage on you.

“Kento,” the younger woman called out his name, drawing circles on his chest as she looked up with eyes brimming with tears, “don’t give up on that dream, okay?”

I’ll make sure to make it happen for you, Hanako internally promised as she held onto her stomach, unaware that she was already steps into making it come true.

…

Days had passed since the incident of him walking off on you. It’s been plaguing his mind as the memory of your pained expression haunted his every moment. You were supposed to be waiting for him like always. The kind and boring you that would do anything for him; strangely, now, you weren’t here.

It’s been hours since he’s arrived home, and he’s been looking at his phone every minute hoping that you would message him, check up on him, and care for him like usual.

But outside of Hanako’s useless messages, his phone was silent.

His guilty conscience couldn’t take it anymore as he lifted his phone to dial your number, rushing out to get some fresh air from the balcony. Despite the cool wind, his heart felt stuck, encaged by his poor decisions that ultimately caused his relationship with you to turn sour.

It was all his fault and he knew it. You weren’t deserving of such treatment, but the anger… his insecurity that brewed knowing he’s failed to protect the woman he once passionately loved, shamefully overcame him.

He had no one to blame but himself, but you were willing to take his wrath… so he let you.

The number you have dialed is not available, please leave —

Kento dialed your number again and upon the third ring, he was faced with a scene that would embark on a new trajectory of his sanity — or what was left of it.

He was sure it was you. There was no denying that Kento wouldn’t be able to identify his girlfriend of almost a decade coming out of a stranger’s car, smiling and laughing as she held onto a large bouquet too grand for her to carry.

Kento couldn’t help but recall a memory when he took you to the mall, excited to buy you something nice only to leave disappointed when you wouldn’t let him buy anything not even a singular rose saying he needed to save money. He remembered you telling him that you didn’t like flowers. But there you were beautifully smiling with dozens in your arms.

Who the fuck was that? Kento’s eyes then zoomed onto the man, and for a brief second, it felt as if he’d seen the stranger before. But he decided to ignore it because his main priority was you.

It wasn’t until minutes later Kento heard your keys rattling to open the door. He wasn’t sure what he needed to say, what he needed to do — but the moment he saw your face, he immediately ran towards you and pulled you into a suffocated embrace.

“Where you’ve been?!” His voice sounded muffled into your neck, “I’ve been waiting for you this entire time!”

Usually, you would console him, and apologize for making him worry. But today, all Kento received was a slight nudge as you pushed him away, “sorry, I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry,” Kento murmured, awkwardly standing at the doorway as he watched you take off your coat, and prepare the roses into a vase.

Like deja vu, Kento snaked his strong arms around your waist, holding you tightly as if he needed you to know, you were his. “Who gave you those flowers?” Kento cautiously asked while kissing your neck. His heart momentarily stopped beating when he noticed that your neck was bruised just above the navel of your neck.

“A friend.” That was all you stated before making your way into the bedroom to sleep, ignoring him for the rest of the night.

— the night prior.

Occasionally, men would shamelessly ask for favors while drunk as they checked in. Usually, all you had to do was deny their request, hand over their key, and simply wish them a good night’s rest as you stay safe behind the plastic barrier.

It didn’t bother you when they did, because how are you going to argue with a person that’s incoherent to the point they can’t give you the right transactional card because they’re too drunk. It was a waste of your time to stress about it.

The money was good, and that was all to it.

And usually, despite being drunk, they would stumble up the stairs, eventually making their way to their motel room, ultimately forgetting their actions in the morning as they sped back to their waiting wives.

But today, one customer seems to be the outlier.

“C’me on,” the drunken man slurred his words, eyes faded as drool leaked from the corner of his stubby chin, “I’ll g-give you a good time!”

“I decline your offer sir,” you sighed, “But please, if you can provide me with your credit card, not your business card.”

“You fucking gold digger,” he cursed at you, “why do you need my card? You’re trying to scam me?”

“No, sir I —”

Intruding, a man suited in black walked up to the front, presenting his credit card with a simple request, “If you’d excuse me. I would like to buy out the rest of the empty rooms.” And with that the drunken man was easily escorted out with the help of the odd stranger.

Your shift would usually end at around 5 am, but since all rooms were booked out, Akiyama-san excused you to leave early.

Packing your bags you wondered if Satoru would be there waiting for you like always. Leaning against the pebbled wall as he boredly kicked rocks to waste time until you ended. And to no avail, he was.

But today, standing in front of you, with his height domineering above you, Satoru had a bruised lip and cheek as he stood under the dim street light.

“What happened?!” you immediately shrieked before cupping his face, pulling him down to meet your level, before quickly blowing on his wound to ease the possible pain.

Satoru liked that, the worry in your eyes as you cared for him, your small hands holding him in place as you examined his wound, completely angered that someone would dare assault him.

“A grown man like you going around fighting people.”

“It’s really not my fault,” he pouted, his hands sneakily finding rest on your waists.

“Come here.” Your hand locked with his as you led him inside to use the first aid kit, ordering the grown man around,“and sit down.” Your hands felt warm despite your fingers barely grasping his four fingers. It was cute, adorable even, how you easily controlled him on a tight leash.

“Yes ma’am .” He obediently listened, spreading his legs out so that you could comfortably position yourself to place ointment on his wound. He had a clear view of your face — enticing and pure, with your delicate and soft features as your lashes fluttered and brows cutely furrowed while carefully placing the medication on his lip.

Ahh if you would care for him like this, Satoru thought, then he would glady get beaten up if he could be pampered by you…

“Fuck, what the hell?!” the drunken man found himself on the floor, knees scraped from the sudden brute force. “Do you want to fucking die?!”

“Me?” Satoru eyes gleamed brightly in the dark, chuckling at how pathetic the drunk man sounded, “not really. But —”

The old man screeched out when a wad of his thinning hair was abruptly pulled, “I wonder who’s the one that wants to die between you and I? Come on, guess. I’ll give you one chance.”

“Are you crazy? — Ah! My hair!” the main yelped in pain as Satoru’s grip got even harder.

“Hm.. you seem sober enough.” Satoru hummed, crouching down as he peered into the man face. “Hit me.”

“You must be out —”

“Hurry.”

Angered at the younger man’s provocation, the man swung his plump fist, cursing as he almost lost balance from the force, “it’s people like you who are ruining the future generations, you fucking punk!”

The punch echoed through the quiet alleyway.

“Good.” Spiting out his blood, Satoru fixed his posture to hover over the man, taking out a pair of black gloves from his pocket as he swiftly wore it, hiding a prominent scar he had just under his right wrist. “Do you know who I am?”

“What the hell are you saying? How am I supposed to —”

“You dont?” His blue eyes pierced straight into the man’s soul, burning his mind so he wouldn’t dare come across you any more. “Then, it’s your lucky day because you'll remember me even in your dreams.”

Crack!

Thud.

… Maybe it was the position that you were in, but you noticed while tending to his wound, Satoru was dangerously close — far too close that you could feel his soft breathing as he observed your features, his azul eyes noticeably landing on your lips.

“you’re so pretty,” he confessed, his eyes softening up as he sees a change in your expression.

“and you’re crazy.” you tried pulling away, only to immediately fail as his strong hands pulled you in closer, your palms resting on his chest.

“let me ask a question.” Satoru brushed his mildly calloused finger under your eye, “this scar— where did you get it?”

“to be honest, I don’t remember… Obachan told me it was from an accident when I was younger.”

“oh— I see,” his voice sounded mildly disappointed, “it’s beautiful nonetheless.”

“I think something happened to your head when you got hit—“

“I’m being serious,” his lips hovered over yours, his minty breath fanning just below your nose, cooling your nerves, “you make me go fucking insane.” he sulked, placing his cheek on your chest as he looked up at you.

It felt as if your heart was going to burst out of your chest. It was amazing how Satoru didn’t say anything about the loud thumping despite his ears placed directly over the beating organ. “Don’t look at me like that.” You stated while pushing his hair out of his eyes, a visible grin formed on his lips making your heart flutter. His looks were enticing, absolutely cruel of him to look at you like that.

“Like what?” Satoru challenged, a smirk growing on his lips as if he’s found a way to the golden prize, trailing his large hands up to cup your face as you shly removed your gaze on him. “Hey,” he whispered, “Look at me.”

And you do, and his expression is gentle. “Tell me, like what?” He asked again, his voice an octave lower.

“Like you love me.” you honestly answered, and his lips come crashing onto yours and you’re immediately pulled up onto his strong thighs, saddling his clothed crotched with one hand placed behind your neck while the other mounded your ass.

The kiss was vigorous. Passionate. Sloppy as your tongues couldn’t meet in perfect coordination, but both of you didn’t care.

“I’ve always loved you.”

His lips trailed kisses along your jaw, steadying you in place as he took the lead, allowing you to feel his hot breath on your skin. “S-satoru,” you mewled out his name.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “Say that again,” his lips murdered yours, his fingers organically slipping under your clothes. His kisses felt tender and deep, tracing the outline of your lips with the tip of his tongue as you breathed each other in, occasionally leaving open mouth kisses to smother you with soft kisses around your chest, shoulders, and neck. Your skin stung when he sucked on your clavicle, swirling his tongue with his saliva after he’s marked you while your hips moved in tandem to ride his strong thigh, feeling his hardened bulge sadly trapped in his slacks.

You felt his fingers unbutton your top. Was he planning on taking it further? Your mind raced, bouncing around with thoughts that challenged your morality or if it even matter at this point.

But you decide on the former, not wanting to dishonor Satoru like that, but also to keep your dignity to break up with your estranged lover before possibly starting a new relationship.

“S-satoru —” You pulled at his hair, using all of your resolve to get his attention, “wait for me,” you huffed out and his lips immediately stopped making love to you. A trail of spit connecting your lips together as he clenched his jaws to pull himself from absolutely fucking you senseless right here — if you’d wanted to.

Placing your forehead to kiss his as you gulped down a wad of your saliva down your parched throat, trying to steady your erratic heart.

“until I break up with Kento… wait for me.”

“I'm good at waiting,” Satoru promised with a gentle kiss placed on top of your scar, “it’s all I’ll ever do for you, princess.”

——

Kento has been unusually antsy these past weeks. He rarely came home late, and followed you around like a neglected puppy trying to get your attention. It was as if the roles were magically swapped between the two of you, where he was now the one painfully waiting for you to return home to him.

But it’s now been days since he’s last seen you. Where have you gone? When all of your belongings were still in this crappy apartment? Where can you be, when he was here?

At first he assumed you were at work, until you didn’t show up to the apartment anymore. Regret filled his conscience when he had no where to look nor call, because he’s never asked where you’ve been working at. All he did was expect you to pay off his debt.

He regretted ever putting his relationship with you on the line. It was a foolish decision, one he’ll take his whole life trying to rectify and own up to his sins.

He was sure of it that you’d forgive him — he needed you, without you there was no sense for him to live.

The sight of the love mark he’s seen on your neck crippled him. It drove him mad to think someone else possibly touched you. All you needed to do was pick up his call. He’ll make it right. He’ll do better.

He’ll end things with Hanako. That’ll be easy because she wasn’t worth much to his life than a simple fuck, compared to you who’s been with him for over a decade.

He’ll find another job if that’ll mean you’ll stay with him forever. He’ll fulfill his promises to you and make you happy — one chance was all he needed.

Pick up. Kento nervously bit his fingers, his naked feet loudly thumping on the hard floor, causing the neighbors below to retaliate in annoyance. but he didn’t care.

The line continued to ring — just one chance was all he needed.

Ring.

how many times has he called? Surely it was close to a hundred.

Ring.

Rin — “Hello?” he heard your sweet voice on the other line.

“Baby!” he urgently shouted, his chapped lips now bleeding, “where are you?” he felt a wob of anxiety pooling at the base of his throat, gripping onto his phone in anticipation of your words.

“I’m not coming back Kento.”

“what do you mean? you can leave like that. no— Baby, where are you —?“

“Hanako.” his mind fell blank when he heard his mistress’s name on the line, his achilles heel that would ultimately kill him upon strike. “I know everything, Kento…” he heard you deeply sighing.

No, no, no! this wasn’t it. you weren’t supposed to know!

“Baby no — no! listen to me,” Kento panicked as he heard your sniffles, oh… how he desperately wished this was a prank, a nightmare he’d wake up to and have you rightfully in his arms.

“With what you’ve done, I didn’t think you needed proper closure… but I do feel like I owe you this one thing. If you look underneath my clothes, there should be a box. take a look inside, and it should be self explanatory what it is.”

Box? what fucking box, he thought while rushing into your once shared bedroom, rummaging through your side of the closet. It was then he noticed most of your clothes weren’t there anymore — and there it was, a small pink box hidden in the corner.

“Kento.”

He opened the box as you relayed your last words to him.

And there he saw a sonogram of a baby in his hands, dating back to a little over a year…

“ I hope you can find happiness in your life without me now, Kento.”

… just around the time his affair started.

“good bye.” And Kento didn’t know those would be the last words he’ll ever hear from you.

hook, line, sinker.

The onus to his failure — you, his beloved flower that’s withered under his unruly demise have finally found freedom from the one that’s plucked all of your beauty away.

——

You’ve contemplated for days wondering how you should end it with Kento. Despite the pain he’s put you through, he was once someone you’ve loved and dreamt a future with. You knew him longer than living without him, and he was all you had for years of your life.

All you’re firsts you’ve experienced with him, and with him you’ll experience this one last thing.

“I gotta do this,” you muttered to yourself, staring at your phone that’s been ringing nonstop for the past couple days.

To simply let go of a relationship, a person who you’ve known for so long is often a quiet difficult thing to do. The world you wanted with Kento, the future family and promises that were made between you and him, the sacred bond of love that once burned so fiercely was nothing more than a fever dream that has shallowed out into a distasteful nightmare. And it was time to let go.

Broken pieces can’t put themselves back together. They’ll always stay broken. And Kento has broken you.

For a few weeks, he followed you around, begged – absolutely begged — on his knees that you would forgive him for saying such hurtful things to you. That he loved you, cared for you, wanted only you.

Lies. lies. All of it were lies.

He didn’t love you. If love was what he had, then you wanted no part of it.

Because the same day that he knelt on the floor groveling in his self pity, you saw him sneak out at night, receiving a phone call from Hanako as she waited for him at a nearby park. Kissing him with tears in her eyes.

And the self proclaimed man that continuously boasted you were all he’ll ever need, your first love and companion for over a decade, did not push his mistress away, but instead embraced and solemnly confessed that he was sorry.

That was all you needed before closing your chapter with Kento, forever locking it up to be thrown into the pits of hell to perish for all of eternity. and along with him, would the memory of your lost child accompany him.

Not a single tear fell from your eyes for Kento — you won’t allow it. But instead it fell for the stupid man that’s stolen your heart.

Was he crazy?! It’s been over 20 years —

Your lungs felt heavy as you ran down the stairs, the dimly lit path almost dangerous as you breezed through, your legs speeding up in desperation to meet him — he was going to be there, always waiting to walk you back home.

The exit was close, just a couple more steps and you were free to hold him, kiss him, love him.

And opening the door, standing at his usual spot just underneath the postlamp, was no one.

Your eyes feverishly looked around, your head spinning from how fast your eyes trekked to look for Satoru. Your eyes becoming blurry from the tears that welled inside.

Where is he? He’s always there —

You panicked when you couldn’t find him anywhere, he was supposed to be there! He always was —

“Who are you looking for?” he whispered in your ear, his breath fanning against your cheeks as tears threatened to spill. “Is he handsome? Because you’re making me jealous —”

Unabashed you mark him as yours. Forcing your lips on his soft, sweet ones, throwing your arms around his neck as you carelessly jumped into his embrace, knowing he’ll catch you. With your legs wrapped around his waists, your cheeks felt warm and the kiss tasted salty as you heard Satoru groan into the intimate kiss.

His lips chased after yours as you lean out to catch a breath. “I didn’t know you were into voyeurism,” Satoru teased with a thin line of spit connecting you both together.

“There’s literally no one here to see us, Satoru.” It was close to midnight, and the streets were empty of people besides you two.

He deadpanned with a lifted brow, “am I not a pair of eyes?” he scoffed as he carefully placed you down.

“Whatever,” you pouted, rolling your eyes as you nuzzled your face into his chest, his arms immediately wrapping around your body. “Where were you?” you softly asked, the confidence in your voice shaking, “you were supposed to be here, stupid.”

“Sorry,” you felt his chest numbly vibrate as he spoke, “had to throw something away,” Satoru murmured with his lips pressed onto your head.

“Hm?” you looked up through your lashes, resting your chin on his sternum, “throw what away?” you curiously asked.

A rosey hue immediately painted on his cheeks, “okay, you can’t just do that,” he muttered while cupping your face, nuzzling the tip of his nose lightly against yours, “you’ll kill me looking so cute like that.”

There was no denying that those were the same pair of eyes that you’ve fallen for years ago. The same pair of arms, once lanky and thin, now strong and secure … that saved you as you fell down the stairs.

“Satoru.” You hummed out his name, basking in his warmth as he, too, hummed back a response, “yes?”

You wanted to desperately ask. ‘How have you been? Have you been happy? Have you fulfilled your dreams?

“Does your scar ever hurt anymore?” Your voice lightly cracked as you pulled his wrist close to your lips, kissing his skin as your vision started to become blurred from tears.

“No,” he professed, his eyes softening from the realizing you’ve remembered, “not since I’ve met you.”

Your heart pounded. It felt like a knot formed at the base of your diaphragm, making it difficult to breathe, to let out the words you’ve been dying to ask since you’ve had the dream. Everything around you felt loud, blaring into your ears and overstimulating your senses.

What if I’m wrong? What if he isn’t who you thought?

Satoru intertwined his fingers with yours, breaking you from your thoughts as you followed him from behind, looking at his broad back as his veinous hand swallowed yours. “Let’s go home, angel.”

And everything went silent. Like morning dew, his voice replenished your soul, anchoring you from insanity. His simple, couple of words fueled a courage for you to ask —

But even if you’re wrong … would that change anything?

Your hand tightly held his as you stopped in your track as you longly breathed in his scent. The chilled air tasted oddly sweet in that moment, and your hands could still barely wrap around his — just like years ago.

And for once in your life, you decided nothing mattered anymore. From all the times the world trampled and left you broken and bare, you decided today you’d find liberosis to it all.

“Satoru.” His name came out in a sob, your lips trembling while he, too, stopped himself.

“... are you still open to marrying me?” you could see his breaths become staggered, waiting for you to continue forth with your sentence. “And I’ve grown all my teeth…and could properly read out your name, Satoru Gojo?”

Turning around, a solid tear fell from his majestic blue eyes, the whisps of his lashes damp with tears.

“Took you long enough to remember me, Toothless.”

——

You couldn’t erase the past, nor could you predict the future. But with your lips intertwined, you found solace in the simple act of being together with him. And as you held each other tight, the gravity of your connection pulled you to kiss him again — again, and again.

You don’t recall much before finding yourself entangled in his arms, his lips sloppily kissing yours as he mindlessly pressed his thumb into the scanner to finally get you both through his door.

Satoru brought you to his home, silently driving with only a firm grip on your thigh, finding solace in the small physical contact alone. Anything else would’ve enraged a monster inside of him, making him completely mad, as he sped through the street in his Daytona — mentally noting that he’ll need a more spacious car asap.

Once more, you met his lips in a deeper kiss. His lips moved in tandem with yours, and the taste of his tongue fueled a warmth in your core, your panties pooling with warm slick, longing for him to touch it.

“S-satoru,” you moaned out his name, your fingers grasping at his hair as his tongue traveled down the navel of your neck, peppering hushed kisses along your skin. Slipping a hand between your legs, rubbing your clothed core with the tip of his fingers, Satoru purred as he pushed you down onto his couch.

You could feel his mischievous grin because his teeth grazed your skin, too late when you realized that he had his fingers doing circular motions against your clothed clit. “You’re so wet already,” he excitedly proclaimed, the hard rut of his erection rubbing against you.

You squeezed your legs shyly as you nodded. “Yeah.”

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he shakily let out a breath, his pupils dilated as his palm pressed up down on your stomach up to your breasts, “and I wouldn’t mind that too much,” he murmured under his breath before latching his mouth onto a nipple, continously stroking your heated cunt with his vacant hand.

It was as if your bodies were moving on its own, and you allowed it to dictate whatever action it desired. Forget everything for now, was all you could think of in your head — Kento, Hanako, your child, all the pain, all the disappointment. Everything.

In your mind, it was all Satoru. He was the man you loved.

He sucked the rounded mass, squeezing it before swirling his tongue around your nipple. All that you could do was let your hand grab a fistful of his hair until he moved to your right breast to give it the same attention.

Your breasts felt mildly sore with how he sucked on your bud, the slight pain felt even pleasurable as his fingers slowly moved your panty to the side, the thick slick of your sobbing cunt desperately wanting to coat his long, pretty fingers with your cum.

Though slow, you were at least successful in unbuttoning his white shirt. The heat of his defined abdomen felt like a sin to touch, as his stomach flinched at the plush of your fingertips grazing against his exposed skin. You then tried finding access to his zipper but with the rush of impatience and pumped adrenaline, your hands trembled, utterly making it impossible for you to even unbuckle his belt.

“Relax, angel,” he chuckled, his mouth releasing your tender breast with a sultry pop. With his arm caging you from above, kissing you while his hands swiftly grasped onto your wrists, he led your palms to cup the mold of his hardened, clothed cock. Satoru hissed at the contact as he pulled on your lower lip, “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

You were laying underneath him with your legs spread open, submitted under complete bliss as you watched him unravel with his cheeks flushed while his brows deeply furrowed. Something about the way he desperately needed your touch, his hand forcing your palm to hold him harder, cup his throbbing cock as his hips started to thrust upward.

You avoided his eyes, his blue eyes much too intense as if he could read through your soul.

“don’t be shy on me now.” he commanded, quickly sitting on his knees, his legs caging you at your waist with his crotch pushing against your entrance. Now grasping both your wrists, prompting you to pull down the zipper, pulling your hands into his briefs to pull out his cock. He was warm, your hand barely fitting in from the utter size of this man. Satoru grinned as he witnessed your small hands trying to wrap around his pulsing length. “we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

You gulped as you tried to laugh it off. It was ridiculous how big he was. Criminal that he was even pretty down there.

The next thing you knew, he was pinning your wrist on either side of your head concurrently to when he latched his mouth back into yours. Your attention forced back onto the man that had you digging your nails into his skin as you felt himself lowering down. He was smothering you with soft kisses around your chest, stomach, and down to your inner thighs. By spreading your legs further apart, you could feel his mouth moving closer and closer to your cunt until his tongue found its way to delve into your slit.

Holy shit. Was this how it feels to receive oral? Kento’s never done it like this, especially not this well —

“A-Aaah! S-Satoru—!” you yelped as his hot tongue took a long stroke up your pussy.

His kisses were tender and deep, tracing the outline of your folds with the tip of his tongue as he breathed you in. Expertly parting your folds with his fingers so he could do a better job at lapping his tongue inside of your core, breathing you in and sucking your juices, allowing the squelching noises to tickle your ear like a sweet melody. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “You taste so good.”

Your nails were digging onto the couch, thighs pushing against his head, desperate to hold anything as you stared at the ceiling, seeing euphoric stars on his living room ceiling. It was in the way Satoru stroked his tongue around your clit, sucking at it tenderly as he teased his fingers at your entrance, coating up his fingers to easily enter inside your plush walls that made you tremble.

Your head felt dizzy as Satoru did more by flicking his tongue on your nub, soon replacing his mouth from ransacking your sweet pussy as he palmed your whole genital with a cocky smirk, when he felt your hips thrust upward, growing impatient at his lack of quickly fucking you.

“S-satoru please,” you begged, the heat of your body feeling as if you’ll explode if he touched you any further.

“Shh… I know, pretty,” kissing your inner thigh as he settled himself besides you, his arm snaking underneath to use as a neck rest, his hand holding your face to kiss him as he started to play with your pussy. Making short circles around your hardened bud, quickly holding you closer when he felt you clench as he pushed one, then two fingers, and ultimately three into you.

He placed a gentle kiss to your temple, yet his fingers pressed harder on your clit,” let me play with you for a bit.”

Your muscles start to tighten, and the ache between your thighs become increasingly unbearable as the coiling tension inside your stomach burned a fire within you that was ticking to erupt. “You gonna cum?” Satoru breathed into your ear, his teeth nibbling your helix, the padding of his fingers intentionally grazing past your magical spot as he fingered you so erotically.

“P-please Satoru — ‘m close!” you desperately begged as tears welled up causing your impartial sight to feel even more suffocating.

“Aw —” Satoru felt his eyes roll back from your dulcet moans, oh how he longed for you to cry out his name as he’s got you pinned under him. And your tears, god you looked so perfect crying for him.

“Then cum.” He ordered before angling his fingers to finally poke at your g spot, the squelching, sultry sounds of your pussy echoing through his living room as your muffled cries were swallowed up by his lips.

And moments thereafter, your bottom felt damp as warm liquid squirted out of you. “Such a good girl,” Satoru praised, his deep breath heavy and lascivious as he slowed his pace of fingering you.

You were left breathless, your throat feeling dry while Satoru continuously kissed your body. “C’me here,” Satoru prompted, wrapping your arms around his neck before quickly holsting you bridal style, his lips never leaving yours as he walked up the stairs.

You were so engrossed with the feeling of his lips that you didn’t even realize he had your legs wrapped around his waist. And with your arms around his neck, it was impossible to break the kiss as he led you to his bed, trails of clothes littered to leave an evidence of love.

With each step he took, your kiss only got deeper and deeper. You had never felt such intensity throughout your relationship with Kento, maybe you’ve had… but Satoru was intoxicating, leaving you drunk by his touch alone.

You were gasping on his mouth, had his lips completely enveloped with yours. His lips inch around your jawline. Your neck. Your chest. Stumbling onto his bed, Satoru was quick to nestle in between your legs, his lips having no mind to stop kissing you even for a moment to breath, his hands feeling every inch of your heated body as he hardened bulge pressed against your tummy.

You feel the soft sheets on your back, the plush of his duvet lightly embracing your body as he settled himself on top of you. It was hard to look in his eyes, shy that you’ve just squirted in front of him — first try — when Kento’s never been able to do that for you. But more importantly, when that thing between his legs looked so angry and wanting.

Would this even fit — Kento’s wasn’t as big as Sato —

“What’s wrong?” he asked, grazing his thumb on your scar as he rested above you. You could feel his hard member brushing against your thigh while he gazed down at you in both worry and desire. “Look at me.”

“Y-youre really big,” you stammered, blinking your eyes from the shock of speaking out your intrusive thoughts.

“Big?” emphazing your words while he chuckled, peppering kisses against your neck to ease your tense muscles. “never heard someone flat out say that about my cock. Most girls drool over it.”

“You fucked other girls?” you pinched his shoulder, obviously doing no damage from the sheer muscle he had packed under his skin.

“What can I do?” he gave you a wink, “I’m just so irresistible.”

“Whatever —” you murmured while rolling your eyes, “... Are you like … eight inches?”

“Probably a little over seven?” He hummed with both arms caging the sides of your head, spreading your thighs out so he could properly weave his body on top of yours. You can feel his heavy cock purposefully resting on top of your stomach as you felt him lightly grind his hips in a slow up and downward motion.

“you’re definitely not just a little over seven,” you gasped, caving into his touch, feeling your fiery core unbearable as you readied yourself to welcomed him in.

“I like to round down,” he teased, his soft lips landing on your temple. “But guess you’ll have to measure for yourself,” he soothed as he now rubbed his head against your wet folds, stroking his member as he made himself available for anything you’d want. “There’s two ways to measure,” his hand traveled to your throat, lightly grasping it before taking it down to your plush stomach, “your choice, princess.”

Wrong. In fact, there were three ways to logically go about measuring Gojo Satoru’s cock.

Get a ruler and measure.

Feel him deeply down your throat, gagging as his balls tickle your lips.

Feel the tip of his head pumping inside you, your palm locating just how far he inches inside.

Gojo felt his heart rate pick up as he watched you, and it didn’t help how enticing you looked as crawled in between his legs, looking so dainty in between his thighs. You lean down, without giving him the leisure to breathe before pressing a soft kiss to the tip, and he groans, cock twitching slightly at the gesture.

It was if he’s been bewitched by dark magic when he heard your soft giggles, hypnotizing his mind to think he was hallucinating from seeing you play with his needy head as you watched his cock twitch whenever you swiped your tongue under his frenulum.

This was better than whatever he could’ve imagined when he fucked himself to sleep thinking of you these past nights ever since finding you.

Your lips perfectly wrapped around his aching length, and he’s choking on curses at the sensation of your warm mouth.

“Fuck— you’re perfect,” his hand finding refuge on top of your head as he leads you in a slow pace. He truly had the prettiest cock that matched his beautiful angel-like face. You giggled again — god it sounded like heaven to his ears — as it twitched from your hold before you swirled your tongue around the pink tip, immediately tasting his precum that leaked so wonderfully out of his slit. It was salty, musky, but also a tad bit sweet?

Gently sucking his head earned you a raspy moan out of him, so you teased him more by allowing his tip to reach your inner cheek as you tightened your mouth around his shaft.

“God—fuck, mhm like that, baby,” he moans, a hand finding the top of your head, while the other rested on the base of your throat. Hollowing your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down his shaft as your hand rubs his tense thigh. “feel so good, sweetheart, let me in deeper,” he rasps, and you feel pride swell in your chest at his praise.

Your hand move to fondle with his balls, massaging them gently as his hands fist his crisp white sheets, a loud grunt ringing through the room as he curses. Your tongue runs over the vein on the underside of his cock, and his knuckles go white from tensing around the sheets, his harsh grasp turning tighter and tighter as he tries to ground himself.

“g-gonna cum, baby,” he chokes, “fuck, fuck, fuck, that feels good.” you bob your head up and down his length faster, swallowing around him a few more times before his back arches and his hips raise. You let him in deeper, forcibly closing your eyes as you gagged whenever his hard tip hit further into your throat.

“Fuck princess —” Satoru released a harsh groan, his pupils dilated and iris’ dark as he concupisciently fucked your throat.

Thrusting into your mouth as he whines, quickly squeezing your neck to feel just how far he was rummaging your throat, his eyes rolling back when he noticed the prominent bulging of your neck before thick spurts of cum painted your throat, deeply and fully with his cum. “fuck—that’s it, sweetheart.”

His voice cracks as he lets out strings of curses, with a few more ropes of cum, his body slumps over you, leaving him panting into the room as you pop off of his cock.

“You’re spoiling me,” he rasped out with his lips barely formimg a smile, tired from how well you took his cock, “Best fucking head I’ve ever gotten.”

—

Satoru Gojou could last for hours.

His arms caressed the smooth skin of your back, his lips feathering kisses along your bust as you saddled yourself on top of him. His cock brushing against your wet pussy, warming himself up as you meticulously moved your hips slowly in response.

Trying to muffle your moan that escaped your lips from being too loud, Satoru wouldn’t dare let you do that. Placing a finger into your mouth, playing with your hot tongue, he ordered, “stop that — I want to hear you.”

“Ngh!” you immediately let out, the temptation to just force his cock into you much too unbearable. But Satoru knew that would be foolish — he would easily break you if he’d done that, and how could he? When he’s finally gotten you all for himself.

“Let me get a condom —”

“—Wait!” you stopped him from reaching for his night stand, his drawer partially opened to peak a box of XL condoms waiting to be used, “It’s okay…” you muttered.

Brushing his finger against your cheek, making sure if it was entirely okay with you,, “are you sure? It’s not a big deal for me to wear it.”

“Yes,” nodding your head as you leaned into his touch, “yea, I’m sure.”

“You think you’re ready?” He whispered while soothing your thighs, massaging your muscles as he laid soft kisses along your neck.

“Mhm — yes. I’m ready ah —,” your moans left breathlessly out your lips, music to his ears as he changed positions, turning you over so your back laid comfortably on the mattress.

“Baby,” reaching out for a pillow to place under your hips, “let’s start with the tip, I’ll go slow.”

“I can take it —” his kiss stopped you from continuing. “Don’t make this harder for me,” he warned before kissing you, his lips easing your starved cunt, drooling for him to fill you up.

You can feel Satoru soaking his length with your slick, moving his member repeatedly through your wet folds as he prepared himself to enter. “Relax for me,” Satoru cooed when he felt your tight hole repelling his entrance, “ you gotta let me in, angel.” he cooly chuckled, yet voice wasn’t anything near passive — it was impatient and starved.

The once cool room now felt hot, filled with the smell of lubricious sex as you both laid bare on his mattress. The slight pain of him pushing his head inside was quickly masked into pleasure as his hands massaged your breasts and his lips left longing stamps of love all over your body.

“Good, just like that,” Satoru's breath was warm as he continued to slowly press his length into you, often losing composure when he pushed a little too impatiently when you clenched down on him. “Fuck you’re so tight —” he groaned, gripping on the sheets to keep his sanity before possibly splitting you open.

It was cruel how warm hot you felt inside. It was as if his cock was meant to be wrapped by your plush, sultry walls, and it was destined that he would be the one to fill the empty space up to your cervix, linking you both into one body.

You felt full, and your mind felt cloudy to clearly tell if Satoru was all the way inside you. “A-are you in all the way?” you sniffled back the tears.

If he was the devil, you were his angel that’s tempted him to total damnation, abolished from the heaven’s for his idolatry of loving you despite the gods that created him. Because there was no way, any person would not go utterly mad when they could see what he saw.

“Almost.” Satoru answered with gritted teeth, barely holding on by a threat as he continued to push himself deeper inside you. “Ahh!” you squealed, throwing your arms around his neck, unintentionally pushing him further into you.

“S-shit,” cursing under his breath as he started to pump his cock, forcing his way inch by inch through your tight walls, until he’s finally — in what seemed like tortuous ages — kissed your cervix. It was absolutely insane how your hole perfectly stretched for him, perfectly embracing his cock as he continued to fill the void inside you.

Satoru’s member was warm inside you. Your bodies were tingling from the intensity of your lovemaking in the dimly lit room. And when you pulled away, your eyes brimming with tears were locked in a silent exchange of yearning as he looked at you with the same longing.

Without a word, Satoru reached out and gently cupped your breast, his touch sending electricity down your spine. You leaned into his touch, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you felt the heat of his body pressing against yours.

Your lips met once more, a tender exploration of each other’s mouths, and he was taking that chance to increase his pace. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to enter you again — with more grit, and force that you were clawing at his naked back, drawing harsh marks of red on his skin. You were whimpering under him, melting into his passionate movements as he fucked you in missionary.

Your hands explored his body — his firm chest and defined six pack, to the perfect v-line down his pelvis to his pretty cock. And when you reached further down, grasping his buttocks, it felt sculpted and perfectly round, just like how his back was now angry with his muscles bulging from the extraneous use.

Feeling you touch him, a smirk grows on his lips as he stripped you from being able to touch him, his cock pressing further in as he sat on his knees, his hands pushing your thighs to your chest. “You like what you see, sweetheart? It’s all yours.”

Nodding as you reached out for him, “‘m cold Satoru, hold me,” you whined from the absence of his body heat made you feel suddenly empty.

He couldn’t deny your request because he quickly pressed his weight onto you, easily folding you like a chair as he fucked his cock into you, “see —” he placed a hand on your stomach, “aren’t you lucky girl, because this” he harshly rammed his cock into you, “is also all for you.”

Mine. like a hypnotic spell, a taunting melody, Satoru drilled it into your head that he was in fact all yours.

You have had sex with Kento multiple times before, but it was never this emotional. It was never this passionate. But with Satoru, you could tangibly feel the difference in the way he kissed you, with the way he looked at you, with the way he touched you. Everything felt surreal when you were with him.

“S-satoru!” you yelped when his thrust penetrated deeper inside you, knocking your cervix as his hips slammed into your ass.

The sound of his deep chuckle slithered through your ears as he jolted his hips forward, sending you to a state of euphoria with every deep thrust. You were barely gripping onto his back, hoping it would give you some form of stability. “Focus,” he growled, the speed of his cock unforgiving as he rutted himself into your cunt, “think of me, only me.”

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to. He was just too much. It was only half past midnight and he’s already come twice. It was insane how he was still so hard, his libido still strong, as he pounded you with every bit of his strength to create more friction against your moistened cunt.

While your legs were tangled around his waist, his mouth latched onto your tit when he gave each bosom a lavish suck—even going as far as circling his tongue around your nipple. It was until he began increasing the speed of his thrusts when you could no longer contain your wanton cries, “A-Aah! S-Satoru, p-please d-don’t stop!”

“Cum,” he whispered on your ear, knowing full well that your orgasm was building back on your lower abdomen, “Cum for me, honey.”

“Satoru…” Breathless and overstimulated, your nails ended up scratching his back as you clenched around his girth, milking yourself around his cock followed by your helpless cries. Your chest was rising and falling heavily after you climaxed.

I missed you, he reasoned as he continued to pistol his cock inside you, now resting both your ankles on his shoulders as he watched your breasts rhythmically bounce around with each thrust.

“S-satoru, I slow d-down! I just came —” Your moans came out louder than you initially expected, even louder than the skin-slapping noises from when his pelvis hit your ass. Your entire body was being pushed and pulled as he mercilessly drilled your hole with harsh jostles.

His room was dark, but even if you couldn’t see his face, you were certain that he had a million-dollar grin displayed. “Say my name.” he devilishly taunted, his voice leaving goosebumps over your body.

His shaft was already coated by slick and the squelching sounds only added to the intensity of your arousal. You barely managed out his name. “Sa-tor-u!”

“Good girl.” A wave of pleasure washed over your body when he quickly flipped you over, as the feeling of his hot breath tickled your spine. Your legs were shaking while your head fell on the cushion, leaving your ass up high and your face down low.

His fingers were teasing your entrance despite already being stretched by his fully erected cock—satiating your clit with circular movements in synchronization with his penetrative actions. Satoru just adored how you clenched around him even through his words alone and that dominance he had over you was fueling his God complex. You could feel him trying to angle his cock better as he watched how it was disappearing from the cavern between your plump folds. And for him, nothing could look more perfect, more beautiful that your cunt stretched out so nicely to fit his cock.

“Ngh! So good… so good,” you whimpered in a breathless voice, upper body pressed against the mattress as he worked on destroying your pussy. Despite his devilish being, Satoru certainly fucked like a god as he sent you to seventh heaven when his tip rammed your g-spot. “Aah—ah! Fuck!”

Conniving. So wretching cunning. He certainly wasn’t lying when he said he fucked well — too well, was the problem.

Pulling his hips back so that he’s just almost pulled out completely before he slams back into you, pressing against your sweet spot with his tip in the way only he would ever allow you to know. He’s gone through countless simulations as he fucked his fists thinking of how’d you look when making love. He knows where to kiss and hold and touch to make your eyes flutter shut, and your mouth fall open, wanton moans falling past your lips without a care in the world who can hear.

“so tight, baby,” he whines, “god you’re so perfect—my perfect girl.”

“so full,” you gasp, desperately holding onto the pillow for dear life, “feel so good —fuck.”

“'m getting jealous of a pillow,” he warns, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he pulled the pillow away, a vein bulging from his temple, “but look at you, it’s a shame you can’t see what I see. Then you’d know why I can’t keep my hands off of you and so jealous — it’s fucking impossible.”

The increased roughness and speed in his pace caused you a shockwave of intense sensual gratification that sent you to euphoria. The moans and the salacious sounds that came from his rough pace drowned your room with a surge of bliss because Gojo never once stopped from plowing your cunt with his hardened member, deepening and hitting your most sensitive spot each time he penetrated you.

You can’t speak—all you can offer him as he’s bullying his thick girth into you is a pathetic whine as his veins drag along your walls, as his navel bumps along your clit and has your head thrown into the mattress.

“P-please,” you begged, doing whatever you could to reach back and holding onto him.

You could feel a thick slick smeared along your inner thigh, the wet sound of his cock fucking into you, ringing in your ears along with his deep groans as he pants harshly against your ear. You can feel his breath against your skin, can feel the goosebumps and the flutter of your walls every time he makes a pretty little sound for you as you squeeze around him.

With each thrust, you can’t help but be reminded when he pushes into you like he was always meant to fit right there, like he was always meant to feel you as you feel him too.

“Love you,” he says between moans, face digging into your neck as your hand cradles the back of his head, his arms forcing you up, back arching into a bow as he continuously fucked you. “You’re my perfect, perfect girl. Can you feel me?” he gathers your other hand, covering your lower stomach to push down for you to feel a hard lump that angrily moved inside you, “this is what you do to me?”

You nod between sharp gasps and he holds you in wonder, at the way your lips look when they murmur that sweet little cry of his name, at the way your pussy sucks him in and hugs too tightly around him, at the way you look so good with the slight sheen of sweat on your face as you took his cock perfectly in.

His hips roll, a little sloppy in rhythm now still fucking you just as hard and deep, just before letting you both fall onto the mattress with his weight pressing you down. Despite this being the first time he’s fucked you, he can sense it—the way you’re just about to fall apart on his cock, just like you always did in his dreams. So he pushes a hand underneath, pressing a thumb to your clit, rubbing harsh circles that make you clench on him harder as you cry out moans that sound so mellifluous to his ears.

Biting your lip, you closed your eyes and absorbed the pleasuring feeling of his member that was plowing your velvet walls. Your dulcet moans with the combination of his sexy grunts echoed through your shared room in overflowing titillation. You wanted nothing else for him to fill you up again, just like he did with your throat hours ago.

“you close, sweetheart? gonna cum for me?

“yeah,” you breathe, kissing him with hot, open-mouthed kisses that he returns, “ ‘m so close—f-fuck, so close, baby.”

You know he is. It’s in the way his cock twitches and the way his hips are desperate in the way they roll into you tells you he’s just as close to falling apart as you are. You push your hips up to meet his thrusts, pushing him impossibly deeper into your cunt before you feel the coil snap as you cum—hard. Your walls flutter around him, spasming and squeezing around him as he inhales sharply.

“I’m near,” he announced, spreading out your thighs with his knees, his balls slamming onto your buttocks as he has you pinned down from above, fucking you like his sex doll. He fucked at an animalistic speed, forcing you to grip his forearm as his force pushed you into his headrest — your body lower region feeling sore from the sheer amount he’s fucked you.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,“ he said it with a chuckle, his thrust unrelinquishing and you couldn’t help but absolutely adore just how he stared at you, held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And it only took a couple seconds for that softness to fade into lust as though the sex god in him manifested before you. “Feels. So. Fucking… Good!” His breathy grunts were released when his hips fell out of rhythm.

“f-fuck, baby—’m gonna…” he doesn’t get to finish before you feel his cock twitch and his cum fills you. It’s hot and thick, sticky with every rope he fucks into you, leaking past his tip and painting your walls white.

You can feel the mess he makes—can feel the drops leak and drip along your inner thighs as he slams into you with choked whines of your name. “god—” he gasps, breathless as his face digs into the crook of your neck, hugging you with his weight pressed on top of you as his arms tremble.

Hot spurts of seed were shot straight to your womb, ensuring that every drop of his cum were loaded to your cervix. When he pulled out, you could feel his warm semen seeping out of your entrance because you were clenching naturally, twitching to keep his cum in. As you gasped for air, Satoru was very much proud knowing just how much he had cum inside of you.

Panting, “I love you,” he confessed, pecking your bruised lips.

Your mouth vibrated against his. “Mm— me too.” you tiredly responded back. Every inch of your body felt sore to even move.

It’s silent for a bit. Only the harsh, labored pants as you both tried to calm down and catch your breaths echoed in his bedroom. Satoru still had his nose buried against your neck, shifting his weight to the side as he slowly flipped you over on your back, hugging you tightly as your hands soon rubbed over his back tenderly.

You notice a indent on his left scapula, your fingers tracing the scar most likely caused from the impact of falling down the stairs years ago. You kissed his shoulder as you weaved your fingers through his sweaty scalp, confessing your love for the first time, “I love you.”

“Yea I know,” he grunted before lifting himself up to cage your head between his arms, his heavy body intimately pressed on top of your smaller frame, “You were obsessed with marrying me when you didn’t even have your front teeth —”

“Shut up,” you pinched his cheeks, getting an exaggerated ow! from your lover. “You never said no to my proposal, so you’re just as obsessed.”

“I never denied it,” his expression changes before he pressed his lips onto yours, deepening the kiss.

“Satoru.” his name breathlessly flowed out your lips, music to his ears from the years of his silent yearning for you to call him. “We need to shower, your sheets are dirty —”

“we need to clean up—” another kiss “— and oh god your couch —”

“just one more,” he insisted, his tongue making his way into your mouth.

Pushing him away, you’re met with an obviously offended look. “You have work tomorrow, and I have a night shift after work,”

“I’m rich, I have more than enough money for you to quit your jobs,” he obviously stated, “and that fucktard isn’t not your responsibility anymore. So look at me, take care of me, I’m needy and need your kisses now.” he tried pushing himself onto you.

But you press a hand to his mouth, blocking his lips from touching yours as he pouts against you, but he still presses himself closer thinking that’ll make you succumb to his desires.

“Nope.”

He grumbles, muffling something incoherent against your palm. You roll your eyes, amused at how you’ve come to love this manchild, moving your hand to cup his cheek as you stroke his lips with your thumb.

“If you’re good,” you press firmly on his bruised flesh, inciting a small painful flinch from your lover, “I’ll kiss you all you want if you do as I say.”

“No,” he moped, “you’d still kiss me when I’m bad, so what’s the point?”

“So you admit you’re bad,” you raise a brow, making him grin cheekily, “I thought you’d always listen and be good.”

“I can be,” he shrugs, “but fucking god I love it when you put me in my place.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you tiredly sighed, releasing control to give him what he wanted. It only makes him chuckle, leaning in again as his lips hover over yours, making you inhale sharply as you feel his breath fan over your mouth before kissing you for the millionth time. “Heh I’ll always win.”

With him kissing you, you’d think everything that had happened last night was nothing more than a fever dream. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the comfort of his arms around you, it all felt surreal — like a glass menagerie teetering on the edge of shattering. You wondered if it would be okay to stay here for now — to be loved by and to love him deeply. To forget about the rest of the damn world and it’s burdens by simply remaining in his arms, resting in his comfort as you stared at his beautiful face, listening to his slow and steady heartbeat.

At that exact moment, as you moved together in perfect harmony, breathing each other’s air while being intimately held in each other’s arms, you felt his heart beat radiating to your chest, beating oh so loudly as it healthily pumped blood to his body, signalling he was indeed alive. And it was in his presence alone, that he fills you with comfort.

And in that, with Gojo Satoru, you knew that you were finally home.

—

Hours later when you were asleep in his arms, Satoru receives a text.

From: Ijichi

Mr. Nakamura and Miwayaki-san have both been notified of their termination. Furthermore, as instructed, all and any neighboring companies would be promptly alerted if they ever submit their applications for a job. Miwayaki-san will have her apartment stripped from her, and all debts of Mr. Nakamura will be doubled to account for interest and all payments made on his behalf would be returned to the original payer.

author's note: wow... if you've read up to the end, I just want to say thank you for giving this a chance. I was hesitant on releasing this, especially with the wc being so long ... but if you've enjoyed it, then that's all that matters. have a good one (o˘◡˘o)

Tags

gojo satoru to read satoru gojo gojou satoru x reader gojo saturo gojo satoru x reader gojo satoru x you

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zukowantshishonourback

11 months ago

˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

“Bet you’re thinkin’ of me while he’s fucking you, huh?”

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader

❧ Need To Know | This story was originally written by me on wattpad with different characters. It got deleted & I moved here.

❧ Contents | afab!reader, explicit nsfw scenes, college non-curse au, toxic altercations, angst, reader lowkey hops around between the two, jealousy, possessiveness, slut activities, gen z references, alcohol, fluff, 18+ scenes, porn w plot, etc.

| Chapters |

1 | Something about you

| @kamiversee | ff status; ongoing | updates; spontaneous |

Tags

angst masterlist choso kamo choso x reader jjk choso to read choso choso smut series jujutsu kaisen choso choso x you kamo choso choso x yn

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zukowantshishonourback

1 year ago

candles & flames | jjk (m) | masterlist

He wasn’t supposed to be yours. His foolery wasn’t supposed to target you. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader

➳ genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au; angst, fluff, smut

➳ contents & warnings: fuckboy!JK, royal!jk, lies, miscommunication, hints of fake dating but not really, past side character death mentioned, banter, crying, guilt, jealousy, explicit sexual content (such as oral, fingering, making out, (unprotected) sex, cum eating, etc.); and more chapter specific warnings! | 18+

➳ current word count: 100.8k

➳ status: completed

➳ collaborative playlist 🎶

⁂ CHAPTERS

⤞ c&f: water (24.6k)

“To you, you’re water, and he’s fire — but perhaps there’s a grey area where you meet. Where you collide and become steam, evaporating, hot yet calm.”

⤞ c&f: fire (22.8k)

“The flicker’s colours are soothing. This fire is harmless, warm and tender; there are so much worse flames in your very own world.”

⤞ c&f: steam (34.3k)

“You thought you were water, cool as ice; and that he was fire, hot-headed and irresistible. You wanted to evaporate with him, but right now, you’re both burning.“

⤞ c&f: epilogue (19.1k)

“Neither the glowing star above nor the flickering flames will *ever burn as bright as you.”

⁂ TINY BONUS

⤞ c&f asks 💌 ⤞ c&f moodboard, made by ivi 🤍

⤞ FAQ (or questions I found fun lol):

When do you always update? Whenever a part is done. I will try to finish C&F, including the epilogue, by the beginning of May ‘23!

How many chapters will C&F have? Three + the epilogue! For now, that’s all I’ve planned.

What inspired you to write C&F? The urge to write a royal JK, Bridgerton and you guys. <3

Were there condoms in the 1800s? Actually, there were!

✒︎ join the taglist! ♡

Tags

angst masterlist jungkook jeon jungkook jungkook x reader jungkook fluff jungkook smut series jeon jungkook x reader jeon jeon jungkook angst jungkook angst bts angst jungkook x you

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zukowantshishonourback

9 months ago

swore i could feel you through the walls | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Dabi knows that he can’t leave you now. You belong to him, and he belongs to you, and the stars knew before either of you did. And Dabi can’t argue with fate, or destiny, or pure dumb luck, not that he wants to. He pulls your comforter up over his body. He’ll be here when you come home to him. In a place made for staying, Dabi thinks he will.

Notes: hiiiiii so this is an idea that has been bouncing around my head for like. Literal years ajsjsjsjs It’s always kind of been more of a horror idea and then I fanficified it and now it’s this! This was kind of a process and I rewrote and replanned and went over this over and over again but I think it is at a place that I am mildly happy with. It’s a completely ridiculous idea and I’m honestly a little insecure about it but fuck it!! Thanks for reading hope u enjoy<3 (title from Chinese satellite by Phoebe bridgers) listen to the playlist here!

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, f!reader, explicit content, yandere!dabi, stalking, Dabi hides in readers house without her knowledge, some paranoia, psychological abuse, slight yandere!reader, mentions of somnophillia but no actual instances of it, violence, non-consensual voyeurism (Dabi watches reader masturbate), unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, marking, biting (shoulder, neck), painplay, one mention of carving names into skin with no instance of it, mentions of blood (reader bites dabi’s neck and draws blood), use of good girl, mutual obsession

Words: 9.3k

He can’t breathe.

Dabi runs from the low-ranked hero, surprisingly fast on his tail as the distance between the two becomes smaller and smaller. With his lungs burning, his skin irritated from quirk use, and the lack of help from his peers, Dabi realizes that he needs to find a way to lose the ice quirk user that is quickly gaining on him.

Turning down a narrow alleyway, he’s disappointed to find that it’s a dead end. He pauses to catch his breath, keeping himself tucked tightly against the shadowy wall. Dabi surveys his surroundings, finding nothing but garbage before he looks up. He’s against an apartment building, he realizes, looking at the lights in the windows above him.

All windows are lit except one.

Dabi doesn’t have the time to wonder about the owner, shaking his head and forcing himself up the fire escape, preparing himself to use his quirk if it comes down to it. He breaks the lock on the darkened window and shuffles inside. He falls over a stack of books that sits underneath the window, freezing on the floor as he listens for any movement throughout the walls. When he hears nothing, he stands from the floor and closes the window, creeping down the hall in search of the other rooms. There’s one bathroom and a bedroom with no one inside, and relief rushes over Dabi as he feels his shoulders relax.

Keep reading

Tags

todoroki touya dabi dabi x reader to read dabi x you yandere dabi Touya dabi is touya yandere dabi x reader dark dabi x reader

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zukowantshishonourback

2 years ago

You don’t turn back. No matter how much his screams tear at your heart. No matter how painful each step was to take. Maybe your heart won’t ever heal from this. Maybe you’ll never be happy again.

But at least the man you love has a chance to be.

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x Reader, Bakugo Katsuki x Uraraka

Warnings: Contains mature content, mentions of cheating, alcohol, pregnancy and anxiety triggers

A/N: This was supposedly a one-shot that turned into a series. ❤ Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Bonus: Alternate Ending

Tags

bakugou katsuki bakugou katsuki bakugou katsuki bakugo x reader bakugou x reader katsuki x reader katsuki x you bnha x reader bakugo katsuki katsuki bakugo maybe angst masterlist katsuki bakugou x reader bakugo x reader bakugou x y/n Bakugou Katsuki x reader bakugou x you bakugo katsuki x reader bakugou angst series bakugou katsuki x reader series maybe masterlist

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zukowantshishonourback

2 years ago

and yes, now i'm here with you and i would like to think that you would stick around—

dabi x reader

wc: 11k+

warnings: 18+, explicit language, angst, dabi is really bad at feelings, referenced sexual content, referenced alcohol and substance use, dabi is just a bully, reader has a quirk

< < < part one | HOME PAGE

The first thing you need to know about Dabi, not Touya, is that he isn't your friend.

Okay, so yeah, you know he's alive. Doesn’t mean he’s gonna pop in and out of your apartment, joining you for dinner or bringing you flowers or something equally as humiliating. Not that you ever say anything about it, but he knows you want him to come around more, can tell by the little frown on your face whenever he insists he has to leave. The towel in your linen closet practically has his name on it, the couch always made up with a suspicious amount of pillows and a casual throw blanket (which is embarrassing—you couldn’t be more obvious). It makes him uncomfortable, seriously.

That's why he’s been such a good little boy and hasn’t come around that often (doesn’t even follow you anymore), maybe has stopped by when seeing you was an itch he just had to scratch. Dabi can count the number of times he’s knocked on your front door on one, scarred hand of his because it’s awkward now, you knowing his death was a ruse. Those beady little eyes of yours, always fixed on him, running over the ridges of his face like you were cementing the sight of him to the inside of your lids, like you were trying to peek through the gaps in his skin.

Gross.

It’s been six weeks since he’d seen you last, in the dark of your apartment as you moved around, cleaning up the mess he’d made. Sometime after 3:23 in the morning, he’d conveniently showed up, just as you were microwaving food you ended up offering him (even if it had been for yourself), and he’d fallen asleep in the middle of the painfully uninteresting recount of your shift. With his mouth all open, drool dripping down the side of his lips, head thrown back against the couch—the simple sound of you must have woken him up only a handful of minutes later. The lights had been turned off, that blanket over his lap, and you were in the kitchen, washing out his cup and plugging your laptop into its charger.

It had been a little nostalgic, him getting to watch you through lidded eyes, without you knowing.

When the light from your bathroom flashed in the hallway, just before the lavender smell of your body wash overwhelmed the entire place, he’d finally slipped away. Nearly busted his ass jumping out the window.

The second thing you need to understand about Dabi, not Touya, is that he’s a big fucking liar.

And if you keep asking him stupid questions, (where do you live? what do you do for a living? are you busy tomorrow? how’s your mom doing? ), he’s gonna get real fucking mad, and he’s gonna keep lying. For some reason, you don’t seem to believe he’s a door-to-door vacuum salesman—fuck knows why you can’t buy that—or that his mom changed her name and moved out of the country, works as a prostitute in Germany.

“That’s the last I heard of her, swear.”

The look you’d given him had been laughable, the deadpan expression on your little sunshine face. “I’m serious.”

Yeah, he knows, you always are. But, get this smarty-pants, he ain’t gonna fucking tell you, so stop asking.

The only questions you don’t ask him are the important ones, the ones he can tell you really wanna know, and that pisses him off even more somehow. Come on, sweetheart, just fucking ask already, why do you look like that now? why aren’t you a hero, like you wanted to be? since when did you become such a fucking asshole? That look in your eyes, the one you always fix him with, must be disgust or something, because it makes his rugged, burnt flesh crawl.

Sometimes you sit across from him at your kitchen table, as he tries not to devour the leftovers in your fridge like the starved animal he is, and tell him all about the stupid shit he already knows. Your brainless friends, why you work at the hospital, how many classes you’re taking online in the spring, what your favorite movies are—Dabi just grunts in response like this is all news to him and, if he’s feeling really soft, he’ll even ask a few pointed questions to keep you rambling.

“We should go to the cinema together, on my next day off.” With your chin in your palm, you’d said it under the dim light of your kitchen, smiling a little when he started choking. Water sloshed out of your glass when you slid it to him.

“Sounds great, doll, I’ll make sure to wear my Sunday best.”

“I’m serious—tsk, Dabi.” The free hand, the one not holding your head, reached across the table to slap lightly at his unmarked skin when he’d made a face and mocked you. “You don’t wanna go out with me?”

Whatever way you’d meant it, why you phrased it like that, and the little puppy dog look in your eyes: it all made him just start choking again. Stupid questions, all the damn time—which is why he needs you to understand he’s not your friend, which is why he can’t keep coming around your apartment. Awkward. Gross.

Don’t imply shit like that.

Another thing you need to know about DabiNotTouya, is that he’s not going to talk about it. In fact, don’t even bring up that day in the motel. As far as he’s concerned, it never happened. The little scar on your head has always been there, he would know.

Now he really wishes you’d give the sweatshirt back, though, because the first time he’d come to your apartment after the whole ordeal, you’d opened the door with messy hair and it draped over your body. What the fuck you were thinking, answering the door in such tiny shorts, is totally beyond him, but everytime he thinks about you rolling around in your bed, the fabric of his clothes rubbing against your tits, it gives him a really unfortunate boner.

It had that day, also, which is why he'd slipped out your bathroom window after starting the shower, leaving that fucking towel on your sink. Embarrassing, the reactions of the male body (because it didn't really have anything to do with you in particular—men get hard all the time).

There is still a little knot on your head, one that probably won’t ever go away, and—apparently—another blow to your brains like that could be instantly fatal. Dabi doesn’t really care, honestly, because if you get whacked in the middle of the night again, you deserve it—for walking home so late. If he had any money, he’d probably buy you a pink, sparkly little helmet just to rub it in your face. Maybe even dress you in some elbow pads, shin guards, give you some idiot-proof armor.

But then you might think the two of you are friends, so it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a cent to his name.

It’s been six weeks since he’d seen you last, since the smell of lavender made him shudder and ache, and he knows by now that you’ve seen the broadcast.

For some goddamn, stupid, motherfucking reason, you keep trying to get in contact with him—on his burner phone. Of all those movies you chatter about, none of them must be crime documentaries or gang related, because you call him by his stupid name in the fleeting little texts you send him, probably have Touya with little emojis saved to your contact list. Three times he’s screened a call from you—once in the middle of the day, another early in the morning (probably after you finished your shift), and the last, right before he’d started fucking celebrating.

By the time he realizes that it really is you, standing near the bar of the club he’s been in, almost 48 hours have passed since he’d hit ‘ignore’. Dabi has no idea how much alcohol he’s downed at this point, no idea what substances are making his bloodstream fucking sing, so when he thinks he sees your little sunshine face looking at him, he just assumes it’s an illusion.

(Here’s something Dabi doesn’t want you to know: sometimes he thinks about you. In the dead of night, when he showers, in the middle of conversations with Spinner—he thinks about what you must be doing at that exact moment. Somewhere, out there in the city, scrunching up your nose because you’re frustrated or smiling so wide because you’re laughing, doing your damndest to be a hero at work, sweating with all your effort. Thinking about him in return, wondering what he’s doing, worrying about it. Smiling and getting all hot, thinking about his hands on your body under that shitty water.)

(That last part is bullshit; you don’t remember anything from that day, had told him as much, just that the motel room seemed familiar and that’s why you’d shown up there after the hospital. Because something about it promised the sight of a kid you used to know, one from your class.)

There is a tight, little cat girl on his lap and she has been for hours, blowing smoke in his mouth, whispering filthy shit in his ear, but he’s been thinking about you—again—and pretending it’s your fingers popping the button on his jeans. It’s been relatively easy; the club is packed and so fucking loud, even though his head is pounding, he can close his eyes and pretend anything he wants.

That the blaring noise reverberating in his skull is just sounds from the movie on the screen, that the theater is empty—just the two of you sitting in it, somewhere at the back—and the weight on his lap is from you. You must be a little kinky, licking the hoop in his ear like that, and you giggle when his hips jerk as you slide your hand down the front of his pants. It’s so fucking hot, to be with you like this in an empty movie theater, because he’s wanted it for what feels like a goddamn eternity and now he can drop the act and sigh your name as you—

“What?”

The cat girl keeps purring, even keeps her tail wrapped around his leg when she pulls back to look down at him. It’s clear the name has been lost to her, because she doesn’t look pissed, just confused—as if she genuinely didn’t understand what he said—which only kills the new high he’d been chasing. Dabi is drunk as shit and he can feel his dick go limp under her hand, just as the rush of disappointment and reality rise up in him like a stomachache.

He can still see your face though, as if it’s watching on a couple feet from him, but all the sunshine has set on it. There isn’t a pout on your lips, but they’re open just a bit, brows furrowed and, oh fuck, your eyes. There is no puppy dog look in them, not even the kind you send him in the quiet of your apartment—they’re just wide and big and sad. Like you’re the one with the gaps in your skin, like they’ve been ripped open.

It makes his body cold all at once (which is fucking weird), this feeling like he’s a piece of shit boyfriend that’s ghosted the woman of his dreams for days, and now she’s caught him with a cat girl on his lap. As if she’s been trying to get ahold of him after the demons of his past had been revealed to the entire world—probably because she genuinely cares or something—and she’s even gone so far as to track him down in the dingiest of places. And she’s looking at him like she’s put her heart on a platter and given it to him, just for her ugly motherfucker, sorry goddamn excuse of a boyfriend to throw it on the ground and stomp it to bits, because he doesn’t know how to do anything but ruin.

The woman of his dreams knows she doesn’t deserve that shit, which is why she turns on her heel and begins to leave.

“Gettha’ fuck off’a me.”

By the time he manages to get to his feet, the girl is on the floor and hissing at him, but Dabi doesn’t care, because he’s busy doing what he’s always done—chasing you down, too many steps behind. Every one he takes is unsteady and he’s blinking rapidly with how hard he’s trying to focus, on the sight of your yellow dress, on the shine of your hair in the neon lights, of the curl of your little fist. It seems like all the substances in his system surge in his bloodstream, come up his throat (and go back down, as he stops and leans against someone so he can swallow), and nauseate him with every body he pushes through.

It all gets drowned out, though, by the anger he’s inherited from the man he despises most in this world—when someone grabs you by the arm and halts you in your tracks.

Of course it’s some big fucking guy, a tree trunk of a man that could crunch you in his fingers if he wanted to, pick his teeth with your bones.

(Look, Dabi totally has an eight pack—and he could show you, if you don’t believe him—but he’s not even half as wide as Enji. Fucking Natsuo has broader shoulders than him, and every muscle in Touya’s body is lean, probably a little malnourished. He’s never come across a fight that required his fists alone and that, coupled with the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a crowded club, when he can’t decide which vision of you is the real one, makes for a big fucking problem.)

Something comes out of his mouth, something completely unintelligible, but it’s lost along the music as he tries to close the distance between the two of you. Just as he starts to shout something again, you completely stun him; that fist uncurls, flattens out into a firm palm, and it slaps across the face of the man grabbing onto you. It actually gives Dabi a bit of a chub, makes him smirk as he sways back into the body behind him and mutters something that sounds like “fuck yeah”.

But then you’re getting backhanded into the floor and Dabi is launching his wiry body through the air before red finishes settling in front of his eyes.

If the two of you will ever stop getting into situations like this, when your precious, stupid little life is on the line, he doesn’t know—but he sure as fuck would like to. This is different than the time in the alley, because he’s the one on the ground, getting the shit knocked out of him, but he’s batshit insane anyway, so he just laughs the whole time. It’s like armor, this sick craziness he can wield, and though it’s dented and broken and dull, it still makes that tree fucker look nervous. Somehow he manages to get the upper hand once, manages to maneuver his lithe body on top of the guy, but then he realizes you’re screaming his name and grabbing for him.

It stuns him again, when his elbow rockets back and hits you square in the nose, when he watches with wide eyes as tears well up in yours, as blood starts spurting down over your lips.

And then staples are coming loose in his face as knuckles crack across his cheek.

Maybe you already know this about Dabi and Touya, maybe you don’t: sometimes, that fire of his burns so hot, it makes his skin peel away from his bones. The burning pain and sting of it all is starting, welling up in him like an ugly vice when he’s finally had enough of this little game, but then something pricks in his neck and it’s like a bucket of water has been dumped over him.

The flames die out in his hand so fast, it makes his head spin, and Dabi somehow manages a breath before he looks back at you, before a cold panic sobers him up when he sees the club owner with a gun pointed at your chest. It almost makes him piss himself, but a little tack just comes out the end of the barrel and he watches your lips form around an 'ow’ before you tug it out of your skin. A loud groan of relief is released from his mouth at the realization you haven’t been shot to death before his eyes and it even makes him forget about the fight, until a heavy hand is twisting in his hair and his feet are dragging across the dance floor.

The quiet night air almost hurts his ears with its silence, the cold nips at his sweaty face as the concrete rushes up to meet him. More staples come loose with the bust of his head against the ground and he can’t tell what on him is blood or perspiration, maybe some of it is even alcohol or his vomit. It makes him think of how disgusting you’d been in that motel room, almost makes him laugh at the irony of it all—how the two of you always end up like this. The night sky is empty, much plainer than the walls of the club had been, but that somehow just hurts his head as a myriad of colors and shapes swirl in his vision.

The only thing he’s sure of is your face leaning over his, that the look in your eye isn’t as sad as it once had been. It’s a good thing he’s already on the ground, because it might have knocked him to his knees, and he says something questionable that only makes you shake your head.

“Touya,” When you sigh, a bead of blood drips from your nose, down your chin, and onto his lips.

The trek back to you apartment is fucking awful and damn near impossible.

At one point in time, during his youth, Touya had been shorter than you. Not by a lot, but it didn’t matter, it was just as embarrassing, and there is some kind of juvenile glee he gets now that his frame is towering over yours (even if he's still not as tall as his younger brother). Despite the blow to his skull and the fear you were gonna get blasted to Hell, there is still so much crap swimming in his head, he doesn’t care that the two of you are touching; your arm is wrapped around his thin waist, his is draped over your shoulders as you help him stumble down the sidewalk.

Blood is staining your little dress, turning the white flowers red, but you hug him close regardless. Sometimes he steps too wide or unsteady and it takes all your effort to keep the two of you upright, him on the inside of the sidewalk, away from the streetlamps, and it makes him laugh as you grunt his name.

Out there, in the night, it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the world, like the only ones in a dark theater. Something warm spreads in his chest at that thought, that maybe this is even romantic, but then he just starts sputtering out a cackle again because holy fuck, is that embarrassing.

Dabi doesn’t even realize you’ve stopped and are standing a little in the street, that his mouth is against your hair as he mutters, “I’m tall, huh?”

“Yes, Dabi, you are tall.” You sound a little annoyed with him, but it doesn’t bother him as much as it should. At least not for the moment.

When you raise your hand a little and wave it around, he thinks you’re trying to get his attention and he grunts at you, slouching down further, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, and it’s only then that he realizes a car is pulling up in front of the two of you. Dabi whips his head back so fast, his stomach lurches.

“Come on, get in.”

“What’re ya’ doing?”

With a huff, you try to usher him into the cab. “I can’t carry you all the way home.”

“’m not gettin’ in that fucking thing.”

The driver swivels around in his seat, glancing between the two of you, probably wondering what the hold up is. Even drunker than shit, Dabi wants to ask what the fuck you’re thinking, if you’re even thinking at all, as he instinctively tries to slink back into the dark. That feisty hand of yours latches onto his at lightning speed to stop him.

This is something he thought you already knew about him, that he can’t just go waltzing around in public, as if his face hadn’t been blasted all over the television, as if he wasn't a known and wanted criminal. There are a lot of choice words forming on his tongue, ones that he wants to say because he knows they’ll hurt your feelings, but you’re already slipping in the leather seats, tugging him hard enough that he nearly hits his head on the roof of the car.

The minute you can, you buckle his seatbelt and give the driver your address, even lean all up against him as his entire body goes rigid.

“Relax,” You try to tell him, but he absolutely does not do that.

First of all, Dabi hates seeing the streetlights pass him by like that, especially with his head reeling, and it makes him feel sicker than he already does. Yellow and black, yellow and black, yellow and black, lights and then darkness; it’s a damn nightmare for his headache. Second of all, why the hell are you so cramped up on him, anyway? Blocking him in, shoving your shoulder against his chest, trapping him like the cab is speeding to the hospital, so you can check his crazy ass into the nut house.

Fucking traitor.

For a brief moment, he looks down at your face, tries to read the tired sheen in your eyes, watches the gentle way you dab at your nose, to see if he can find any truth to this theory. There is a small bead of sweat at your temple and his eyes narrow at it suspiciously. If his heart wasn't beating out of his chest at the fear of being in a public cab, a lot of accusations would start flying, but if he opens his mouth, vomit will probably come out and get all in your fucking hair. If he needs to use that to distract you so he can escape in the near future, then he better hold onto his guts.

The glare he's sending you must be burning a hole in the side of your face, because you angle it up at him, get even more in his personal space, blow your minty breath on his lips as you ask him if he's alright.

And then things start spinning again, start making him feel warm like before. As if the darkness of this backseat and the flash of the streetlights are all just scenes in the movie, the ambiance in the theater, and the two of you are the only ones that exist. Only two tickets got sold for the showing of this crap—something girly and cheesy, something about a witch and her broomstick and a cat—and the whole room is dark enough that you can’t see the burns on his skin, the gaps in his face.

Dabi is such a fucking pussy, so he slurs something like, "oh, shit," as you stare at him like that.

But then the cab driver flips around in his seat with a surprised gasp and you’re shoving yourself even further into him, pressing the back of your head into his face and holding up your hands.

“Please keep driving.”

All Touya smells is lavender, all he feels is the warmth of your back against his chest. It’s too warm. When he shifts his head, the tip of his nose bumps against the shell of your ear and he thinks about you in that shower again. The copper of your breath, the faraway look in your eyes. How easily you'd let him hold you like that, even looking like he does, even after so much time. For some crazy reason, the muscles in Dabi's hands twitch and his fingers tighten on the fabric of your ruined dress.

“I know what you’re thinking, but please keep driving and I’ll pay you extra not to say anything to anyone.”

You stay like that for the remainder of the ride, only looking back at his face once, nose brushing against his as you check his eyes to make sure he’s alright—and the whole action sends his stomach into his fucking throat. One of your hands pats his, the one fisted in your dress, and your fingers even run over his knuckles softly, in a way that makes him want to lean his head back and pass out in this cab.

Or die. The plushy, sick softness of it all makes him want to just fucking die.

Another thing: Dabi can only do this like this, if you're wondering at all. Can only be quiet like this, can only touch you like this, when he can't feel your eyes on his face. If you're not looking at him, maybe you don't know. Maybe it's like before, when he could sit in the dark of your bedroom and count your quiet breaths as you slept, when he could close his eyes and pretend that it would be normal for him to crawl in with you, if he wanted to.

When you fish a (probably) outrageous amount of money out of your purse and toss it to the driver, he just keeps his head down, partially in shame, because his anger had come and gone so fast after you'd just looked at him, and partially because his neck is fucking tired. After you push him out of the cab does he realize the two of you are not in front of your apartment building, that you lied about your address just in case.

The walk up the block is a little less painful and Dabi doesn’t let you touch his hands this time, just wobbles around on his own.

It takes longer than it should for him to get up the stairs; every time he starts to fall, a reflexive laugh comes out of him as he throws his arms in the air, and you have to plant your feet into the ground, push your back up against his in order to further him along.

On the second floor landing, you say the line, you say, “Dabi, I’m serious,” when he pushes back against you, which only expels an exaggerated, exasperated groan from his throat, and then he lets you lean him against the wall while you unlock your front door. The couch isn’t made up and that surprises him, almost makes him a little mad, makes him instantly come to the conclusion you’d had company over, but he slumps down on it all the same. He starts to make a half-hearted inquiry about who you fucked on the cushions he’s sitting on when he realizes you’re not even next to him, that you’re piddling around in your kitchen. The absence of you gives him a small bit of reprieve and he tries to get himself the fuck together.

“Are you hot?”

When he opens his eyes—that he hadn’t realized he’d closed—you are holding an ice pack against his forehead, using some of the wetness to wipe at the blood there. There are two dried, crimson rings around your nostrils and a small, budding bruise right at your cupid’s bow, one that is just a little indigo in the shitty light of your apartment. The skin of his jaw is rough and he’s so caught up in looking at your swollen lip that he doesn’t realize you’re touching him there, doesn’t register the pressure of your fingers right away, but he smacks your hand away when he finally does.

“‘m fine, don’t touch me.”

The look you send him is surprisingly irritated and, now that the stillness of your apartment is shrouding him in peace, he can feel the laxity in his cheek when he grins. The staples are still in his face, just stretched out too far, so he tries to dig his fingers into his mouth to pinch them back together, but you stop him.

“Your hands are dirty!” You cry, like a little bit of bacteria is gonna kill him.

Get this, smarty-pants, a lot of things have tried to kill him, it ain’t gonna be some germs that take him out.

"Don' touch me."

With a sigh, the ice pack drops to your lap, eyes traveling over his face in that too-studious way you always do. Dabi has this urge, to grab the loose part of his cheek and pull at it so you can see his skin stretch, see all his ugliness up close, but the look in your big, Bambi eyes tells him you can already see it, without even trying. Your tongue comes out to lightly run over the puffiness of your lip, which grabs his attention (and you totally do that shit on purpose), and the absence of the ice on his forehead makes him realize just how hot he's running, like the heat is on in your apartment or something.

"You mad at me?" He doesn't know why he asks, maybe because some part of him thinks it's funny—he's seen your face for 11 years and none of your weak anger has ever been directed at him—and because some part of him really wants to know. If it's this easy to get under your skin, then you're in for a rough ride, princess.

Almost instantly, you open your mouth and start shaking your head, but, after a moment of looking at him, you close it and sigh—as if you actually might be. It makes him sputter out a silent laugh.

"No, Touya, I'm not mad at you." Is what you say, and it's so soft and distracting that he doesn't care when you put that ice pack on his forehead again. “I just—” It looks like you’re sad, ashamed even, the way you stare down at the couch cushions. “I wish I knew, that—I just wonder if there was something I could have said or done to—”

The broadcast, him, you’re talking about him; Dabi is drunker than shit, but it’s still sitting at the forefront of his mind, that fucking hilarious look on Enji’s face, how Shouto’s voice had gone hoarse from yelling so hard. All the dirty laundry in the Todoroki family, aired out for the world—you included—to see.

Whatever the hell you’re trying to say pisses him off.

“My bad,” Dabi rolls his eyes and knocks your hand away again, because you apparently don’t know anything about personal space. “Sorry I didn’t stop during our games of pretend to tell you my dad was a total fuckstick.”

The ice pack goes to your lip as you slump into the couch, looking defeated (which is funny), and you bring it away from your mouth two times like you’ve got some kind of rebuttal, but it just ends with a shake of your head. When you look at him again, Dabi realizes you’ve seen him without a shirt on, over the television, which is what he’d wanted, but you’re looking at his neck and his ears and his hands, and you must be envisioning what you saw then, wherever you were when it came across the screen.

“Say something,” he mutters, feeling perspiration drip down the back of his neck, “don’t just stare at me all stupid like that.”

A flat, unamused look flashes over your face just before you shift your body completely in his direction, laying your head on the couch to look straight at him. It makes his lips curl, especially the little smile on your annoying face. “Do you remember that game of tag we used to play? When I would touch you—”

And Touya would have to stand stone still, wherever he was, only could start moving freely again—out of your Mind Freeze—if he successfully completed a dare of your choice (and they were all stupid: "do a cartwheel” or “hang upside down in the tree” or “run three times around the playground”). If he caught up to you during the game, touched your arm or leg, you were forbidden from using it for one full round, because it was “burned”.

Embarrassing.

“No.” His eyes are on the hole in his jeans, the small one right above his knee. “I don’t ‘member any’a that shit.”

“Hmm,” There is a smile on your face, he can tell without even looking at you, because you’re always so fucking obvious. “I remember—always winning, of course.”

It’s bait and he’s not that stupid. Nice try, smarty-pants.

“Doesn’t really sound like the you I ‘member.” Dabi risks a glance out of the corner of his eye, sees the lump on your lip darkening a bit, sees the way your cheek squishes against your hand when you tuck it between your face and the couch. “Couldn’t even use your quirk without losing your guts.”

The small kick against his shin isn’t accidental.

When you shift a little closer to him, he sits back, further into the cushions. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you don’t remember, then.” You make a teasing sound as you stick your tongue out at him.

The long-sleeve he’s wearing is sticking to him, clinging to the textured skin of his back. Sweat drips down behind his ears and it’s not from the ice pack—which has melted down to water—like he had originally thought. It’s fucking burning up in this apartment of yours, what the fuck? If he closes his eyes, he can almost envision it’s crawling all over his skin, that blue fire, peeling back all the layers of his stapled face.

It’s almost like you’re waiting to see it, looking at him like that. Like you’re waiting to see what hides in all the ugliness, in the meat of his muscles and the char of his bones.

“You know,”

Maybe if Dabi didn’t feel like he was melting into a puddle of human goo, he would feel a bit cold as you start saying this soft bullshit.

“You were the first boy I ever had a crush on.”

A sick fucking freak, that’s what you are. Waiting on his reaction, trying to dissect the way sweat is drenching him, watching every breath he tries to pant out. It must be why you’ve got the heat on—it must be—trying to trap him and force him to come out of his skin, to see all the hatred that’s kept him burning all these years. What you want with it, what you want him to say to that, he has no clue.

It’s like you’re using that loser, piece of crap quirk of yours, digging your fingers into the staples just to pull them out, just to see him unfurl into pieces.

Dabi feels hot, like really hot. Hot like he does when his skin burns, hot like he had hugging Shouto, hot like he had at Sekoto. Hot like he had under that tree.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” You sigh, finally turning your face away to close your eyes, furrowing your eyebrows as you run your tongue over that swollen bruise on your lip again. “I lit incense for you, too, at the grave.” The words come out a little stuttered, a little different, like you’re the embarrassed one. “One thing I realized about death is that—well, of course it’s never easy, it always hurts, but there’s something about being a kid and—and one day your friend just stops showing up to play.”

There is a faraway look on your face, staring absentmindedly at the television, as if you’re remembering. The little version of you he’d known comes to his mind, the one he tagged, the one he kissed (or kissed him, really), and he tries to imagine you on the playground alone.

It’s never been something he’s thought about, never something he had the luxury of thinking about. A few weeks had passed before he screwed his head back on right, before he found you again, and you must have figured it out by then.

Maybe if Dabi cared about anything other than himself, maybe if he could cry, his eyes would be a little swollen right about now.

“At school, they never told us, you know, no one. Even after the paper came out, even after we asked about it, no one would say anything. It was—” One of your hands goes into your hair and you tug at it, like the memory still stresses you out or something. “—frustrating. And the entire time, we’re all just waiting, stuck as kids no one listens to, just trying to find out what happened to our friend and if—”

To his absolute horror, your voice cracks.

“I just wanted to know if you were coming back.”

Out of the corner of his eye—because he’s sure as fuck not going to look at you—he can see you wipe your tears, hears you sniff up a bunch of snot. The spot beneath his palm on the couch has gone dark with his sweat, he can feel what’s gathered in the collar of his shirt. If he still dyed his hair, it would be running down his face, the way your mascara is.

“It had a monumental impact on my life, being young and losing you like it.”

There’s one last thing you need to understand about Touya. If you peeled back the layers of his skin, took all his staples out, dug through all the ugliness—

“It still does have a monumental impact on me, you did in the alleyway that day. You do now.”

—there’d be a little version of you, standing under a tree, blood on your lips.

It’s buried so far in there, in the tendons and hot blood of him, you’ll probably be stuck there forever. Not even his own hands could dig it out, no matter how hard he tries, or has tried. It’s a curse, a terrible, sweaty sickness. A chink in the crazy armor he thought he’d forged.

It’s his only weakness, the only thing that could ruin him. Maybe it already has.

There’s a question simmering on his tongue, one he’s always had, and Dabi can feel himself fucking losing it, so he tries to cling onto the only emotion that makes sense. “Then how did you find out?”

When you swivel your head to finally look at him, you see the mess he’s melted into and sit up in a hurry. “Touya, you’re—I think you should get in the shower.”

Before you can spring to your feet, he’s beaten you. Fists clenched, the answer he already knows, all the emotions he’s tried to bury—all thrumming in him like the headache behind his eyes. “How did you find out what happened?”

“We can have this conversation later, after you cool off.” You step toward him and he steps back, until he’s slipping against the wall. “Take your shirt off, it’s soaked, Touya, we—”

This time, when you reach for him, he grabs your hands in his and squeezes, wants to turn your fingers to ash under his palms with how pissed off you’re making him. Rage is twisting his face the way it always does, the way he hadn’t wanted you to see once. “Answer my fucking question. Now.”

“I asked Enji.” It’s obvious that you’re saying the wrong thing, he can see the way awkward regret is blooming on your face (there’s a bitter part of him that is giddy about that—welcome to his world, where saying the wrong thing is only natural). “They wouldn’t tell us what happened, I had no choice! I cared about you, I deserved to—”

“You’re crazy!” Dabi shoves you—hard, because you fucking deserve it—and his hands fly to his damp hair. “What the hell is wrong with you? Asking him? Why the fuck would you do that?” The tone of his voice is hysterical, almost two octaves higher than it usually is, and panic makes you sweat. Another wave of heat rolls over him and almost makes him heave.

“You were my friend, Touya, what else was I supposed—”

“Fuck! You’re nothing but’a huge problem for me, you know that?”

Everything Dabi has ever needed to be, everything he has the chance to be, comes crashing down at the simplest bat of your stupid fucking eyelashes, and it’s finally driven him insane.

Did that mean Enji knew? Or Shouto?

Only days ago, when he’d shown them the man he’d become—how heartless and bitter, how strong and unbreakable—did they watch on with that stupid look, knowing what had happened underneath that tree? Did they know the fucking weakling, the fucking coward, he had once been in your mere prescence?

Wrapped around your stupid finger, turning red and dreaming about you at night, imagining himself—fuck—imagining all the things the two of you would be when you were older.

Rei had to keep popping out kids for a man that forced her into a fake, bullshit marriage; Touya didn’t know what love was, wouldn’t know it if it slapped him in his stupid, chubby face, but there was something he had felt at school, when he saw a girl, when she played tag and talked about their future as heroes—there was something that felt real good about that.

It was distracting, you were (still fucking are), and the last thing he needed during all his training was a damn girl to steal his mind to other possibilities, to other futures—but you had regardless.

And Enji wasn’t supposed to know. Not then, not now, not ever.

“We weren’t friends! We were never friends, I—I hated your annoying ass.”

Finally, he hurts your stupid feelings; your nostrils flare and another flat look tries to shine over the sadness in your eyes. “You don’t need to talk to me like this.”

“Fuck, you were pathetic!” The laugh he lets out is all Dabi, all crazy and furious and fire. “I should have killed you, just like I wanted to!”

“Touya, stop.”

Dabi takes a step towards you, another one when you back up from him, and grabs the front of your shirt. Any minute now, it’s going to burst into flames and maybe, if he’s lucky, you’ll fuck out of his life forever. “I wanted to dig your eyes out with a spoon while your parents were sleeping. I wanted you to scream and cry and—”

“No, you didn’t.”

“—while you asked me why, why, why me? so I could finally tell you how much I hated you.”

It only infuriates him more, the look on your face, which isn’t as scared as he wants it to be. Which isn’t really scared at all.

“I daydreamed about it every day, I fucking jacked it to the thought of your dead, rotting body laying six feet—”

“I’ve been inside your head.” Your hands come to wrap around his, which prompts him to yank them back. “In the alleyway, trying to find out who you were. I know, Touya, I know that you’re lying, so please,” with a sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut, “stop talking to me like that.”

Every part of you is sick and soft and quiet, from the look on your pinched face to the shaking hands that reach for him again, and Dabi realizes it is something he has never known. What does all of it even mean, anyway? The tone of your laugh when he makes an ugly face at you, when he mocks the stupid questions you ask, when he rolls his eyes at your fucking implications. All of you, every last piece of you, has always been a mystery to him, one he wasn’t able to leave unsolved.

When he yells at you like this, you’re supposed to turn away and you are supposed to cry. When he raises his hands to strike you, to burn you into fucking nothing, you are supposed to be afraid, you are supposed to fear the scorch of his flames against your skin, the ones that will turn you into him. When he ignores your calls and doesn’t come around as often as you want him to, you are supposed to get it. You are supposed to know you’ve been replaced—by a cat girl, one that is more talented than you, one that fucks better—and he is supposed to turn away and forget you existed.

But none of that ever seems to fucking happen.

“What?” His voice has gone hoarse, “You don’t know anything.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Though he’s the one with the fist raised, though he’s the one with sweat slicking his hair to his neck, though he’s the one that’s put that bruise on your lip, an apology is evident in every word you speak. “I just wanted to know who you were, I didn’t mean to see it all.”

The only response he gives you is the thunderous beat of his heart in his chest, the wide-eyed look on his ugly mug.

“I wanted to tell you and talk to you about it, but you come around so rarely and you never answer when I—” You shake your head, “I’m not blaming you, I’m sorry. But then everything happened and—” In the black screen of the television, he sees how trapped he looks when you gesture to it. How small he looks. How Touya-like he looks. “—and I just never got the chance to, before now.”

Every thought he’s ever had about you makes him sway on his feet. Every lustful thought, every remembrance of the jokes you’d told him as kids, of the games you played, of the looks you’d given him. Every horrible thought he’s ever had about you—sincere and in an attempt to stuff his feelings back down his throat. All the wanting he’d ever done, for the future, for the past, for now. It’s all laying out in front of him, between the space on the carpet between the two of you. Like he’d vomited it all up. Like you’d peeled back the layers of his skin and dug it all out of him.

“You’re full of shit.”

“No, Touya, I’m—” Frustration flashes over your face again and you rub at the crease between your eyebrows, dab at your nose, tongue the bruise on your lip. “I would never lie to you, I need you to know that.”

“Yes you are,” Pressing himself further into the wall behind him, he whispers, “Yes, you are lying. I know you are.”

“What makes you think I’m lying about this?”

“In the alleyway, that wasn’t the first time you’ve ever put your fingers inside my brain.” The first time he’d met you, at that fucking private school, when you told him about your quirk, he hadn’t believed you. Some kind of mind game bullshit? How was that fair? A nobody-girl, one that wasn’t even from a prominent family, like Touya was, would rise through the ranks as a Pro in no time flat, with an OP quirk like that.

When he asked you to tell him what he was thinking, to prove it, you’d gone quiet, flinched a little, and told him that the burns on his shoulders were hurting him. It was the first day he’d met you, wearing a school uniform, one that covered him up in a way that hid it all—from his teacher, from Enji, from a nobody, smarty-pants girls like you; there was no way for you to know that kinda shit.

Whatever he wants to say next doesn’t come out, not even when he opens his mouth and gasps like a dying, stinking fish. Maybe if Dabi could cry, he would be.

If you could read his mind in half a second, in the alleyway, to know, then how did you not know then? In the classroom, peeking inside his mind, knowing about the burns and somehow not knowing about it all. About Enji. About the Hell he was living.

It all seems to dawn on you, all your petty, stupid fucking lies, and you take a step forward. “I didn’t know back then because I didn’t know how to use it yet. I—I still don’t! Because I can’t, Touya!”

“It doesn’t make sense, no matter what you say. Because you’re lying.”

“If I had known what you were going through, don’t you think I would have—” For some reason, you start crying, like you’re the victim here. Like you’re the one with the gaps in your skin and the burns on your body and the hate in your stomach. Like you’re the one that fucking lost it. “I didn’t know how to use my quirk back then, in order to see more than what you were thinking. I cared about you, I still do! If I had known—”

“Shut up!” Dabi raises his hands, curls them in the way he does when he wants to burn everything around him. He grabs you then and he doesn’t care about the gentle way you’re touching him, doesn’t care about the hands on his or the breath on his face when he drags you closer. “You’re a liar!”

“You’re burning up, you have to calm down!” Still, you aren’t scared of him, just trying to wipe the sweat pooling all over his face and neck. Pleading and crying, just like he wants, but the worry dancing in your eyes isn’t for yourself.

“I’m going to kill you, right now!”

You can’t know. You can’t know all the things he’s thought about you. You can’t know him like that because no one does, not even Dabi knows all the things about Touya like that.

“If you don’t calm down, you’re going to roast yourself alive, Touya, you’re overheating!”

“Right now, I’m going to do it! Just like I’ve always wanted!” He’s going to shove his thumbs in your eyes, he’s going to snap your pretty little neck, he’s gonna cut you up—just like you’ve done to him. Hands on your jaw, fingers cradling your face: he’s ready.

Any minute now.

Any second, he’s going to finally do it.

They’ll close that movie theater down. No one will ever go there again. It will all be reduced to ashes.

“Touya, please.”

Any moment now. He can do it, no problem. Absolutely no problem.

But your fingers cradle his face, and then you push them up his nose and in his ears and everything gets cool, just for a little while. Just enough that he can finally lean his head back against the couch you’ve made up for him, just enough so that he can finally sleep.

The first thing Dabi knows when he wakes up is that he’s in your bed (it takes him a long time to figure this out—what with the migraine and sour taste in his mouth and all that), and he knows this because the mattress is way too soft to be his, there are too many pillows all around him, and your smell is invading every piece of him.

The second thing he knows is that he’s wearing the sweater again—and that you must have put it on him, which means you’d seen—and then that the sheets are a little damp from all the towel-wrapped bags of ice near his neck, his hands, his thighs. It all comes painfully flashing back to him, the night before, and it’s a testament to how tired he is—seriously—because he doesn’t really do anything, just lays there like a dead, stinking fish.

There are two piles of sheets balled up on your floor, stained with blood, stained with (what is obviously) his vomit, and he can faintly hear your washer banging across the apartment. For a minute, he wonders if this is how you felt, laying for 30 minutes in that bathtub—somehow alive, but feeling like death—fading in and out from the world around you, thoughts coming and going like the breeze from the ceiling fan above him.

Today, whatever time it is (late afternoon, maybe?), Touya is too exhausted to put up the act.

It’s embarrassing, the way he wraps his arms over his face and breathes you in, the soft little groan he lets out when the smell of lavender subdues his headache for a moment. His tight jeans are still on, though they’ve been unbuttoned, zipper down, and—with all the wiggling he’d done in his sleep—they’ve come down uncomfortably around his ass. It takes a long time before he moves his arms, before he pulls them back on right and rolls out of bed.

The idea of you makes his stomach hurt, so he doesn’t go there just yet.

Peeking out of your room, there is no sign of anyone else in the apartment, and Touya quickly pads across the hall and into your bathroom, leans against the door when he closes it and holds his breath, just in case you’re gonna pop out somewhere.

It’s hard to meet himself in the mirror, always is.

Somehow, the burns under his eyes look worse, darker, and two of the staples in his cheek are more crooked than usual. Part of his hair is flattened against his head and the other parts are wild, a little crimped and folded, and running a hand through it all doesn’t do a fucking thing, which makes him snort. It’s strangely domestic, the rugged sight of him in your bathroom, wearing a sweater that was originally his, that he’d seen on you, that you’d put back on him.

The bristles on your toothbrush are stained pink, but he brushes the sour taste of puke out of his mouth anyway—no, he’s not gonna tell you about that.

When there’s nothing left to do but face you, Touya wonders what else you’ve seen in this crazy head of his. In between the time since you’d read his mind in the alleyway and last night, he’d worried about you, thought about the future the two of you were supposed to have. He’s wanted you, and a date at the cinema, jacked off to the thought of your tits under his sweater (and a bunch of other things, honestly), cursed himself for being such an asshole by ignoring you, and hated you. Every part of you he couldn’t understand, every part of you he wanted to.

That laptop of yours is open, the headset around your neck as something dull and boring drones on quietly, and you look at him for a long time before hitting your spacebar, before taking off the headphones and standing up to approach him.

The bruise on your lip has fully settled and it’s ugly.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” You’re whispering, which is nice for his headache. When he shrugs, you turn back to the table and grab a piece of buttered toast from your plate, the piece that isn’t bitten, and offer it to him.

And he’s too tired to fight, so he just takes it and moves around you, away from the way you’re looking at him—soft, like fucking always—and slumps down on your couch. It’s been made up, with the blanket and the pillows; you must have slept on it last night.

The toast crunches real loud, gets crumbs all over him that he swipes onto the carpet, and some are clinging to your cheek when you eventually come to sit beside him. Dabi thinks it’s too close, Touya thinks it’s too far away, and all three of you just stare at the empty television screen. Out of the corner of his eye, you’re opening and closing your mouth, sighing quietly, and it almost makes him laugh, it would if it didn’t require so much effort.

Then the apologies start.

“I’m sorry for knocking you out like that.” All the words are still whispered. “I don’t know if you remember,”—he does—“but they shot us with suppressants, at the bar, and you were overheating.”

Suppressants. That Yakuza fuck.

It makes you sound real small and sad, with your Bambi eyes and sunset face. “I was afraid you were gonna cook yourself alive, so I—”

“‘s’fine.” Touya grunts, and you just nod in response.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it earlier, I should have made time to find you.” The huff you let out is a little bitter, too harsh for someone like you. “I did it just fine yesterday, I should have tried harder before then.”

None of this really means anything to him, so he shifts a little bit—cringes—and looks at you. “How did you find that place?”

“You’ve been there before,” Even though it’s all out in the open, you seem shy about admitting it, which is real fucking hilarious. “It’s the second place I looked.”

The image of you, in that yellow dress, wandering down streets and sidewalks, looking in the places he hangs around, makes him want to throw up. What the fuck are you thinking? Another blow to the head will kill you, stupid, so why are you walking around like a ripe little peach, around people that would love to take a bite?

(There is a small, uncaged part of him that feels warm about it, that makes Touya feel like he did at school with you; the idea that you had searched high and low, slapped guys that grabbed you, tried to talk to him about his embarrassing fucking feelings—it all makes you seem like a mystery again.)

You’re quiet after that, thoughts flashing over your face as you lightly touch the bruise on your lip, and it pisses him off suddenly. All of his memories and daydreams, all of his fears and wants and desires, all of his plans and secrets have all been strewn out before him like a disemboweled pig, and you get to sit quietly with all your own feelings.

“Tell me what you’re thinking. Now.” When you raise your eyebrows at him, his face scrunches up like that of a child, like it probably did back then. “I deserve to know.”

Because you’re an annoying little goody-goody, you just shrug.

“I think that’s fair.” You shift to face him, the way you had last night. “I’m thinking that I’m still worried about you overheating. I’m thinking that I’m tired, that I’m upset with myself.” A frown pulls on your lips. “I’m thinking that...you’re going to leave, and I’m worried you won’t come back this time.”

Not in some you’re-gonna-die-out-there kinda way, but in some you’ll-never-talk-to-me-again kinda way. It’s as plain as day on your face and he, Dabi, thinks it’s good that you feel that way, that you should. Because he, Dabi, shouldn’t ever speak to you again because he’s been compromised, he’s been found out. All the secret inside shit you aren’t supposed to know has come to the surface—in fact, you dived into that water to find it yourself—and, by the rules of the street, he shouldn’t come around you again. He should kill you, actually, to prevent anything from happening to him or his mission.

“I’m thinking that I regret not trying to find you sooner, when we were kids. I maybe could have done it, I don’t know,” You shrug again and it becomes obvious how tired you are. It must have been a long night, for the both of you, after you’d finally shut him up. “But I’m also thinking there is no use regretting, because it won’t change the past. I’m thinking that,” Bambi eyes, big and worried and sad and gentle. “I just have to keep trying, for the future.”

For once, he doesn’t know what to say. Or think. Or do.

Because nobody has ever tried for him, for Touya, not like you have.

A little chuckle comes out of you, brings his eyes back to your face, and he’s surprised to find it a little shy. “I’m also thinking that it’s a little silly for me to be sad, because I should have known there were other women in your life, after all this time.”

And that confuses the hell out of him, makes him roll his eyes and shake his head—painfully—as he tries to figure out what the fuck you’re talking about.

“What?” It’s absurd, really, this idea that he’s the kinda guy worried about other women, that he’s the kinda guy that has a multitude of them stored in his back fucking pocket or something. Toga? He wouldn’t call her a woman, more like a noisy little brat that could go to Hell, for all he cared. “What other women?”

The smile on your face wavers, like you want to drop it into a frown, but you hold it steady. “I don’t know, just, whoever. Like the one from last night.”

Are you kidding?

Your stupid ass quirk has reached into the recesses of his mind and broken open that seal, spilled his guts all over the floor of your apartment and cleaned it up with your sheets, and you still think—

“The cat girl? I don’t even—I couldn’t tell you her name if my life depended on it.”

“Oh,” The laugh you let out is a little surprised, but your face still looks pinched and upset. “I don’t—uh—I don’t know if that’s better or worse, actually.”

“There are no 'other women', smarty-pants.” Touya scoffs and leans closer to you, sneers in your face so you fucking get the point. “Use that brain of yours, Miss College Classes, there ain’t no one else, just—”

When he cuts himself off, you raise your eyebrows, lean closer to him in response—which sends him back to the other end of the couch. “Just?”

This is so stupid, makes him cross his arms in annoyance as a wave of embarrassment heats up his whole body. “If you wanna know so damn bad, just read my mind again. You seem to have a real affinity for that!”

“Touya,” You chide, “I’m serious. Just—?”

Here’s one last thing to know: he isn’t going to say it. Absolutely not. If you wanna cough up blood and dig through the gaps of him to find out, be his fucking guest, but he is not going to say it. Not even if you scoot closer, not even if you put your hand on his—not even if he lets you—and certainly, not even if you run your tongue over that bruise on your lip.

You do that shit on purpose and he knows it.

“Get out of my face.”

But you don’t.

It makes his head crane back, the way your minty breath hits his lips again, the way your nose nudges his like it had in the cab, and—even though any and all thoughts from last night are painful—it has the same fucking effect. Everything about you is soft and touchy, your fingers over his cheekbone, your eyes watching him, your lips on his.

Touya hasn’t ever done anything softly, doesn’t even know how to, but he tries. Because he’s too exhausted to put up the act anymore, too eager for this to finally happen, too distracted to care about the gaps in his skin. He tries because he’s been ready to cross this boundary with you for a long time, too long, maybe because the two of you did that day in the motel. Touya tries for you because you’re the only one that tries for him.

When he pushes his lips back in response, a little breath comes out of your nose and fans across his face, makes him stop pulling his head away from you so he can move his chapped lips against yours, so he can nip lightly at your bottom lip and so he can dig one of his hands into your hair. A little sigh of relief is exhaled between the two of you and he moves in closer, presses his lips a little harder, so he can lick into your mouth, the hand on the back of your neck pulling you into him. The metal in his tongue must surprise you, because a little sound squeaks out of you; it isn’t one of arousal or pleasure, but just the mere fact that your lips are slotted together, that you’re making little noises against him, finally gives him the energy to nearly push you back into the couch.

“Ow,” The word murmurs around his lips and he pulls back instantly, eyes wide and zero-ing in on the purple bruise marring your face.

It’s fucking hilarious; he’s finally getting the chance to kiss you, for the second time in his pitiful life, and—of course—your lips would be too tender for him, with the injury he gave you. Fucking great. So fucking funny, in retrospect.

If he backs out now, he might lose his wits and jump through your window again, so Touya just adjusts his head and presses another kiss into the corner of your mouth. It makes you laugh, how hard he tries not to smash into that bruise, and he keeps pressing his lips to yours, keeps licking into them, digging his fingers into your scalp, even as you say his name.

“What?” He grunts, finally pulling away from you when you laugh again. Your hands follow him, lay gently on his cheeks—and he lets you, even if it makes him sweat a little—and settle your forehead against his.

You press another soft kiss to him, just to be a fucking tease and pull back when he chases you. “No other women?”

“Does it look like I’m—”

“Touya!”

“No, damn it!” As annoyed as he’s trying to sound, one of his arms is wrapping around you, pulling you closer to him as one of yours goes behind his neck. It makes him a little tense, the unfamiliarity of it all, like you’re gonna dig your nails into him or choke him out when you get the chance. But your eyes are big and wide and shining with something that embarrasses him, shining the way they always do when you look at him.

And you better not fucking tell anyone about the little kiss he gives your bruise.

“Ain’t no one else but you.”

The smile you give him makes him pull back his head, or he tries to, but you keep your forehead against his, and give his nose a little kiss in return. It makes him groan—in embarrassment and not because he likes it—so he presses another kiss against your lips, lets it get a little passionate and heavy, hands running from your back to your thighs, from his hair to his chest, before he purposely nips at your lip again. All this cutesy shit makes him queasy, but it’s the first time he’s seen you really smile since he’d been in your apartment, since before last night, since six weeks ago, when you let him fall asleep on your couch.

And for some reason, you look just about as happy touching him.

“You aren’t gonna leave and never come back?” Even through all the sugary sweet kissing, he can hear the concern in your voice, can feel the heat from the burn in your eyes against his own.

It makes him laugh, actually; get this, smarty-pants, he tried that shit for 11 years. It didn’t work then and it sure as Hell isn’t gonna work now, not when he’s touched you like this, not when you’ve seen the inside of his skin the way you have.

And, come on, you should know better than to ask a stupid question like that.

Tags

touya todoroki dabi touya x reader dabi x reader dabi angst dabi x y/n dabi x female reader touya x you mini series

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